Message-ID: <3509eli$9709011154@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: dantedibby@aol.com (Dantedibby) X-Good-Line-Length: yes Subject: Twighlight Zone 4 by Seurat: Art Critic 4/8 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19970901111100.HAA15776@ladder01.news.aol.com> See header section 1a for more info! Thursday, May 30th I sat on the couch and looked at the video tape box. The cover showed a woman in english riding clothes sitting in a saddle. The title read, "Horse play - the training of a mount". I slid the tape out of the box and put it in the VCR, undid the drawstring on my sweatpants, and relaxed on the couch. My wife wouldn't be home for a few hours; she had to pick up some groceries, get gas for the car, and get some scratch-off lottery tickets. That would take her close to the mall, and she could never pass by without a quick stop in. I reached over and turned out the lights, and focused on the TV. The screen flickered, then faded in on a row of stables. The camera was evidently fixed in position. Into the screen walks an attractive egyptian looking woman with long brown hair, almost black. She is dressed in tight purple leather pants, purple leather riding boots, a white silk shirt, and a purple leather vest. She is tall and athletically built; from her location and clothing it looks like she is going for a ride. She opens a stall and reaches inside, pulling on a pair of reigns. Whatever is on the other end doesn't want to come out. She picks up a riding crop, raises it above her head, and it falls: once, twice, a third time, the only sound being that of the crop on flesh. The reigns go slack and a figure emerges from the stall. It looks like a cross between a horse and a man. A man's face and mouth and held in the bit and bridle, blinders keeping his sight limited. His arms are strapped to his sides in a harness which also holds a saddle on his shoulders. Long hair, made into a mane of sorts, runs between two leather horse ears projecting from the top of his head. From his ass projects a horse tail, it's root held in his anus by more straps. A thick eight inch cock dangles limply between his legs, which are encased in black leather from his crotch down to their heels. Only these boots are missing the heels; they force him to stand on the balls of his feet, and they make little horseshoe prints when he walks on dirt. She hits him again and speaks, but the only sound heard is the crop connecting with flesh. He squats as low as he can, and she climbs into the saddle. He adjusts himself to her weight, then she directs him out of the stables. The scene changed, showing a riding ring. The purple clad woman stands on a platform, cracking a drovers whip at the horse man as he performs tricks; side shuffles, canters, jumping over barrels. Any time he falters, he feels the lash. The scene changed again. She is on his back, and they are at a full gallop. In front of them is another man, a look of pure terror on his face as they chase him down. The rider twirls a weighted net over her head and releases, the running man tumbles to the ground, his body encased in the net. He is quickly surrounded by women dressed in black leather catsuits and boots who pick him up and carry him away. The horse man is covered in sweat, and crop marks can be seen across his ass. She turns him, and they trot away. Now she is leading him into a stall in the barn. A sign on the door reads, æStud Service', but he doesn't see it. Inside she takes off the bit and bridle and pulls a large feeding harness over his head. His jaws move the bag as he eats. She picks up a large beaker with her left hand and begins to massage his cock with her right. His eyes go wide, and he tries to escape her grasp, only to realize she has attached his body harness to a frame in order to hold him in place. His already large prick grows in her hand, eight inches, nine inches, finally ten inches long and as thick as a soda can. Her hand pumps away, and after a few minutes he begins to spurt huge globs of cum into the beaker, filling it nearly half-way. His knees buckle from the orgasm, but he is held up by the harness. She turns to a refrigerator in the stall and opens it, placing next to several other beakers. It is labelled with his name: Stud O'Neill. The screen fades to black. I hit the æstop' botton, then ærewind'. As the tape rewound I thought back to last night; I still have marks on my ass. I got a few tissues and cleaned the pool of precum on my stomach. I wasn't supposed to jerk off completely. When it rewound I put it back in it's case, and put it and the crop that accompanied it back in the secret drawer with the other two. I headed to the bathroom to take a cold shower so the erection would be gone before my wife got home. Wednesday, June 5th I found this week's package on the front seat of my car when I got out of work. Whomever was delivering these for Tara and her friends could get in anywhere, it seemed. I sat in the parking lot and ripped open the brown paper packages. Inside was a pair of green shorts, a green and yellow diamond patterned t-shirt, and a pair of green calf high socks. All were made of the same cool and oily feeling material that first nigh I was an art object. There was another tube of gel, the now familiar remote, and an invitation to a party for tonight. I stuffed the items into the glove compartment, and headed to the store to pick up a few things. Dinner slipped by. Casual conversations about work, my fictional racquetball partner for the evening, and the possibilities of looking at houses this weekend. One part of my mind kept up the talking while the other tried to figure out what would happen tonight. Before I realized it my wife was kissing me goodbye and I was left to clean up the dinner dishes. The shirt and shorts were snug, and felt slimey with the coating of gel underneath. My feet felt like they were stuck in wet sneakers. I tapped in my code, and all became skin tight. I had begun doing morning excersises to releive my sexual tension, and the shirt showed off the results. There was small pocket in the front of the shorts for my cock but not my balls, almost like a sheath. The shorts also showed off the fact that I shaved down there, and that I wasn't wearing any underwear. I went to walk back into the bedroom when I noticed it. My feet had become hyper-sensitive; the carpet felt like steel wool trying to rub the callouses off my feet. I jumped to the bed and sat down, and realized that the shorts were having the same effect on the skin they covered. It was like having a sunburn without the pain, eveything so sensitive that it almost hurt. I pulled on a pair of sweats and my old sneakers, the sensations almost being too much. Limping down the stairs was difficult; every step renewed the sensitivity. My body began to sweat heavily under the strain. I grabbed my wallet and keys from the stand by the door and headed out to the car, the entire time looking like I was walking on eggs. The address for the party was at a comedy club. I hoped that it wasn't a tie-and-jacket club; the note had said nothing about additional clothing. I parked and grabbed my stuff, then headed for the club. I found that I could move quick but had to be ready for when I stopped, as the effects of the outfit would catch up after a second or too. I pulled out a ten for the cover charge, but the man at the door saw my clothing and just pointed to the stage door. The entry led into the back of the club, where that night's performers waited their turn. I saw my ædate' for the evening immediately, and things in my mind fell into place. She was very attractive, as all the women connected with this organization had been so far. She was dressed in a green harlequin outfit decorated with yellow diamonds. Green ankle boots covered her feet, her hands were in yellow gloves, and a three point halequin hood finished the outfit, complete with bells on the ends on the points. A yellow mask covered the upper part of her face. Though the rest of the room was empty, I could here the noise of the crowd in the next room. "Whad'ya think? Too much? I always heard that comics were nothing more than common man's jesters." "I don't know. I don't go to this type of club. Maybe some of them will find it entertaining." "I don't care about them. It's you I'm here to entertain." She smiled. Pleasant as that smile was, I got a bad feeling about the whole thing. "What would you like me to do?" She looked around the room. It was filled with oddities as if somebody had been collecting things from garage sales for twenty years. Finally, she motioned to an old barbers chair in a corner. "Sit there." I did as I was told, first taking off my shoes and sweats. I was growing used to the overly sensitive nature of my clothing. Once I was seated, she skipped over to me, bells jingling, like a little kid. She leaned in front of me, grinning. My bad feelings grew even worse. She picked up my left arm and put it on the armrest, and flipped a strap over it, tying that arm down. "Why are you strapping me down?" A stupid question, considering the people I was dealing with, but I asked anyway. "Used to be a dentist's chair. These made sure they didn't thrash during an operation." She tied down my other arm. I pretty much let her, testing the bands once she was done. I could've overpowered her easily if I had wanted, but nothing really unpleasant had happened to me yet, at least nothing permanently scarring. "That was in the days before anesthetic. You won't have that problem." Sirens, bells, and whistles all went off in my head. "Let me up." She strapped my feet down quickly, knowing I knew something was up. "But you'd miss the show if you left." "I don't care. Let me up now, please." "Don't you like comedy?" "It's okay. If you want to go out into the club, we could watch a few of the comedians, but I've been drugged before and I don't like it. It wasn't part of the deal." "Deal? I don't remember any deal. I was just asked to show you a good time, take you out and have a few laughs. And who said anything about drugs?" "You did when you talked about the anesthesia." She laughed. "I meant you wouldn't have to worry about thrashing about during an operation." I felt a little relieved. "Then what are the straps for?" "So you don't leave during the show." With that, she spun the chair around, then pulled back a curtain that had hid the wall behind the chair. I was give a balcony view of the stage where a comedian was just finishing his act. I felt her hand do something at my crotch, and when I looked down I saw a tube leading away from the tip of the built-in sheath. She crouched down behind me and whispered in my ear, "This next one is one of my favorites. I hope you laugh at all his jokes." The next one out was a guy who did nothing but complain about the differences about men and women. He was okay, by my standards, but I'm not a big one on male bashing. My jester friend seemed to like him just fine. I could hear peals of laughter every time he made a joke about how stupid men can be. Halfway through his act she leaned in close again. "You're not laughing. Nobody comes to my club and doesn't laugh." She walked to where I could see her completely. "Some of the people you'll meet may strike you or tease you sexually in order to control you. I was asked to teach you how to laugh at yourself, that you didn't know how to do that." Again with that æteaching' thing. My mind flitted back to the masseuse. She had let on that I was being taught'. This would take some serious thinking. "Instead of a crop or a whip or even my hand, I use this." She held up a long stiff feather. The alarm bells went off again, louder and stronger than before. I tried to pulll loose from the chair, but couldn't. "That's right. Even if you weren't ticklish before, you are now." The feather brushed up my ribs, wiggled in my armpit. I let loose with a howl of laughter. "Much better. I tought it was a good joke, too." The feather wiggled the soles of my feet after each of the comedian's jokes about men, ripping guffaws from my mouth and tears from my eyes. The next comic was one she had picked just for me. My laughs began to drown out the crowds in the normal seats. The jester alternated between my feet, my ribs, and my armpits, never letting me get desensitized. Tears streamed down my face, and I begged for mercy. I could feel my bladder about to explode. She never let up, and finally I lost control over my bladder. The tube hooked to my shorts took care of the mess I would have made, drawing off the results of my laughing fit. After nearly an hour of this I was so exhausted that I could hardly move. She undid the straps holding me down, then peeled off the shirt, shoes, and finally the shorts. My mind was filled with the smell of my own body odor. The room must have reeked from it; I had sweated so much I probably lost a few pounds. At the rush of cool air, my cock sprang to life. The jester looked down at it. "Oh yeah. I guess I'm supposed to give you some comic relief'." I couldn't have laughed if my life depended on it. She pushed me back into the chair into a reclining position, then swung a leg over me so that she was stradling my chest with her back to me. I felt something cup my balls, then something else grip my cock. She got off me and strapped my arms and legs down again while I looked at the contraption. My genitals were encased in a large plastic tube, with four rods pressing along it lengthwise. Where the rods exited the bottom of the tube, they met and wrapped the base of my cock, then melded into a cup holding by balls. At the end of the tube, just past the head of my prick, was a ball about the size of a tennis ball, again, it was made of clear plastic. The jester stood next to me, hands on hips. "I actually thought this one up. All you have to do is fill the ball up, and you can leave." The ball looked pretty big from where I was. "How am I supposed to do that without touching myself?" "I've hooked the rods onto the network of crystals covering your stomach area. If you tighten those muscles while shaking your body, it will give the rods the energy they need to get you off." I tried it. I bore down, tightening my abs, and felt a little action from the rods. Two of them, lying next to the channel on the underside of my cock, began to thrum from base to tip. The other two concentrated their effect on my glans. Where they met, under my balls, they almost hummed. The effect was slight, and there was no way it was going to get me off. "Ain't gonna happen. I'm just too tired." "I'll have to help you, then." She pulled out two feathers from under the chair, and began to tickle my feet. It had the desired effect as my whole body tensed, then shook with laughter. The rods began thrumming along my genitals, bringing me quickly to orgasm. She didn't stop, and the rod's vibrating wouldn't let me go soft. A few minutes later I came again. The ball wasn't quite full yet, though, and she wasn't going to let up until it was topped off. I was forced to a third orgasm. I couldn't laugh anymore. My body was copletely drained of all energy. She removed the apparatus and unstrapped me. She had to help me dress in my meager clothes, then escorted me to the door. "Come back anytime." I stumbled to my car, got in, and sat there for a few minutes. They had been very intense orgasms, and I was wiped out. I did manage to drive home. "So, how did you play tonight?", my wife asked, seeing how wiped out I was when she got home. "Did you put up a good fight?" "It ws laughable." She didn't appreciate my humor, either. I still had much to learn. Friday, June 7th The package came in the mail. æA night at Jester's'. A tape of the comedians I had seen that night. Somebody in the audience thought the later acts were hilarious. Included were two long, stiff feathers, perfect for application to the soles of feet. Saturday, June 8th My wife's business is picking up. She is becoming very absorbed in her work. We haven't had sex since before the fateful night I played racquetball with Tara, and she shows no signs now of missing it. My strange infidelity makes me wonder if she is fooling around with somebody; she must be releasing her sexual energy somehow. Today we went looking at new houses. For some reason I was drawn to Tara's neighborhood, but my wife had seen one in a magazine that she wanted to check out. It was out in the country, and as we walked through it with the realtor all I could think of was how I could recreate my wednesday nights in the new house. Adentist's chair in the den , stables in the back, maybe even an excercise room. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /