Message-ID: <28782asstr$981439804@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Kenny Gamura" Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; format=flowed X-Original-Message-ID: X-OriginalArrivalTime: 05 Feb 2001 22:52:51.0012 (UTC) FILETIME=[5E05F840:01C08FC6] Subject: {ASSM} Fred Flintbone and the French Tickler {Gamera} (Mf oral voy MF anal) Date: Tue, 6 Feb 2001 01:10:04 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, gill-bates DISCLAIMER This is a piece of fiction. Its characters have not even begun to contemplate such things, mostly because said characters do not exist. Any imagined resemblance to people living or deceased is either the result of dementia on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a character this story. None of these are conditions to be proud of, and it would not be wise to draw attention to one's self by claiming any similarity. It is assumed that readers of this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and the pastor and are able to fully tell the difference between real and make-believe. If not, PISS OFF, ASSWIPE, AND GET A LIFE! Furthermore, the writer is aware that he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well thoughts out, humourous insults on his writing skill or lack there of. Note: he already knows he cannot spell warth shet. The events and descriptions of this story are the sole property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded, reposted, or profited from in anyway without express written permission of the person hiding behind that pen name. Reposting and free archiving may be tolerated given the writer's name and address remains attached. Archiving by Deja.Com, and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged. Thank You and Good Day, Kenny N Gamera turtlemeat69@hotmail.com http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera Fred Flintbone and the French Tickler by Kenny N Gamera In the bondage workshop, everyone sat in a wide circle. Mistress Monica sat at the front, like King Arthur at the round table, but whereas Arthur would have sat on a throne, she sat on her husband. The students sat at simple wooden school desks that might have been ordered from a Sears catalog sometime during the Depression. The desks were way too small and even more way too uncomfortable for their adult bodies; Fred could understand why the instructor would have chosen her husband instead. Fred let his mind wander away from the discussion topic to where he was no longer aware of what it was. So, while missing the finer points of binding paraplegics with chains, he concentrated on the finer points of the French Tickler. She sat across the circle from him, next to a large breasted brunette with a bad case of makeup induced acne. He studied her brown eyes through the thick lenses of her plastic framed glasses. Her braided, brown hair fell down her left shoulder to a point just passed the bottom of her modest bust, which was hidden by the loose peasant blouse she wore. Her embellishment-free face wore the expression of a trance as she followed the discussion. Fred was reminded less of a fashion model and more of a librarian, but... Crack! He cried out in pain as the lash tickled his cheek. His hand went to the red mark on his cheek, even as the pain of the blow registered on his lust addled brain. Fred also looked up at the instructor who now stood in front of her human chair with a black bullwhip unfurled. "Awake now, Mr. Flintbone," Mistress Monica asked in the _mean_ voice. "Yes, ma'am," answered Fred in the _very_ frightened voice. "Do you have a clue as to what we were discussing, Mr. Flintbone?" "Uh," he looked at the whip, still ready in her hand. He thought it best to tell the truth rather than try to bullshit himself into anymore trouble than he had already done himself into. "No, ma'am." Mistress Monica looked up to the ceiling and let out a protracted sigh. He blushed at the thought of the hell he had just gotten himself into. That and the look of pride on acne girl's face as she stuck her cleavage just a little further on display. Oh, and the gentle chuckles and giggles of the rest of the workshop. And the fact, that he just put the third sentence fragment in a row in his internal dialog. He made a heavy internal sigh. "Well," she finally announced, "if you could be so kind, I would like you to write a short scene tonight involving who you were thinking about and also involving yesterday's discussion on safewords." She glared at him. "You can pleasure us with a reading of it tomorrow." Sadist, thought Fred. After the workshop was dismissed for the next series of sessions, Fred walked quietly to the room holding the discussion group on teen sex. A few steps ahead of him, French Tickler went in the same direction. He stopped at the vending machines to get a cup decaffeinated at same time she stopped for a diet cola. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she fought to feed a worn out buck into the dollar acceptor. Her plain brown skirt reached down to her ankles, which only left her Birkenstocks and unstockinged feet exposed. Part of his mind tried to imagine the mysteries beneath her loose clothing as the rest debated offering her a fresh bill. Just as he resolved to do so, she got her money flat enough for the machine to accept it. He heard the clunk of the can dropping into the hole as the last drops of his coffee were pissed into the paper cup. He sipped at the vile fluid as she walked away. He gave himself a mental kick to his mental ass. Damn, he thought as he entered his room. I'm acting like a creepy teen-age kid not a thirty-five year old man. Chester the Molester arrived late with a skinny girl in tow. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a Big Johnson Daycare tee-shirt. She had a pair of tight, daisy-duke cutoffs and a smaller duplicate of the older man's shirt. Her shirt did little more than attempt to display her developing treasures. His failed entirely at hiding a large spare tire. The girl grinned a silly, young girl grin that showed off both her orthodonture and the piece of gum that churned around her teeth. She quietly took a seat while Chester began writing at the chalk board. Fred copied down the words "Reality of sex with young teens" as Chester wrote them and quickly became bored. He began to watch the other attendees, all of whom wore stained raincoats. He sighed and wondered why he didn't take the bestiality workshop instead. Then, he let his mind wander to his assignment for Bondage. "Mr. Flintbone," asked Chester, breaking him back to reality with a partial flashback to the previous hour. The rest of the group had their hands up like they were competing in an Arnold Horshack look-a-like contest. "Could you come up here, please?" This was not going to be good, thought Fred. He went to the spot that Chester indicated with his hand and sat in the chair. The girl watched her feet swing back and forth as she sat in a chair across from him. The gum continued to bravely face its torture as the world viewed the spectacle through her open mouth. The crowd of overcoats watched with looks of dejection. "Now my daughter, Cindy, will demonstrate one of the many dangers of sex with a thirteen-year-old girl." When Chester announced her name, Cindy got up and went over to Fred. As her jaws continued to work over the gum, she got to her knees and undid his zipper. She reached in to his pants and pulled out a mostly hard cock, despite his case of nerves and morality,. In short order, she developed rhythm of 'chomp-chomp, lick, chomp, swallow, release, chomp-chomp, lick.' It was about as sexy as a pair of Granny's undies. Still, Fred's dick responded to her somewhat talented mouth. When she reached full stiffness, Cindy lowered her mouth all the way down his modest shaft. She easily reached to his ball sack. Her tongue snaked out of her mouth and rubbed over his nuts. Deep throat done, she lifted her head up quickly. Fred screamed out in pain for the second time that day as a batch of his crotch hairs parted company with his body. Cindy looked up at him with a tinny, hairy grin. Fred reached down to his balls and felt around. A glance to his pubes confirmed the presence of a sticky wad of gum. He made it back to his desk without slipping on everyone's mess. Cindy had offered to finish him, but Fred had thought with his organ safely wilted that it best to retreat while he was still ahead or at least had one. He carefully ignored the rest of lecture as he wondered why he had ever signed up for the "World Famous Erotic Writers Academy of Earlham College." It seemed like a good idea at the time, he reminded himself. The free period before dinner was spent separating his shorts, his nuts, and the gum from each other with the help of a borrowed pair of scissors. Through the process, he meditated on the assignment he had to write. He worried if he should confess his fantasy about French Tickler and embarrass her in front of everyone. Otherwise, he could write something vile involving acne girl. He was stuck at an impasse he could not break through. That, and a case of writers block. Oh, and a case of teen induced blue balls. And, the fact, he kept thinking in sentence fragments. When he returned the scissors, his friend, the unfortunately named Master Bater, invited Fred to join him for dinner. "You look like you need a chance to relax for awhile." "Thanks, Bater," answered Fred. "I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed eating dorm food after all these years." "Yep, makes you appreciate banquet chicken." "Or, airline food." They laughed and continued the game of naming inedible institutional meals as they went through the cafeteria line. Their meals were surprisingly good. They discussed their day and the events of the academy as they ate. Master Bater shook his head in sympathy to Fred's many travails. "That Mistress Monica is a bitch," he agreed. "She had that husband of hers fuck me up the ass during my submission workshop." "It's been just three days. I don't know if I can take another three and a half weeks." "Well, did you really expect a month of fun and continuous sex?" Fred sighed again, but out loud this time. "Yes, I think I did. Still, I would liked a chance to do stuff that actually had something to do with writing. All they seem to be doing right now is torturing us, Bater." "You know, Fred. Its like they're trying to chase us away," Bater added as they took their empty trays to the drop off line. "Well, no matter what the problem, beer is always the answer. A bunch of us are going to a bar tonight; you want to join us?" Fred shook his head. " I've got that writing assignment to do. We came here to write, and I want to get something out of this besides minor injuries." They parted at the dorm's lobby. Bater joined a group of frustrated writers to discuss the evening's pub crawl. Fred went up to his floor in the elevator, a luxury he did not enjoy when he was in college a little more than a decade before. It stopped almost immediately after beginning its ascent. The door opened, and in walked the French Tickler. She was now dressed in a baggy fisherman's sweater but still had on the long brown shirt that she had worn earlier. She reached out to push the button for her floor. Her finger, however, stopped short. She looked at Fred and smiled. "I see that we are heading to the same floor," she proclaimed in a husky voice that lacked the pronounced high pitch that many women develop. Fred felt that he was blushing slightly. He wrote it off as his imagination. At least, that was his hope. He failed to stammer as he answered, "Lucky you, saves you a button to push." The door closed itself, and the elevator returned to its upward trek. They stood in silence for a moment spent staring at the seam of the elevator door. They went up another flight. "So," the Tickler broke the pause still watching the door, "are you going to the bar with everyone?" "No, I've got that writing assignment." Fred glanced at the floor indicator above them. "Yeah, that's right." They quietly watched the door for another floor. The elevator stopped, and together, they got out. They walked side by side down the old worn carpet. "I'm going," announced the Tickler out of nowhere. Fred looked at her. Her eyes appeared much large through the distortion of her lenses "I'm surprised. You're not old enough yet are you?" She smiled at him, which accentuated her slight (but cute) overbite. "I'll be twenty-three in a month. After this summer, I'll be starting my Master's degree at Cal State. In English." "Oh!" Fred immediately mentally kicked himself again. To save face, he added, "You look a lot younger." "Yeah, it's a pain sometimes." They stopped in front of Fred's door. She grinned at him as he unlocked the door. He grinned back as he struggled to insert the key while not looking at the lock and her simultaneously. "Guess I'll see you later." she said as the door opened. "Yeah, later." "Bye." "Yeah, bye." He went into his room. She started back down the hall. He closed his door. Damn, what a fuckin' dork, he thought as he finished pushing the door shut. He continued to think that at himself for the next three hours. In addition, he stared at his laptop and the blank window of MS Word it displayed on its screen. He hummed the original Star Trek theme when the screen saver flipped itself on. He opened the window to clear the stuffy air trapped in the room. He stared at his lap top some more. His writer's block was finally broken by a knock on his door. Thankful for an interruption to his thoughts or lack thereof, Fred got up and went to the door. There was another knock just before he opened it. French Tickler stood just outside. She leaned against the door jam, her large purse on the opposite side. Her round face was slightly flushed. "Good evening," she said. "How goes the writing?" "Not good." Fred stepped away from the door to give Tickler room to enter. She slid past him and took a seat on the bed while Fred closed the door. "Why aren't you still out with everyone else?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I got bored watching Scar Face shove her tits in all the guys' faces," she said as Fred returned to his spot at the desk. "Besides, I was wondering how you were doing." "Well, if I were using a typewriter, you'd be looking at blank paper." "I'm surprised. I thought you'd be done by now." "Why's that?" "I've read just about everything you've posted on the net." She smiled at him. "You're one of my favourites. I got excited when I realized that I was going to meet you in person. I have to admit, though, you're not all what I expected." "Sorry to disappoint," apologized Fred. "I'm not disappointed. I had this image of a fat guy dressed in leopard skin." They laughed. "I'm glad that you turned out to be a very handsome man." "Thank you," Fred replied with a real blush. "I think you're pretty, too." They looked into each other's eyes. Fred got up from his seat and sat down next to her. She licked her lips and turned her gaze to his. His hand lifted her chin, its weakness adding a softness to her pretty face. Their lips met in a gentle kiss. "My name is Jordan," she told him when they had parted. "Pleased to meet you, Jordan. I'm Fred," whispered Fred as he pulled her down on his bed with his falling body. Their lips resumed the kiss but with the passion their first had lacked. His tongue easily parted its way into her mouth. Hers greeted it warmly while their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Locked side by side in an embrace, they kissed forever without breathing until at last dire need force their mouths apart. Jordan twisted and pushed, forcing Fred on his back. She rolled on top of his body and covered his mouth with his. This time her tongue took to the offensive and entered his oral cavity. He sucked onto it for another long time as she felt the inside of his mouth. When satisfied with her explorations, she pulled her head away and sat up. She gazed down at Fred, who watched her in worship. In a single motion, the sweater came off her body. She wore no bra, and the cool night air in the room made her nipples stand up like thimbles from her small rounded tittie mounds. She began to undo the buttons to Fred's shirt. As she did so, she ground her crotch into his groin. Jordan pushed the shirt out of the way before she lowered herself back to his body. Bare chest against bare chest, they again kissed for a short while. "I want you, Jordan." "I want you, too. But, I know it sounds silly, but I'm saving myself for marriage." She smiled down at him, then gave him a peck on the nose with her pouty, naturally red lips. "You'll have to fuck me in the ass." Jordan got off from him and stepped away from the bed. She stepped from her skirt and sandals. Fred noted again that she was no fashion model, but she was all woman. Her legs tapered down from her wide hips to her shapely if thick ankles. Freckles dotted her pale skin. He admired her high rounded ass a she lowered he panties to the floor. Fred removed his clothing and got a condom from the drawer of the little night stand next to the bed. He slipped it down on his cock in one motion, pinching a couple of hairs in the process Wordlessly, Jordan produced a tube of lubricant from her purse and squeezed a bit of the lube into a palm. With that hand, she began to masturbate his cock with a few gentle motions as the other played with his balls. She let go after being satisfied that the lube had been spread evenly along the full six inch length. Again, she crawled on the bed and assumed the doggie position. Fred picked up the tube and put a dab on his finger. Carefully, he worked it around and into her anus, first with one finger and then with two. Before very long, she pushed back against his fingers. "Enough, you bastard. I want you in me. Fuck my ass." He got behind her and kneeled before her ass. With both hands, he parted her butt cheeks to expose her asshole. Jordan took his slippery cock in her hand and guided to her waiting hole. Fred pushed against the muscle, and after a short fight, it surrendered to his cock head. He paused as she adjusted to him, and he adjusted to her. She got impatient, though, and thrust back against him forcing a few inches in her body before stalling. Fred retreated to where he had started and then advanced again into her rectum. He stopped when she let out a gasp. "No! Keep going, you bastard. Fuck my butt!" she ordered. Fred began to rhythmically pump his hips, driving his swollen dick into the young woman beneath him. He went slowly, forcefully keeping the girl from pushing against him faster and harder than his was ready. At last, he felt his balls knock against her pussy. She moaned out and using the hand she had used to guide his dong, started to diddle her clit. "Please, oh please, fuck me. Fuck me, Fred. Oh God, fuck me now," Jordan cried out. "Yes," Fred answered through clenched jaws. He pulled back, and then with a powerful thrust of his hips, he slammed against her ass. She screamed out as his cock drove itself deep into her body. Her fingers rubbed against his nut sac as she busily played with her love button. He felt her fingertips brush against the bulging center vein of his cock as he withdrew for another thrust. He began to fuck her butt rapidly in response to her need and the demands of her sympathetic motion. He started slowly, but soon, he had given in to his lust. With all his force, he pounded mercilessly against his new lover. Finally, Jordan was driven from her hands and knees to laying flat on her belly. With each advance of his dick into her ass, Jordan would moan or cry out or squeal in pleasure. Never before could Fred recall having such a vocal lover in bed. It excited him beyond his expectations, and as he felt her anal sphincter squeeze violently around his dick as she entered orgasm, he began to spasm in his own release. He shot spurt after spurt of his jism into her intestines, which added to the ease of his final penetration. "I feel you coming in me, you bastard. Fill me up with your cum," she shouted to him as he at last spent himself in her. His dick wilted in her ass as they laid there in the peace after the storm of their passion. At last, it fell from her nether hole and a bit of his seed seeped out. Jordan turned her head. Fred reached down, and again they kissed. "You better start writing that scene for Mistress Monica." "Fuck, Mistress Monica." French Tickler, Jordan, smiled. "I wonder if that could be arranged." _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+