1 comments/ 20751 views/ 0 favorites A Fable By: REDWAVE Once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far, away, etc., there lived an evil man named Drubya. Drubya belonged to a rich family, all of whose members felt they deserved to rule-- because they were rich, could trace their pedigree back several centuries, had gone to all the right schools, etc. Drubya wanted to get himself elected to the highest office in the land, that of Pretzel in Chief. The only problem was, people didn't like him very much. They didn't like him because he was a rich, spoiled, arrogant overgrown fratboy who thought he deserved to have everything handed to him on a silver platter, and a big phony and liar to boot. But he didn't let that stop him. He got together with his brother Jub, who was governor of a state called Fuckallya. Together they hatched a scheme which was diabolical in its cleverness. "Now we have a lot of noogas in our state," brother Jub said. [NOTE: "nooga" was a derogatory term for Affrikan-AmeriKKKans.] "They vote overwhelmingly for the other party, the Dimwits. I'll just arrange to have a bunch o' them kicked off the rolls in advance. Then you should be able to carry this state. And as we all know, as Fuckallya goes, so goes the nation." Well, the two brothers chortled big time over that. They sat up all night celebrating their scheme, drinking and snorting cocaine, and forcing nooga slave girls to give them them head. The next Monday morning, Jub went to work in his office on his scheme to disenfranchise the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans. He hired a private consulting company to purge convicted felons off the voting rolls. Since Affrikan-AmeriKKKans were a persecuted minority, often railroaded into prison by the cops and courts, this would get rid of a good number of them. Not nearly enough for his dear ole brother to win, though. Then the consultant from the company came up with a brilliant idea. "We'll set the parameters of the search so broadly they'll remove not just felons, but with anyone with a name at all similar to that of a felon." Jub's eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's great. . . Them noogas all have similar names, names like George Watchyourtongue and Dumbass Jefferscum. That'll work like a charm!" So the plan was put into effect, and large numbers of Affrikan-AmeriKKKans were stricken from the rolls, without even being notified. When they went to the polls on election day, thinking they were registered, they were told they weren't, and couldn't vote. Since most of them would have voted for Drubya's opponent, Al Bore, that went a long way toward ensuring victory for Drubya and his party, the Fatcats. However, even that wasn't enough. Jub had to resort to a number of other dirty tricks to make sure his brother won. There were the butterfly ballots, which flew away when the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans tried to cast their votes. Also, Jub rounded up a bunch of guys named Chad and had them hung in front of heavily Affrikan-AmeriKKKan polling places. These hanging Chads frightened the Affrikan-AmeriKKKans and kept many of them from entering the polling places. Then there were the pregnant Chads-- horrible freaks of nature, men with big, swollen bellies, lactating breasts, and an insatiable craving for pickles and ice cream. They caused many Affrikan-AmeriKKKans to run screaming in horror away from the polling places. Even with these and a few other dirty tricks, Drubya only managed to carry the state of Fuckallya by one vote. That gave him enough votes to win in the Electrical College, even though he lost the popular vote overall. His opponent, Al Bore, was a weak, spineless, pansy ass preppy motherfucker, but even he realized he was being screwed out of the Pretzeldency. He called for a recount of the ballots in Fuckallya, which he had the right to do. That threw Drubya and his brother Jub into a panic. They knew there was so much fraud and irregularity in the Fuckallya election that they would surely lose a recount. But they had an ace in the hole to play. They got their cronies, Fatcat political appointees all, on the nation's highest court, the Supine Court, to intervene in their favor. By a 5-4 vote, the Supine Court stepped in and ordered the recount to stop, and declared Drubya the winner. So Drubya took power, and went to work in the Ogle Office. Well, actually he didn't do too much work himself. He mainly just snorted cocaine, played video games, and forced nooga slave girls to suck his dick and lick his asshole. But he had a lot of real smart fellers workin' for him, and they worked very hard. First and foremost among them was Dick Cheesy, his Vice Pretzel, who was in charge of all the vices-- and there were plenty of them. Field Marshall von Rumsfeld headed the Department of Mass Murder, the most important one. Rectum Pole, a former general, was put in charge of the Steaks Department, also very important. Finally, John Asscross headed the Department of Injustice, the other key one. At first, Drubya had a lot of fun in the Ogle Office, what with the nooga slave girls and all. But then the job started getting to be a real bummer, man. The economy took a nosedive, and people blamed Drubya for their being out of work and impoverished. "How unfair," Drubya would mutter to himself. "I got myself a real good job, using a little good old-fashioned AmeriKKKan ingenuity and initiative. It's not my fault they can't do the same." Then Drubya's main campaign contributor, the Endrun Corporation, bilked the state of Canifuckya, the largest and most populous state, out of billions of dollars by manufacturing a phony energy crisis. That was bad enough, but then one of the Fatcats defected to the Dimwits, and Drubya lost control of the Sinate. His approval rating was in the toilet; he was in deep doo doo politically. But then he hatched upon another brilliant scheme. There was an Arabik Mushhead radical named Osama bin Fucken, who headed a loose terrorist network, named All Cornhole. There was a rich network of contacts between Drubya's family and bin Fucken's family. In fact, bin Fucken had originally been supplied and built up by the AmeriKKKan government before later turning on them. "I'll let bin Fucken get away with a major terrorist attack on this country, and then use that as an excuse to go to war and crack down on internal dissent. There won't be nearly as much of that, anyway-- everyone knows people rally behind the Pretzel in times of crisis." So the wheels were put in motion. Bin Fucken was allowed to send several of his operatives into the country, who prepared their attack at great length, while the government intentionally looked the other way. Finally, on November 9, 2001, which became immortalized as "119," two hijacked jets slammed into the twin towers of the World Tit Center, which were both shaped like enormous breasts, with nipples pointing proudly to the sky. Another hijacked jet hit the Pentagram, headquarters of the Department of Mass Murder, inflicting minor damage. A fourth crashed near Pittsburgh, because the people on board preferred dying to having to go to Pittsburgh. The World Tit Center was completely destroyed, and thousand of people killed. AmeriKKKan males were all big tit men, and they were shocked by the destruction of the national mammaries. Drubya went on TV before the AmeriKKKan people, pretending to be outraged and vowing to get bin Fucken "dead or alive." He blamed the Towel Band, which ruled a country called Assgasistan, for harboring bin Fucken. He rounded up thousands of people and held them without any charges, in the name of fighting a "war on terror." He bombed and invaded Assgasistan and took it over, but bin Fucken was nowhere to be found. He set up a concentration camp in Gwongottago Bay, where people were brought from all over the world to be tortured. His approval ratings soared, and suddenly everyone liked him instead of hating him. Well, almost everyone. There were a few malcontents who muttered things like "Reichstag fire" under their breath, but he had them rounded up whenever possible. Things went along just peachy keen for a few months, while Drubya basked in his new-found popularity. But then things started to get screwy again. Shortly after making a killing in Canifuckya, Endrun went belly up and had to file for bankruptcy, because all the top executives had looted the company of billions of dollars and put them in their own pockets. So Drubya called up the Endrun Chairman & CEO, Wanna Lay. "Damn it, Wanna boy," Drubya fumed over the phone. "All those meetings you had with Dick Cheesy to dictate our energy policy to us can come back to haunt us now. You're makin' me look bad. I'm gonna have to pretend I don't know you now. All those photos of me sticking my nose up your butthole are gonna have to be destroyed." "OK, but I'll have to keep the negative for an insurance policy . . ." Worse still, word started to leak out about all the advance warnings Drubya had about 119, and how they were deliberately ignored. His approval rating was sagging, and rapidly heading back into the crapper. The Dimwits in the Sinate were forced by popular clamor to hold investigations, to at least make it look like they were doing something. Even the whitewash investigation by the Sinate Dimwits threatened to spill more beans than Drubya could ever scoop back into the bean jar. They were also nosing around into Endrun, and how Drubya had changed the laws to allow it to loot billions of dollars from the state of Canifuckya. It looked like Drubya was in deep doo doo again, but then he came up with another brilliant idea. "I know," he said to his top aides, "we'll nab a guy with an Arabik-sounding name, and tell the public we foiled a plot to set off a dirty bomb, which would make everyone think dirty thoughts all the time. That'll make it look like we're on the ball fightin' the war on terror. That oughta keep the Kristoon Coalition happy, too." "But Mr. Bullshit," an aide spluttered, "if we don't have any proof he did that, it will come out sooner or later." "Ah, that's the beauty of this," Drubya chortled. "We'll declare him an 'enemy combatant' or some shit like that, and transfer him to the jurisdiction of the Department of Mass Murder. They'll just hold him indefinitely without bringing any charges. That way we don't need any evidence at all." Soon after, they found their scapegoat, a man named Abdullah Al-Mujafukker, and trumpeted that they had foiled a plot to set off a dirty bomb. Drubya expected his approval rating to soar again, and the Sinate Dimwits to be thrown into confusion and disarray. But the AmeriKKKan people were not quite as gullible and stupid as Drubya thought they were. His array of cunning stunts had worn thin with them. This time they saw through his trickery, and didn't fall for it. They'd had enough Bullshit. They rose up and overthrew the usurper and tyrant Drubya, and restored freedom and democracy. Peace and prosperity bloomed throughout the world. And they all lived happily ever after. Of course, nothing like this could ever happen in the real world-- could it? --June 11, 2002 A Fable Retold The remarkable thing was not that she was lost. No, the truly mind-boggling thing was how long she had been lost, unknowing. Most of her adult life, as it turned out. Gel sighed heavily. Perhaps today she would be found. Perhaps today the search would end. Since realizing her predicament, she'd had this thought each morning upon awakening. She had this hope that her search would end, that she would be found and that her life would at last make sense: that she herself would be complete. On this path she had discovered Gel stayed alert and watchful; dutifully read all signposts and politely greeted other travelers. Other travelers on this path were a chancy proposition; some were who they appeared to be but too many others hid their true selves and masked their intentions. It was therefore a challenge for her to guess who was real and who was false: a challenge to discern which directions to follow and which to ignore. She rounded the corner and beheld a dwelling - the first she had encountered on this path. The low red brick building glowed in the indirect sunlight that filtered through the forest canopy, that sparkled off the diamond-paned windows. It had an air of age, of substance. Gel was so deep in the wilderness that this sign of civilization could be nothing but welcome. She walked up to the door and contemplated the ornate knocker. Before lifting it, she smoothed her hands down her hips straightening her clothes and delaying the moment of entry. Was this the end of searching? Would she find herself, assuage the hunger, the need within? Drawing a deep breath, Gel lifted the knocker and let it fall. It echoed hollowly, in that peculiar way that indicated an empty dwelling. She tried the doorknob and tentatively pushed. "Hello?" the door swung open. As her voice echoed in the entryway, Gel stepped inside. The entry was semi-circular in shape with a floor of inlaid wood in a starburst pattern radiating out from the entrance. At the terminus of each ray stood a door. Thorny rose stems minus the flowers filled a vase on a small table near the entry Rose petals - blood red ones - were scattered across the floor. "Is anyone home?" Gel called. Her heart raced in her breast as she held her breath, waiting for an answer. The door on her left opened a handsbreath, as though an errant breeze had persuaded it open. Hesitantly, Gel pushed the door wider and saw stairs descending into the cobalt dark. "Hello?" Gel called again as she flicked on the light switch, "Is anyone home?" Tiny twinkly lights wrapped around the railing and meandering along the stair tread lead her downwards as the murmur of music drifted up in strands of a seductive warp. At the bottom of the stairs, Gel saw 3 spotlights: each illuminating a particular section of what appeared to be a very large room. Closest on her right, the spotlight showed her a complicated rig hanging from the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, she determined that it was designed to hold someone immobile while suspended. Nearby was a table upon which lay a tray of implements. There were blades of numerous sizes, electric devices whose uses she could not -refused to-fathom, gags of various sizes and a box of latex gloves, lubricant, and condoms. Gel prodded the instruments with a careful finger. 'Too difficult,' she thought to herself and moved to the next lighted area. Music twined 'round her, a soft liquid enticement that emanated from multiple speakers in the ceiling. The second light centered on a drain set in the stone floor. Restraints bolted directly into the tiled wall at about adult shoulder height with matching restraints set in the floor gave Gel an inkling as to the uses of this area. Four hoses looped from the ceiling over a hook, each hose terminated in different spray tips. The way each spray gun was lined precisely over the hook reminded Gel of a line of patient yellow cabs endlessly awaiting a fare. On the table shoved against the wall, she saw other hoses and spray heads as well as cock rings of various sizes. Gingerly, Gel grasped one of the parked spray guns and pressed the trigger. It bucked in her hand as a stream of water pulsed against the tiled wall. She dropped the water gun in startlement and backed away toward the third spotlight. The water gun dangled and swayed in and out of the light - a bizarre beheaded snake. With a moan of relief, Gel realized that the light shone directly on a large comfortable armchair. She sank into its overstuffed comfort with a sigh. Two tables, one on either side of the chair held clamps, collars, dildos, and plugs. Gel investigated. The clamps included clothespin, bull-nosed, adjustable, spring-loaded: some with attached chains, others with faceted gems. There were collars of studded leather, of delicate chain, of braided gold; some with attached leash and chain. The dildos and plugs were of various materials, in eye-popping sizes, shapes and colors. She stirred the collars about until one snagged on her finger. It was a slim wire of beaten silver with two delicate attached chains. When she lifted it, Gel found that each chain terminated in an adjustable bull-nosed nipple clamp. A shiver of heat, of lust, vibrated through Gel. She licked her lips, turned the collar this way and that and then draped it over the arm of the chair. Chewing on her lower lip, she slowly unbuttoned and removed her blue cotton blouse. Reaching behind, Gel unhooked her blue lace bra and drew it off. Slowly, as though hypnotized, she picked up the collar and held it up before her eyes. The flawless glittering silver warmed in her hands as Gel placed the collar around her neck and clicked it closed. The cool air as well as the excitement of the moment combined to pull her nipples up tight and hard. It took her 3 tries to get the clamp tension adjusted to her satisfaction and fastened. The thrill of it - of wearing the collar and nipple clamps for the first time - brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks. Gel stood and turned toward the shadowed mirror on the wall behind the chair. The look of the collar and clamps against her pale skin entranced her. For a long moment, Gel swayed to the music, eyes half closed as she watched the woman in the mirror. This was part of her answer, part of what she had searched for and Gel could not bear to remove the collar so soon. Enthralled and so captivated by her discoveries that she forgot all about the owners of this place; forgot to worry over their return; and even forgot to retrieve her clothes; she ran lightly up the stairs to continue her exploration of the dwelling. From the entry, Gel chose the middle door and found herself in a large kitchen. Atop the table in the center of the room were 3 separate piles- as though the owners had been working there at the table and stepped away for a moment. Gel ran eagerly to investigate. There was a big chair pushed slightly away from the table. Before it lay a small heap of instruments in varying stages of repair: vibrators, ass plugs with tails half-attached, something electrical that she did not dare guess at. She picked up a harness and twisted it this way and that, trying to work out in her mind the purpose of it. It dawned on her finally, that it was a kind of chastity device. She put it down and moved around the table to the next pile. Rope, of all types and sizes: some with colored tape around the ends and others with loops and knots. It was evident from the knife and other implements that someone had been cutting and whipping the ends of the various lengths of rope. As she sorted through it, Gel also found silk scarves and ties of wonderfully vibrant colors. Her nipples began to burn and ache and she paused a moment to loosen the clamps. The rush of returning sensation was so intense that she moaned softly even as she moved to investigate the last pile of work upon the table. Vials of scent, she discovered, sniffing; vials of flavor; tubes of lotion and...body paint. Chocolate, butterscotch, peppermint, lavender, freesia, apple, and more: with a sigh of pleasure, Gel sat down and began to open and inhale/taste all of them. At the end of her investigations, she had a small selection of scents and flavors set aside. She stood and removed her skirt, panties, and shoes then took the first vial and dabbed the scent of nutmeg behind her knees. Next, she applied pear on the inner skin of her wrist. One by one, she dabbed the scents and flavors she had set aside onto various parts of her naked body until all that was left was the chocolate body paint. Gel dipped her finger in the thick fragrant cream and transferred a dollop of chocolate to her shaved pussy lips, smearing it around until she was well and truly coated with chocolate. The cinnamon oil she had dabbed upon her nipples began to burn even as she re-applied the clamps. After taking a drink of water at the sink, she departed ablaze with curiosity regarding the last door, leaving behind the remainder of her clothes with nary a thought to them. The last door led upstairs, she discovered happily. At the top of the stairs were three doors. The one on the left held a large four-poster bed. An array of floggers, whips, and canes were displayed along one wall almost as though they were beloved trophies. Padded restraints dangled from the upright posts at the foot of the bed. Gel lifted a flogger of red and black leather from the rack on the wall and drew it curiously over the palm of her hand. The leather was thick and soft. She looped the tail over her bare shoulder and slid it slowly over her skin. Her heart tripped in her chest and Gel dropped the flogger as though burned. The next bedroom was arrayed with photographer's equipment: lights, reflectors and a video camera on a tripod. The subject of attention was the large round bed and the furs piled upon it. Gel picked up a sheepskin and stroked the long soft nap against her bare hip. It was delicious. She took it with her as she investigated the last room. The bed in this room was so tall that steps led up to it. Gel climbed up and onto the bed. She crawled to the center of the big bed, spread the sheepskin flat and then lay down upon it. She heaved a deep heartfelt sigh. Heaven. Looking up, she saw mirrors and in their reflection saw the restraints at either corner of the head of the bed. She flipped over onto her hands and knees and investigated. There were, she discovered, padded restraints on adjustable tethers at each corner of the bed. Breathing heavily like a marathon runner, Gel adjusted the tethers at the foot of the bed and then, her heart in her mouth, fastened her ankles in the cuffs.Stretching up, she also locked her left wrist in the padded cuff. These were answers unlike any that she had thought up on her own, intrigued and rapt by the possibilities, Gel arranged the pillow under her head. With a deep sigh of pleasure, she put her free hand under her cheek and closed her eyes. 'Just for a minute,' she told herself. 'I will dream here just for a minute.' And she drifted to sleep, dreaming of arousing possibilities. She did not hear the owners return home. She did not hear them calling to each other as they discovered evidence of her intrusion: first in the kitchen then the basement. She did not hear them rush up the stairs. It was the opening door that woke her. Gel blinked, disoriented, at the man who stood framed in the doorway regarding her with a half-smile on his face, her clothes draped over his arm. "Someone has been in my room, too," he said, "And she is here still." A man and a woman crowded in behind him. They are all so alike in feature and form that she decided they were brothers and sister. Gel stared at them in dismay, horribly aware that she was naked and displayed before them. Ashamedly aware that she had invaded their home and used it as though it were hers to use. Feverishly, she tried to remove her left wrist from the cuff only discover that she was well and truly caught. It did not budge. "Oh, she is lovely!" The woman said as all three moved further into the room. "What is your name?" demanded the man on the right. "Gel." She whispered, flushing a deeper red. The room's owner moved to the foot of the bed. He was of middle height, broad shouldered, with dark brown hair and eyes. Not conventionally handsome, his face was too rugged and craggy for it, but nonetheless something about him pleased Gel. She offered him a shy smile. "I am sorry." "For what?" he asked, his lips curving into a hint of a smile as he lay her clothes on the foot of the bed. "For making myself at home here without permission." She glanced at each of them as she said it. When she would have removed a nipple clamp, the taller of the two men said harshly, "Leave it. It looks good on you." The woman, smallest of the three but as dark and intent, took a deep breath and grinned. "I can smell her. She's been in your scents, Marius." Gel blushed, mortified. Her eyes welled with tears as the full weight of her predicament sank in on her. The man at the foot of the bed began to remove his shirt. "Don't cry, Gel." He said, bending to remove his shoes. "We can come to some accommodation regarding your trespass, I'm sure. My name is Marius Thalarctos. My sister and brother are leaving." His sister pouted. "But Marius...she looks so delectable! Perhaps she-" "Tim, please escort Suri out." At Marius' behest, His brother took their sister by the elbow and urged her to the door. Marius continued to disrobe, oblivious to his siblings' departure or the snap of the closing door. His gaze, all of his attention, was locked on Gel. She tried to swallow her sobs as she watched him climb onto the bed. On all fours, he moved to her side and smiled down at her. "Don't cry, little beauty." Marius whispered. He dropped his head to nuzzle her gently and press soft kisses to her chin, cheek and brow. "You smell delicious." "Please," she whimpered, "please." He kissed and tasted his way down her arm to her wrist. "You chose well," he murmured, flicking his tongue against her skin and twining his fingers in hers. Gel let her breath go in a low moan as he pulled her right arm up and back and clicked the last cuff over her wrist. "Wh...what are you going to do to me?" she whispered, sniffing back fresh sobs. Marius smiled down at her as he lifted the chain that connected the nipple clamps. Her eyes rounded at the sharp tug on her nipples. Sensation stabbed electrically along her nerves straight to her pussy. "This is mine, you found it next to my chair in the dungeon." He slid his hand slowly along the chain until he reached the collar. "You wear my collar. You wear scents and oils that you found next to my chair in the kitchen. You chose to arrange yourself here on my bed where I found you. 'Tis a wonderful offering you make. It is my pleasure to accept."A nd he bent his head to lick at her nipples, removing the clamps as he did so. Gel trembled and shuddered, as he found all of the places she had placed his scents and oils. He licked, nibbled and kissed his way all over her body until she writhed and moaned with need and her heart thumped hard and fast in her chest. "Oh," she said when he drew her nipple hard to the roof of his mouth. "Oh..oh!" she said when he discovered with his tongue the chocolate hidden in the folds of her sex. "Oh. My. God!" she said when he drove his body deep into hers and settled himself along the bound length of her. "Delicious, luscious Gel." He told her and began to thrust. Imperceptibly, subtly, he increased the pace: withdrawing and returning with unyielding force, driving to the heart of her, grinding his hips into the cradle of hers at the top of each stroke as though he sought an elusive goal just a little higher inside her. His body pierced hers, claimed hers, possessed hers. How could this man do this to her? He drove her mindless with need and she did not even know him. Her body didn't care about knowing and minding. Her body loved his hard driving possession. She was helpless, captivated, swept along on the tide of lust and need and passion. "I accept you," he said breathlessly as he fucked her. "You will be mine from this day on." "Yes," Gel assented, "oh, yes please Marius." Her body bowed up to meet him as pleasure, as bliss rolled through her. "Ah," he whispered, "Yes, my own. Cum for me." And then he pushed his hips down hard into hers, pinning her to the bed and Gel felt his cock spurt deep in her pussy as he filled her with his cum, as he marked her his. He kissed her on the mouth and then said against her lips, "From this day forward you will call me 'Master'." The last answer clicked into place. She had been found! Her search was over! "What does the G-el stand for?" Marius asked her softly as he unlocked the restraints and curved his body around hers. "Goldilocks," she murmured sleepily.