The Notnilk Prophecy

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RND authorizes Sir Jeff's Ponygirls to feature

The Notnilk Prophecy part 2 Pony Irene

The following is from a larger work that clearly establishes the story as total fantasy, and general theme as consenting adult behavior. Any valid review for censorship purposes must peruse the whole work! Although random excerpts may appear to show non-consenting themes, within the context of the larger work-of-fiction, such situations are presented only as dreams by consenting adult characters. The complete work is entirely make-believe, however, and should not be viewed as bearing malice toward any person, gender, race, or institution. Resemblance to any real persons or institutions is coincidental. All characters in this work-of-fiction are "Adults".

If you are under 21 years of age, or if such material is illegal in your community:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

If you are offended by "adult" themes, non-consenting themes, B&D, S&M, or make-believe situations that would be inappropriate in real-life:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

If you cannot separate fantasy from reality, or can't control your conduct:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

GO GET SOME HELP!

and,...

DON'T READ ANY MAIN-STREAM FICTION;

DON'T WATCH TELEVISION,...

and especially,...

NO ROAD-RUNNER CARTOONS!

For those into this genre of fiction,...

ENJOY!

( p.s. special thanks to Sir Jeff for demonstrating how fab the web can be )

-5-

"Don't be bashful, darling. I know you need this. All first-timers do. Blue-balls are not benign, and the ounce-of-prevention thing is worth adhering to. Besides, I've got plans for us tonight, and want you fully able. Call me selfish, but, as daddy says, I am used to getting my way!"

"But T-Tris,... r-right n-now? In f-front of everybo..."

"Hush, darling! Just keep watching the action; follow the bouncing titties. I'll do the rest!"

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK!

Jiggle! Wiggle Bounce!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

"Nagagagnngjjahahaooooooophphphpeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Sob! Snort! Whinny! Snort! Pant!"

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK!

Jiggle! Wiggle Bounce!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

"Gagagagagannnngjjjjuiuiuiupftpftpftpfpteeeeeeee! Sob! Whinny! Pant! Snort!"

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK! CRACK!

Joggle! Wiggle Dribble! Rebound!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

"Gaaannnngjjpppppjjuiuiuiuiueeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Sob! Sob! Whinny! Sob! Sob! Wheeze! Snort! Whinny! Snort!"

Niles and the Colonel were behind Irene, lashing her bare bottom with mostly alternating, but sometimes simultaneous strokes; employing # 3 fluidian crops. And they weren't holding back. Each whistling lash was a full-bore screamer! That's what a naughty pony got at Notnilk! That's what she deserved!

Donald had watched the first ten strokes from the rear; then Tristin steered him tit-ward.

"I know how compelling it is to see a blurring crop dimple those cheeky hemispheres, spattering sweat upon impact, but believe me, darling, hearing is half the thrill, and, with a hand-hider, the real visual-candy is frontside!

Her analysis had been as nimble as O.J.'s cutlery skills!

Each violent bottom-slash made Irene's tits gavotte in whorish trajectories; recoiling and careening like they'd been drop-kicked by Pele.

And, not unexpectedly, the allure of an unhinged, girl-bag mambo quickly took it's toll on Donald.

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

Wobble! Jump! Wobble! Careen! Wobble! Roll! Wobble! Bounce!

"Gagagagagannnngjjjjuiuiuiupftpftpftpfpteeeeeeee! Sob! Whinny! Pant! Whinny! Snort!"

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

Wobble! Bounce! Wobble! Bounce! Wobble! Bounce!

"Gagagagagannnngjjjjuiuiuiupftpftpftpfpteeeeeeee! Sob! Whinny! Pant! Snort!"

By the time the twentieth stroke ripped home, Donald's eyeballs looked to be doing somersaults! That's when Tristin dropped to her knees; delivered her blue-balls soliloquy --- while unzipping his fly.

unzip

Sproin-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-ng!

"Wow!", Tristin exclaimed, eyes widening like a cat about to pounce. Then, with lips hugely ovaled, she did.

"Gobble! Slurp! Slurp!... T-h-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-a-t!"

"Gaaaah! Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahag!"

Donald's head pitched back; knuckles twisted white. Against a backdrop of whistling fluidian and recoiling girl-goods, Tristin throated him to the balls! Or at least she tried to!

"Slurp! Gag! Slurp! Gag! Slurp! Gag! Slurp! Ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-g!"

s--w--i--s--h

CRACK!

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

Wiggle! Bounce! Wiggle! Bounce! Wiggle!

"Gagagagagannnngjjjjuiuiuiupftpftpftpfpteeeeeeee! Sob! Whinny! Pant! Whinny! Snort!"

"Slurp! Slurp! T-h-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-a-a-a-a-a-a-t! Gag!"

"Tris-s-s-s-s-s not-t-t-t here-e-e-e-e! Nahgagagagagrhhhhh! Sputter!"

Donald's bellowing had reached a zenith. And let's face it,...

...who the fock could blame him?

"G-a-a-a-a-a-a-s-p!", Tristin retched, upchucking Donald's cock. "Pant! You're hard as iron, darling! Gasp! Absolutely giant too! Cough! I guess ponying is your cup of tea! Gasp! C-Can't quite take it to the hilt, however! Cough! Gasp! Not yet, anyway!"

"Great Clinton's ghost!", bellowed the Colonel in an amazed voice. "From the looks of that tallywhacker, I can sure-as-shit understand why!"

Having stepped away from Irene's backside, the Colonel, with cigarette-holder swiveling, stood eyeballing Donald's boner, using his crop as a pointer.

"Take a look at that, Mr. Niles! I told you the Lad would be a gamer! Har! Har! Har!"

"Bubba, Monica, and Joseph! I don't believe me focking eyes!", exclaimed Niles. "Please Professor, tell me ye haven't fucked thet monster up Tristin's tailpipe? Have ye?"

Embarrassment colored Donald scarlet. On his left was Irene, stark naked, wallowing in pony-hell.

Opposite were a pair of blokes ( future father-in-law included ) eying his dick incredulously, saying nasty things.

And at his feet knelt Tristin, working his balls like a video-game controller, tears streaming down her face ( and not from remorse, either ); exploring the limits of her gag-reflex.

Donald's commentary might've been pithy, had he been able to talk. His larynx, however, was presently paralyzed; neck so furiously curled that both arms had gone completely numb!

Tristin had throated him again. This time a lips-to-the-balls plunge! Think of what snaking-out a clogged drain sounds like. Now multiply times a hundred.

"Ga-a-a-a-a-a-ghhh T-h-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-a-t! Choke! G-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-g-g-g-g!"

That was Tristin Notnilk!

Now envision Daffy Duck in need of the Heimlich maneuver.

"Gaaaah! Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahag! Gah! Quack! Quack! Q-u-a-c-k!"

That was Donald!

"Fer the love-o-Clinton, girl, ease-up! Yer makin' the poor sot's voicebox mutate!"

Nile's warning was filled with urgency. The Colonel followed suit.

"Tristin! For Clinton's sake, un-throat that Lad before his bloody eyeballs explode!"

"Ga-a-a-a-a-a-ghua Choke! T-h-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-a-t! G-a-g-g-g-g!"

But the kneeling girl wouldn't yield. Not an iota!

Donald responded accordingly.

"Aga-a-a-a-bah! Aga-a-a-a-bah! I'mmmm c-c-c-cum-m-min-n-n-n-ngg-g-g-g-g-g-g-ghghhhh!"

"It's too focking late!", screamed Niles. "The Lad's gonna blow!"

"Quick! Mr. Niles, grab a nose-tray! From the looks of those pulsating balls, the payload's gonna be focking colossal!

"Right away, Sir!"

"Great Clinton's ghost, Tristin, if you won't ease-up, at least square those shoulders; stiffen yer backbone; prepare yourself properly!"

One thing could be said about the Colonel. He was a pragmatic to the bone!

And speaking of bone, Donald's was now erupting!

"Cum-m-m-m-m-m-m-ming! Agah! Ahhhhgah! Cum-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-minggggg!"

He lunged forward, blathering like an idiot; knuckles blanched; toes clawing. Throw a hula-hoop around his torso --- it might've stopped spinning tomorrow.

"Gah-h-hrg Ung-g-g-g-h! Fock!"

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!

Tristin's cheeks abruptly ballooned. Pupils dilated. Eyelashes fluttered. Perspiration zigzagged everywhere. Still, she never turned her gaze from Donald's mug. It was the quintessence of slutdom --- a female intently eyeballing he who stood baptizing her mouth.

Man-goo streamed from her nostrils. Fortunately, an urgently positioned nose-tray snagged every drop.

"Good show, Mr. Niles", the Colonel hollered. "Now, steady as she goes, while I get her properly ventilated. Don't want an overheated slut, you know!"

"Right ye are, Sir"!

The Colonel grabbed the bodice of Tristin's thin dress. In one swoop he tore it completely off, leaving her naked but for panties and flip-flops.

"Fock! I see she hasn't taken to wearing bras, Sir", Niles chuckled. "And those nipples, they're still bullets!"

"Har! Har! Har! You've always fancied her points, haven't you man?", grinned the Colonel.

"Who the fock wouldn't, Sir? Ye could cut diamonds with them beauties!"

"Nawh-gah! Gooo-oood!", Donald groggily jabbered, interrupting the discourse; still spurting gooey salvos.

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!

"The Professor seems to agree with you, Mr. Niles", snickered the Colonel. "Har! Har! What say we help the chap completely empty his balls? Eh?"

"Absolutely, Sir."

In a jiffy, the gentlemen gripped Donald's elbows; escorted him toward the bound ponygirl. Tristin followed on her knees, loosing her flip-flops, but not the lip-lock on Donald's prick. Now clad only in panties ( thong-style of course ), she exuded unabashed promiscuousness --- creeping like a cat --- toes gouging for leverage --- litheness glimmering with sweat --- jowls bloated with man-goo! In short, vintage Tristin Notnilk!

( Sigh! )

"Go ahead, Professor", the Colonel commanded, pointing toward Irene's hangers. "Play with her. And don't be coy about it. The tactile stimulus will help you empty."

Donald haltingly palmed the pliant glands, relishing their heavy girth; how they oozed between his fingers when he made fists.

He'd just blown giant gobs in his fiance's mouth; was still getting tongue-swirled; was on the verge of reprising. Now he'd been ordered to grope a Christy Canyon look-a-like. Not surprisingly, his expression would've made Bozo look glum by comparison. One thought reverberated.

Why the fock hadn't he visited Ponyworldo before?

And the next thought?

If he ever got elected Super bowl MVP, the first place he'd go

wouldn't be Disney World!

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!

Spurt!