Best In Show

An original story by Mitt O'Toole

Illustrated by Ned Dream

 

D I S C L A I M E R

 

The following material is the exclusive property of RND,

and may not be reproduced or republished in any form

without written consent from RND.

The following is from a larger work that clearly establishes the story as total fantasy,

and general theme as consenting adult behavior.

In other words, Jack, it's make-believe!

Any censorship review must peruse the whole work!

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,

or 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,

or if you cannot separate fantasy from reality,

or can't control your conduct:

DO NOT READ ANY FURTHER!

 


 

-12-

 

Three days later.

 

The hatch slid open. The first thing out was a sound.

 

Smack!

 

Then a yelp.

"Mfg-g-g-g-g-gg-pft! Sob!"

It was unintelligible, but distinctly feminine. Followed by a genial male voice.

"That's better, Jimmy. But ye've got ta aim lower; strike from inside-out. That'll snap them big cheeks apart. Make 'em reverberate like jelly! Trust me. It'll be an inspiring sight!"

 

Smack!

 

The cycle repeated.

"Gnsh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Sob!"

"Not bad, Jimmy. Not bad at all! Ye've jest got to keep working on thet grip! Ye're still pronatin' yer forearm too rapidly. But ye'll get it! We'll make a barber out of ye yet! Nyuk! Nyuk!"

"And a splendid one at thet! Wouldn't ye agree, Captn'?", shouted Mos, who'd been escorting me.

The bespectacled one whirled our way, flashing a huge grin.

"I'll be focked up the arse with a clarinet, if he isn't! Nyuk! Nyuk! An alto clarinet!"

Wow! Now that's teacher-confidence! There was something about this guy! An engaging karma --- avuncular demeanor --- aura of pragmatism --- Teddy Roosevelt smile --- self-assurance to spare --- tool belt with scissors, comb, and ballpeen hammer. I liked him immediately!

"I've brung yer new apprentice, Captn'!", Mos announced.

"Ye don't focking say? Well fer the love-o-Bubba, git the Lad in here! Let's have a look at him!"

The place was entirely modern. Metal here. Metal everywhere. All polished and sleek. A barber-pole hovered in each corner --- crafted from gleaming chromium --- burnished to a high gloss.

And on a raised platform, as imposing as a throne, under a bank of floodlights, digital cameras and LCD's, stood a barber-chair!

"Friar Ploose is me name, Lad! Glad ta have ye aboard! Jest call me Captn'! It's against regulations to use slang, ye know. But fock it!"

He stuck out his hand.

I reached to shake, feeling intimidated.

"Errr,... hi. My n-name i-i..."

"Beggin' yer pardon, Captn'", Mos interrupted, "but it seems the Lad thinks there may have been a mistake in his assignment here."

"Oh?"

"Yah! He had his heart set on becomin' a Star-pilot, ye see, and feels Hubie's maybe mixed him up with somebody else?"

"A computer foul-up is what yer suggestin'? Switched him with some other Sot?"

"Exactly! And he was wonderin' if we might investigate the possibility!"

"Hummm,... I see.", the Captain said, as he looked me over. "Tell me, Mos. Is he a good, Lad?"

"Fock yah!", Mos replied. "As observant as a detective; a fockin' natural from what I've seen! And he's already passed his physical!"

"Ye don't focking say? Already gone through paralysis-reversal?"

"With flyin' colors, he did!"

"Really? No problems along the way?"

"Other then a little trouble peeling bananas with his feet,... no. Not really."

"Impressive. Focking impressive indeed!", the Captain acknowledged.

"So should I dial-up the Federation; ask 'em to double check the computation?", Mos queried.

"We'll do no focking such thing!"

Oh shit! I knew this wasn't gonna fly! Mos had been right. Hubie's never been wrong before. And let's face it, getting into Star-pilot training was harder then politicking without lying --- requiring top grades and a suitcase of accolades. None of which I possessed. The notion that all could be righted with a holophone call had been preposterous!

"Come again, Captn'?", Mos asked.

"If the Lad doesn't wanna be here, who gives a fock what Hubie's determined! We'll ask thet bucket-o-bolts's opinion when me dick falls off!"

"Well put, Captn'!", Mos capitulated. "Yer absolutely fockin' right! But what do we do about the Lad? He's not enamored to be here."

"I thought ye said he wanted to be a Star-pilot?"

"Well,... yah! Thet he does", Mos chirped.

"Y-Yah S-Sir! Yah I do!", I jabbered.

"Well,... fock,... What's to think about? We'll simply call Goodenough,... ask him to take the Lad on! I'll vouch for 'em personally! It'll be our loss."

 

Commander B. Goodenough?

The most decorated Federation warrior in the Galaxy?

Leader of the famous 427th Star-pilot squadron?

Him?

 

"Y-You k-know Commander Goodenough, Captain?", I stammered.

"Ye hear thet, Mos? The Lad want's ta know if Goodenough and I are mates? Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Nyuk! Nyuk! Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Har! Har! Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Har! Har!"

"Nyuk! Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Har! Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Har! Nyuk! That's,... Har! Har!... a focking,... Nyuk!... good one, Captn'! Nyuk!"

"Yah indeedy! Har! Har! The best I've heard in awhile! Nyuk! What say we dial-up the Sot,... Har! Har!... right focking now! Har! Har! Har!"

"Right away, Sir", Mos guffawed! "Jimmy, be a good boy; go fetch the holophone."

"Yah Sir!"

"And Jimmy,..."

"Yah?"

"Ye doesn't has ta call me,... Sir!"

"Ah-hyulk! Fergot again!"

Jimmy lit off, dashing past me. That's when I first noticed the girl! She'd been obscured by Jimmy's farm-boy stature; obviously the source of the muzzled squeals we'd heard earlier.

"Errr,... who's t-that?", I asked.

"Her? Oh thet's jest Justine. Don't mind her", the Captain nonchalantly said. "Now, tell me, Lad, will ye be wantin' ta ship out with Cmdr. Goodenough immediately?"

 

Huh?

Don't mind her?

 

Don't mind that she was completely naked,

arms criss-crossed behind her back ( ala Spin and Dry ),

bent into a kneeling --- tits down --- neck extended --- ass reared-up --- thighs pressed together posture,

suspended in mid-air by magneto-dynamism,

with strap-marks glowing on her big cheeky bottom?

 

I shouldn't mind that?

 

Nadafuckingchance!

 

 

"That birthmark on her left buttock", I blurted, "it looks to be where the strap had been aimed?"

One thing about me. Whenever overwhelmed with something, I simply started jabbering. Outloud, unfortunately!

"Ye're one-fer-two, Lad", the Captain said in a surprised tone, like he'd expected zero-for-two. "I'm afraid thet's no birthmark! But it's exactly where the bead had been drawn! How'd ye fathom thet?"

"I donno. It just came to me. If you envision the tangent-angles of those red stripes, everything converges at,... errr,... ahhh,... whatever that mark is."

"Fer Clinton's sake, Lad, thet sounds downright Euclidian!"

"Well,... I'd always excelled at Geometry. Who'd have thunk I'd ever have a chance to use it?"

"Rubbish!", the Captain yelped. "Ye focking rely on it! Every focking day, ye know!"

"I d-do?"

"Fock yah!"

"Here we go again", Mos sighed. "Ye don't know what ye've unleashed, Lad. The Captn's hobby is Geometry!"

"H-Hobby?"

"Yah! And sure-as-shit, ye're gonna get a primer in it, sooner or later!"

"I think the Lad's beyond the primer level", the Captn' chuckled.

"By t-the way", I shifted the subject, "if that's n-not a birthmark, w-what is it?

"It's an identification brand", Mos volunteered. "Standard issue at most Ponygirl farms!"

"P-Ponygirl farms?"

"Exactly! Don't ye recall Spin and Dry's?"

"Gee,... come to think of it, they were similarly marked, but in a much subtler fashion. You sure couldn't have noticed theirs from across the room!"

"Another astute observation, Lad", the Captain said. "Why don't ye take a closer look. --- see what else ye can deduce?"

 

Hmmm.

A Sherlock Holmes game.

My specialty!

 

As I approached Justine, my knees went limp ( dick conversely ). The vision of her reared-up fanny was absolutely breathtaking! And let's face it, no surprise here! Wasn't this the most flattering pose any female could strike --- whether she be short or tall --- lithe or wide --- flat or stacked --- comely-faced or a two-bagger?

And then,... when you consider she'd been so positioned for a bare bottom strapping,... errr,... ahhh,... gab-a-a-a,...

 

Yabba!

 

 

Justine was totally nude but for bit-gag, collar, waist-gusset, wrist and ankle cuffs; sleighbells at big toes, nipples and nose. And, compliments of magneto-dynamism, she'd been scrunched into ( as I would come to learn ) position six --- perfect for flogging the tush and haunches!

As I moved closer, a titanium frame became visible. Although only holographically projected, it fostered pizzazz by the buckets --- making Justine's predicament all the more rousing --- seeming to severely extend her neck; anchor her knees ( thighs sweatily pressed together ); keeping everything properly square for the strop!

"Wow", I lamely exclaimed, "her big bottom is as jumpy as it is curvy! And those thighs --- so pale and wholesome and skittish --- they couldn't be more womanly!"

"Nyuk! Nyuk! No argument from this end, Lad", the Captain chuckled. "Now how about the calves?"

"Well,... they're a bit on the robust side for my taste. I like 'em shapely, don't get me wrong, but a bit sleeker!"

"They're fine by me!", Mos blurted, eyeballing Justine's gams with an ear-to-ear smirk!

"Mos, ye're a true Renaissance-Man!", chirped the Captain. "But I'm with the Lad on this one. Gimmie a pair-o slim ankles anyday!"

Then he pressed me further.

"Continue, Lad. Critique her feet!"

"Errr,... I,... ahhh,... well,... they're feminine looking for sure, but seem a tad calloused --- like she's been on 'em a lot! Nice toes, however! Cute and delicate. And the sleighbells are a nice touch. But, what's with the numbers on her soles?"

"Identification tattoos", Mos replied.

"Oh."

"Now her titties", the Captain continued, "And don't hold back, Lad. I want yer honest opinion!"

"Well,... errr,... ahhh,... "

"Come on, Lad", Mos prompted. "Jest be forthright. Ye're not being graded."

"They're too tiny! I mean, it's hard to estimate with 'em hanging down like that, but she can't be more then a B-cup at most. And considering the rest of her frame, that's a bit under-proportioned."

"Under-proportioned? Nyuk! Nyuk! Do ye hear the Lad, Mos?", the Captain chuckled.

"Nyuk! Nyuk! Yah! Thet's an interesting way ta put it! Nyuk!"

"Har! Har! Fer Clinton's sake, Lad, why don't ye jest say they're Bubba-damned pancakes ! She's a B-cup alright, if ye've got a magnifying glass strapped to yer fockin' head! Nyuk! Nyuk!"

"Well,... Ok", I said, feeling gullible. "But, any way you cut it, she could definitely use some enhancement!"

"What?", the Captain gasped! "Mos,... do I need me hearin' checked? The Lad didn't say what I thought he did? Did he?"

"He opined she needed a boob-job, Captn'!"

"Fock! Never! Nada! Fooey!"

The Captain turned ashen, spitting and carrying on like he'd just drunk poison.

Mos hastily produced a bottle of Cuervo, which the Captain quaffed like antidote!

"Glug! Glug! Glug! Glug! Yahg-g-g-g-g-g-a-h! Gasp! Burp!"

Then he whirled toward me.

 

Having worn a path to the Principal's office during my academic career,

I suspected what was coming,

and readied myself for a scorched-earth blast.

 

It didn't materialize.

"Lad,... would ye do an old fart one fockin' favor?"

"Errr,... s-sure, Sir"

"The next time ye're fockin' an A-cup, take a moment ta savor the naturalness --- her heavenly points; cupcake morphology; bristling gooseflesh; coquettish jut. And before ye know it, yer balls'll be percolatin' like a nuclear reactor! And when she eyeballs ye, while swallowin' yer steamin' load, if ye've not yet blacked-out, one sentiment will ring true,...

 

bantamness don't fockin' matter when it comes to blow-hole maintenance!

 

 

"Don't get me wrong, Lad, big-n-droopy are smashing attributes! I'll promote thet bias till I drop! But genuine boobs always drub fake --- regardless of size! Fock, the way I figure it, if ye wanna play with flotation devises,... go ta the focking beach!"

The harangue loomed utterly sensible. Until it's conclusion!

"The point I'm makin', Lad, is thet there'll be no fake titties in this school. That's Postulate #1, and we're stickin' by it! Isn't thet a fact, Mos?"

"Fockin' 'eh, Captn'!"

 

Huh?

Postulate #1?

No fake titties?

In this school?

Gee-e-e-e-e-z!

What ever happened to 'keep your eyes on your own work'?

 

Just then, an out-of-breath Jimmy returned.

"Puff! Puff! Ah-hyulk! Here's the holophone, Captn'. The call's been placed, but it'll take a while to connect. The Commander's way over in District E!"

 

District E?

That was where the Nunworldo uprising was being fought!

Two million light-years away.

 

"That's a good lad, Jimmy. We'll wait. By the way, shake hands with our other Lad!

Jimmy's grip easily rivaled a garbage compactor. He stood about six-six, two-hundred plus; sported a jet-black pompadour; not a speck of cockiness ( unlike me ); looked like he'd just fallen off a potato transport. He resembled Elvis ( right down to the twinkie he was eating ); sounded like 'em too. I dug him right off.

"Ah-hyulk! Chomp! Chew! Mighty pleased ta meet-yo, Partner. Gulp!"

"Jimmy's from Planet Hillbilldo", the Captain announced. "Been apprenticing here fer the past two quarters."

"And we're expectin' nothing less then superlatives from him", Mos added, slapping the farm-boy on the back --- nearly dislodging a mouthful of cake!

"Them's stripes is his handiwork", the Captain said, pointing to Justine's big bottom.

 

Gulp!

Oh yeah. Justine's big bottom.

Sigh!

Errr,... make that, big bare bottom!

All cheeky and jittery and undulating!

Aglow with a half-dozen lash-marks!

 

N-Nice w-work, Jimmy!

 

"I'd grade him a B", the Captain said. "I like the way he's intersectin' the tangents! How about ye, Mos?"

"I see more improvement then thet, Captn'! In me book, thet's a solid B+!"

"Ah-hyulk! Chomp! Thanks fellers!"

Picture Elvis impersonating Goofy ( while eating ), and you've got Jimmy.

"Ye've always been a softie in the grade-department", the Captain challenged." But, fock it! Variety is the spice! Isn't it, Boys?"

"Fock yah, Captn'!"

"Fockin' 'eh, Captn'!"

Then everyone looked at me.

"Errr,... ahhh,... yah. I mean,... fucking yah!"

 

I must admit, the Captain was impressive.

Although clearly in command, he seemed to welcome other viewpoints. Even solicitated them!

Fuck! How refreshing!

And he had this genuinely nurturing approach!

Shit! Let's face it, he was cool!

 

"I still think ye're over-pronatin', Jimmy. Using way too much forearm! What's yer take, Mos?"

"Well,... could I get another look at the whole cycle?"

"Of focking course!" the Captain bellowed. "Jimmy,... crank-it-up! A roundhouse to starboard, please. Then around the circuit."

"Ah-hyulk! Yah Sir, Captn'!"

"And Jimmy... "

"Yah Captn'?"

"Ye doesn't has ta call me 'Sir'!"

"Darn! Fergot again."

That's when it hit me. Jimmy's wasn't the brightest candle in the lighthouse. Still, something about him was engaging --- which probably went a long way explaining the kid-glove treatment he was getting.

"And Jimmy... "

"Yah Captn'?"

"Ye better oil 'er up again. Always do thet before instigatin' a new circuit."

"Ah-hyulk! Shucks! Fergot."

Jimmy flashed a huge grin as he unscrewed a jar of greenish goop.

Justine's reaction was a bit more visceral.

Shivers overwhelmed the poor girl, rippling from ears to heels; crescendoing at her bare hindquarters. Girl-goods jitterbugged. Fingers clawed. Toes fanned. And as Jimmy massaged away, slathering goop on her velvety buttocks and haunches ( girlway too ), a delicious flush spread everywhere!

"W-Wow!", I jabbered, smirking like an imbecile. "W-What's that s-stuff? And why's s-she reacting like t-that?"

"It's fluidian-activator ( F. A. ), Lad. It works in consort with the strop, which, of course, is made of fluidian! It protects the goods from permanent damage."

"F-Fluidian?"

"Yah", Mos seconded. "It's imported from Planet Fluidia. No one's figured out exactly how, but it works so focking well, ye absolutely can't do without it! It's like Anesthesia!"

"A-Anesthesia?"

"Yah! Ye wouldn't dream of having yer gall bladder removed without thet! Would ye!"

"N-No."

"I rest me fockin' case!"

"It's revolutionized how one goes about stropping a big bare female bottom", the Captain added. "So much so, we've mandated it's use. Made it Postulate #2!"

 

Lemmie see if I've got it,...

#1,... no fake tits.

#2,... before flogging a woman's big bare bottom,

slather it with fluidian-activator.

 

Gee,... and to think I used to not like school.

 

"And as to why she's so fidgety", the Captain continued, "mostly thet's jest classic Pavlovian rot!"

"And a healthy bit of embarrassment!", Mos added.

"And then, of course, there's the fact thet she's,... errr,... oh fock it,... why don't ye jest go take a peek at 'er face, Lad."

"Her f-face? Me?"

"Yah ye! Wander yerself frontside. Take a gander. She won't bite. Fact-o-the-matter is, she focking can't! Nyuk! Nyuk! Har! Har! Har!"

"Yah! Nyuk! Nyuk! Thet's another good one, Captn'! Nyuk!"

Naiveness ruled as I stumbled mug-ward. It wasn't easy shifting my gaze from Justine's lush under-chassis. ( Neither was walking with a giant boner! ) And she was getting more and more sweat-glossed by the second, which, as any two-fister will attest, hammer-locks the spotlight even further! And don't forget about those sleighbells!

 

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

 

The point is, there were lots of distractions en route to Justine's face!

But guess what?

 

The trip was worth it!

 

Yikes!

What a sight!

 

Two immediate thoughts,...

 

I didn't know Audrey Hepburn had a 23rd century twin!

 

Or that bit-gags came in

XXXL!

 

 

Justine's eyes were positively gorgeous --- big and brown --- almond shaped --- rendered absurdly whorish by caked-on mascara and gleaming piercings. Her chin rested on ( or rather was wrenched backward by ) a vertical support attached to her collar. It cranked her face upward --- toward a bank of digital cameras --- perfect for leisurely scrutiny.

A golden ring perforated her nasal septum, over-hanging her upper lip, which stood drawn and blanched ( lower lip too ) by an absolutely humongous bit-gag; secured so inflexibly ( by a neck strap ), that her rear-molars were exposed. Wow! Talk about distortion! Remember the cover of 'Exile on Main Street' --- the guy gagged with pool balls? She made him look articulate!

But the unique feature was the bit's horizontal channel --- through which Justine's tongue protruded ( like a panting dog ); skewered so by paired vertical posts. And the gizmo had a self-contained watering-system, designed to work in consort with salivation, spritzing at pre-set intervals, keeping things wholesomely moist ( even slobbering at times ).

And her coiffure was interesting to say the least. She'd been shaved from ear-level on down; in fact, was totally smooth from nose-to-toes. Her remaining brunette locks had been pulled into a high ponytail, thick and wavy, except at the starboard side, where several swipes with a shears had buzzed!

"G-Gee", I stammered, pointing at the stubbly area, "what happened there?"

"Where?"

"T-There!"

"Oh, there! That's jest where we'd been conductin' business, Lad!"

"B-Business?"

"Fock yah! After all, we are barbers, ye realize!"

The Captain's voice had a self-evident tone, like he'd just announced that day follows night.

"But it l-looks like the s-shears had veered way off", I blurted.

"Lemmie have a peek, Lad", the Captain replied, walking over; inspecting away. "Nope. Everything seems proper ta me! Ye see anything off kilter, Mos?"

Mos joined us at Justine's up-turned face, scrutinizing closely.

"Nope. Not a fockin' thing, Captn'!"

"Well fine and dandy then", the Captain chirped. "Now, Lad, focus on her expression; analyze what thet tells ye!"

"B-But her hairdo", I persisted, "it's p-partly buzzed on one sid... "

Oh don't pay it no mind, Lad. We'll finish the job properly, after she's been fully prepped!"

"Go on, Lad, let's see ye do yer detective thing", Mos prompted. "I'll bet ye'll discover more then ye think!"

 

Detective thing?

Hummm. He was right.

I had to get a grip. Just be myself.

Just talk it through.

Ok,... here goes!

 

"Well,... first off", I jabbered, "she looks pretty overheated --- all bug-eyed and flustered --- tears gushing --- nostrils snorting --- sweating bullets --- veins throbbing --- muscles flinching --- gobs of drool on her chin! If I didn't know better, I'd say she were in heat!

"Ye think?", Mos asked incredulously. "After getting her big bottom stropped?"

"Yah, I know it sounds ridiculous!", I acknowledged. "Ha! Ha! What a joke, 'eh? So much for my deductive prowess! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

"Don't waver, Lad!" the Captain cut it. "Stay the course! First impressions can be powerfully accurate, ye realize!"

"Huh?"

"Go on, Lad", Mos said, abandoning the role of devil's advocate. "Don't give up!"

 

Gee! Maybe I was on to something?

 

"I've gotta establish eye-contact!", I blurted!

"We can help accomodate thet!", the Captain piped-up. "Jimmy, start the circuit! That'll give 'er the incentive to lock eyeballs!"

"Ah-hyulk! Yah, Sir!"

 

Smack!

 

"Gnsh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Whinny!"

 

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

 

Smack!

 

"Bglptz-z-z-z-z-z-z-zh-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Whinny! Sob!"

 

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

Smack!

 

"Gnsh-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-f-e-e-e-e-es-t! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Snort! Boo! Hoo!"

 

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

 

"Thet's not bad bad, Jimmy!", Mos lauded. "I'd grade ye a B. Ye've got to widen yer stance, however. And drop the angle of acceleration by 17 degrees. And remember the parallel-postulate!"

"Ah-hyulk! Puff! I'll try me darndest! Puff!"

The whip-strokes were making Justine's eyes dart all over the place. Up! Down! Sideways! You name it! But slowly they began to converge toward me.

 

Come on, Justine!

Look at me!

Look me right in the ey...

 

Yikes!

 

Just like that, she'd locked on --- riveting her gaze to mine. And, man-o-man, the familiarity was overwhelming. As my dick nearly ripped through my trousers, one thing became clear --- Justine was telegraphing the same volcanic heat I'd felt with...

 

Spin!

 

"Fuck!", I yelped. "She is turned-on! In fact,... she's nearly over the fucking top!"

 

Smack!

 

"Gnsh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Whinny!"

 

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

 

"Bingo, Lad!", the Captain exclaimed. "Now what else can ye deduce?"

"T-The w-way she's looking a-at me,... it's as i-if s-she want's to,... Gulp!... want's to,... Gasp!... errr,... "

"Throat yer dick? Are them the words ye're searchin' fer, Lad?"

 

Smack!

 

"Gnsh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-pfs-s-s-s-s-t! Sob! Whinny!"

 

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

 

"Ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h!", I hissed. "Gasp! And w-whenever Jimmy wallops her big bottom,... Gasp!... she leers even more nastily!"

"I've noticed thet too. Fock! I'll say one thing, Lad, not much escapes ye!"

Then the Captain shifted gears.

"Hey Mos?"

"Yah, Captn'?"

"What say we give the Lad a turn as taskmaster?"

"But, Captn', the Lad hasn't any training! It'd be like asking a fish ta run!"

I'm not so sure about thet. I've got a feeling about this one. Let's live dangerously! What say?"

"Ye're the Captn'!", Mos conceded. Then he turned toward me.

"Could we get ye ta do us a favor, Lad? Take the strop from Jimmy; give Justine's big bottom a few whacks yerself? We'd be much obliged, ye know."

Huh?

They'd be obliged?

Gimmie that strop, Jimmy! Oh,... and by the way, Captain,...

 

Fucking Dankachen!

 

I grabbed the strop like it were a winning lotto-ticket; exchanged places with Jimmy faster then a pauper would with a prince!

"Ah-hyulk! Ah'm shore lookin' forward ta seein' yo in action!", Jimmy drawled. "Don't ferget,... ixnay on the over-pronation!"

"Yah, Lad", Mos piped-up, "and try keepin' the cosin-angles of each stroke ta less then 47 degrees! It'll cut backdraft by a factor of twenty!"

"And, Lad", the Captn' added, "whatever ye do, remember ta avoid lash-trajectories whose derivatives are not divisible by whole numbers!"

For some reason, the guys seemed to be making this a lot more difficult then it seemed. It's true I'd not had any formal training, and was ignorant of the physics involved, but hey, how much more intuitive could things get? You want science?

 

A) Big bare female bottom.

B) Fluidian strop.

C) Fluidian activator.

D) One cranked palooka, who'd just gotten the green light to act like a cranked palooka!

 

( A + B + C ) / D = YABBA!

 

Sma-a-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Gn-a-a-a-a-a-ash-h-g-h-h-z-j-h-h-h-z-h-z-pfs-s-s-s-s-z-z-z-z-z-t! Sob! Whinny! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

The round-house was ferocious! Had Justine's bottom been a fastball, I could've rounded the bases on my hands. It'd caught her left buttock dead-center, whistling from low to high, separating the big cheeks upon impact, making 'em shudder like jello. And as the Captain had earlier guaranteed --- the effect was inspiring --- cranking my smirk from ridiculous to irrational. The resolve to wallop harder loomed overpowering!

"Great Clinton's ghost", the Captain exclaimed, watching Justine go momentarily cross-eyed; pelvis try to leapfrog her shoulders. "I thought ye said the Lad hadn't a lick-o training?"

"With Bubba as me witness, Captn', I swear he fockin' hasn't! It must-o been beginner's luck!"

 

Wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-l-l-o-p!

 

"Gn-a-a-a-a-a-ash-h-g-h-h-z-j-h-h! Whinny! Sob! Mgfth-z-pfs-s-s-s-s-z-z-t! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

Bullseye! I scorched Justine's starboard cheek with a ferocious backhand. And again, her recoil was breathtaking --- sending shivers fore and aft --- shoulders mamboing --- toes crossed --- ponytail mimicking a weed-whacker! She farted loudly; spattered phlegm like an epileptic; her drumming feet were a blur.

"Fer the love-o Bubba! Thet was not the work of a beginner!", the Captain bellowed. "Fess-up, Lad. Where'd ye learn thet?"

"N-Nowhere", I breathlessly jabbered.

"Well then how in Bubba's name are ye deliverin' the strop with such focking geometric perfection?"

"I donno? Gasp! I'm guess it j-just comes n-n-naturally!"

 

Sma-a-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Gn-a-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-a-g-g-g-g-g-g-g-t-z! Boo! Hoo! Whinny! Whinny! Whinny! Sputter! Snort!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

Bullseye --- left buttock!

 

Wha-a-a-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Gn-a-a-a-a-a-ash-h-g-h-h-z-j-h-h-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

Ditto --- opposite cheek!

"I don't believe me fockin' eyes!", the Captain yelled. "He's delivering one grade-A stroke after another!"

"It's,... Quack!,... focking,... Quack!,... preternatural", blathered Mos.

I guess I should've noticed that Mos was sounding a bit over-heated, but what the heck, I was distracted!

 

W-a-a-a-a-p!

 

"Gn-a-a-a-a-a-ash-h-g-h-h-z-j-h-h-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

jingle! jingle!

 

I'd fallen into a rhythm of sorts. Forehand. Backhand. Uppercut. Downstroke. All delivered in whistling fashion --- blistering Justine's fleshiest parts --- lifting her knees at impact --- spattering girl-sweat everywhere --- quashing decorum like a stomped-on bug. Squeals! Spittle! Farts! Phlegm! Manners! Civility! It all got purged!

And goaded-on by the Captain and Mos's raves, I started getting chatty.

"That buttock brand isn't,... Puff!,... as elegant as Spin's,... Puff!,... because she's not of the same,... Quack!,... caliber!"

 

Cra-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

 

"Spin's tall and perfectly proportioned; with gorgeous tits; flawless everything! My money,... Puff!,... says,... Quack!,... she's exclusively a show pony! In fact, I'm beginining to think the acronym B.I.S stands for Best In Show!

 

Cra-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

"Justine,... Quack!,... on the other hand,... Puff!,... is built for function! That's why her undercarriage is so robust; haunches and calves so firm; heel cords like cables! Plowing! Hauling! Carrying! Wake riding! Beast-of-burden-stuff! That's her province! Puff! And at the end of the day,... Quack!,... maybe as a reward,... Puff!,... she'll play bitch-dog to a procession of stable hands,... Quack!,... taking it up the tailpipe repeatedly,... Puff!,... quaffing every drop of spewed goo,... Puff!,... belching cum-bubbles while being herded to her pen for the night!"

 

Sma-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle!

 

"And perhaps,... Puff!,... that's why,... Quack!,... their hairdo's seem headed in different directions! Puff! Long and luxurious for Spin! Quack! Short and easy to maintain for Justine! Qua-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-c-k!"

 

Sma-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

"Fockin' amazing!", the Captain barked. "Absolutely dead-on analysis! Wouldn't ye agree, Mos?"

 

Silence.

 

"I said, Man,... wouldn't ye agree?"

 

More silence.

 

"Errr,... Mos? I asked ye a question?"

 

Even more silence.

 

"Yoo! Hoo! Mos?"

"Shucks Captn'" Jimmy drawled, "from the look on Sgt. Mostyron's face, I'd say he's thinking 'bout something else!

"Great Clinton's ghost!"

The color totally drained from the Captain's mug.

"Ah-hyulk! And he's sure sweatin' up a storm!", Jimmy added.

"Thet's not sweat, Jimmy!" the Captain howled, "it's pure testosterone! Look closely, and ye'll see cum welling up in his eyeballs! He's not thinking, Man --- jest reactin'! Gone completely daft! What have I done? How the fock could I have been so stupid?"

"Ye? W-What the heck did ye do, Sir?"

"He's a Renaissance-Man, Jimmy! He covets big-bottomed wenches like politicians do interns! And I fostered a situation which cranked that allure logarithmically; drove the poor Sot right off the focking edge!"

"W-What situation?", Jimmy asked.

 

Sma-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

"Thet one!", the Captain hissed, pointing at Justine's bug-eyed countenance.

 

 

The ponygirl was totally befuddled. Eyes rolled back; snorting for breath; gavotting like a harlot; flagrantly showing herself --- especially asshole and puss! Nuns definitely would've frowned! And remember those sleighbells?

 

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

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

 

There was little chance I'd ever pass a Salvation Army Santa again, and not get a boner!

 

Thanks Pavlov!

 

And if Justine telegraphed urgency, Mos hand-delivered it!

Steam! Rage! Passion! Pluck! Pin-point pupils! Zombie-esque demeanor! The stupidest smirk imaginable! It all loomed rampant! In fact, to find another bloke so brazenly cranked, you'd have had to look at,... errr,... ahhh,...

 

me!

 

"Bubba, Monica, and Joseph!", the Captain thundered. "The Lad's gone bye-bye too!"

"Are ye sure?", Jimmy asked.

At that instant, Mos and I synchronously unzipped.

 

Unzip,... Spr-r-r-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-i-i-i-n-n-n-g-g-g!

Unzip,... Spr-r-r-r-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-i-i-i-n-n-n-g-g-g!

 

Had we swimming-caps and Olympic judges, our scores would have been perfect!

"Yah!", barked the Captain. "Yer darn tootin' I'm sure!"

 

Cra-a-a-a-a-c-k!

 

"Agagagft-s-d-s-d-s-d-h-t-z-z-zch! Whinny! Sob! Snort! Sob! Whinny! Whinny!"

 

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

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

jingle! jingle! jingle! jingle!

 

"Lookie!", Jimmy gushed. "The Lad seems totally obsessed! Like he's eaten too much Shaky Puddin'! And,... Ah-hyulk!,... Sgt. Mos looks,... Gulp!,... the same!"

"Ye don't fockin' say?", dead-panned the Captain. "Tell me, Jimmy, do ye follow the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation?"

"Errr,... yah, Captn'. Who doesn't?"

"And are ye familiar with it's methodology?"

"Ah-hyulk! Fock yah!"

"Excellent! Now Jimmy,... could I get ye ta step behind the Lad; put 'em in choke-hold, please?"

 

continued









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