Best In Show

An original story by Mitt O'Toole

Illustrated by Ned Dream




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:






By the time we reached the shuttle-taxis, my dick was mimicking a battering-ram. Spin and Dry had this provocative way of trotting ( knees pistoning to rib-height; titties jitterbugging in all directions ), which really got me going. Factor in the glistening girl-sweat and gorgeous hair, and I was one cranked jamoke!


Hey, anybody need a door broken down?


"Limo-stand 4, please", Mos ordered the girls.

There were a dozen exits --- all with huge lines waiting for taxis --- all of which seemed to be crawling. One in particular appeared stagnant; populated with blank expressions, slouched shoulders, and palpable despair.

"Who're the poor sots in that line?", I asked.


"Oh. What a doggone shame. How about that one?"

I'd pointed to another dour procession --- which seemed to be moving backward!

"Political pundits."

"Gee, too bad."

Then I caught a glimpse of our line. Fuck! There must've been 700 people --- advancing slower then a contested recount.

"I guess I can stop worrying about the barber-gig. I'll be ready to retire by the time we get a taxi!"

"Wha-da-ya mean, Lad?"

"Well, just look at the length of this lin... "

Just as I was pointing to the end of our line, Spin and Dry galloped past it, with us and our hover-boards close behind ( did I mention that Mos and I were on hover-boards --- being towed like a couple of charioteers? ).

"Jeepers! How can we just skip everybody?", I blurted. "They're gonna be pissed! And some look mighty uncivil to start with! We're gonna get stomped!"

"Ye mean like thet Stentagorus over there?", Mos replied. "They fancy eating 5-parters fer snack-food, ye know!"


( Ed. note: "5-parter" is slang for five-part radial symmetry , the basic earth-person morphology )


"Gulp! That's exactly what I mean! Wow, he's an ugly mother-fucker! With Holmesian-sized fangs to boot! And look what he's doing with his hook,... raising it,... and,... errr,... ahhh,... errr,... saluting us?

"Yep. Thet's what I'd call it", Mos replied, snapping off a crisp counter-salute. "I'd advise ye ta do the same, Lad. He's saluting ye too, ye know!"


"Well of focking course he is! After all, Lad, ye are a barber recruit!"

Although totally missing the point, I quickly complied. The tenet was simple.


When an eight-foot-tall ugly mother-fucker,

covered with scales,

and possessing hooks for hands,

salutes you,...


salute-the-fuck back!


"Good show, Lad!", Mos said. "But ye better not stop there."


It was only then I'd noticed they were all saluting us! Men! Women! Co-Eds! Reptilians! Everyone we were taking skips on! And they all looked entirely pleased! Even downright deferential! Heck, they were even...


cheering us!


Mos repeatedly snapped his wrist. When I joined him, hordes of young girls let out shrieks. Applause skyrocketed. I was stunned!

"They like me. They really like me!"

"That they do, Lad", Mos winked.

"Now I know how a rock-star feels", I jabbered, ducking a fan's hurled bra; grinning like an idiot.

As we reached the front, a brusque, no-nonsense attendant was in the process of escorting an important-looking couple into a limo. When he saw us, his expression turned warm and sappy. Without missing a beat, he abruptly collared the dignified gentleman; ass-kicked him off the platform.

"Make way, Bub! There's barbers approaching!"

Then he grabbed the lady, booted her so hard, her big fanny's probably still reverberating!

"Ye too, Bitch!"

He hurled their luggage in their wake.

Then he turned to us.

"Please, Sirs, right this way! Watch yer step."

The limo was huge; leather upholstery soft and luxurious. As I sunk into my seat, Mos pressed a drink in my hand.

"Ye look like ye could use this, Lad."

It was Cuervo. My favorite.

Spin and Dry nestled into the facing seat, all cozy and jiggly; spreading their thighs.

As our luggage was being secured, Spin began playing footsie with me; Dry with her. The adoring crowd circled our vehicle, pressing palms and faces on the windows, straining for one more glimpse.

And for some reason, a pair of voices caught my attention. That of a little kid and his breathless mom.


"Mommy, are those men important?"

"Oh yes, Timmy! They're very important!"

"Like Senators?"

"Sakes alive, Timmy! Much more then that!", the mom gushed. "Those men are Barbers!"





Dry was staring at Spin. Spin at me. I at Spin!

No,... make that gawking at her!

Oh alright,... mind-fucking her!

Man, what a looker! Maria Bartiromo eyes --- gorgeous hair --- flawless skin --- fabulous nose --- pouty lips --- athletic shoulders --- dazzling boobs --- breathtaking hips --- luscious haunches --- snazzy calves --- and the cutest feet this side of Cinderella!

And,... as my raging boner would attest,... very resourceful toes!



Ga-a-a-a-a-w-d! Could that girl play footsie, or what?




Boner accommodation suddenly became pressing, requiring more shifting then a Grand Prix driver.

"Ye seem ta have ants in yer pants, Lad", Mos chirped.

"It's not a-ants", I flushed.

"Well maybe ye jest need something ta focus on?"


Before I could reply further, Mos reached forward and plucked Spin's loincloth.

"Snort! Whinny! Snort!"


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


"Ga-ga-ga-a-a-a-a-a-a-w-w-w-w-w-d! She's,... she's,... "

Except for piercings, sleighbells, and bondage-paraphernalia, the dreamboat now sat totally nude. And wholly accommodating! Spreading herself fully open; preening without a speck of reserve.

"Don't ferget what I said about expressing accolades, Lad", Mos reminded me.

"Whinny! Snort! Whinny!"


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


Spin was a terrific memory-jogger!

"Yabba!", I blurted!

"That's a good Lad!"

"S-She's s-shaved!", I jabbered back.


"She's smoother-n a baby! Slicker-n Bubba! She's got no pussy hair, Man!"

"Oh that? Well,... of course not! She's a ponygirl", Mos nonchalantly replied.

"But there's absolutely no shadow! Not a speck! Nada! Nohl! Nichts! Nothingamore! Do you know how she got so explicitly hairless?"

"Do I know? Fock! I'm the swab who'd done it!"


"Fock, yah! I am a barber, ye realize!"

"But,... "

"Oh it's nothin' difficult! Heck, we'll have ye masterin' the technique in a blink!"


"Well of focking-course, ye! Fer Clinton's sake, Lad, wha-da-ye fathom ye're gonna learn in Barber School anyway?"

"I t-thought it was how to g-gave haircuts?"

"Well,... that too! Look closely at her coiffure, and ye'll see our handiwork. But we don't stop with the noggin! Especially not with ponygirls. And I'd be a liar if I said it any differently!"

It was hard to look beyond Spin's gorgeous eyes. Or her facial accouterments --- two golden studs at each ear; a gleaming ring skewered through her nostrils; smaller ones astride her eyebrows; two more in her lower lip, and a huge, latex bit incapacitating her mouth ( neck-strap buckled at the last hole ).



That's why I'd overlooked the haircut!

But on closer scrutiny, she did sport a unique coiffure, having had her hairline set back four centimeters; with a cute wisp of bangs combed forward. And, like her puss, whatever the razor had touched loomed stubble-free.

The rest of her sumptuous locks ( and there were lots ), were drawn into that stunning pony-tail ( see chpt. 3 ).

"Wow", I mumbled, "t-that's p-pretty radical!"

"Thank ye."

"H-How you'd g-get the s-shaved areas s-so s-smooth?" My speech was getting increasingly pressured. So were my boxers.

"I'll say one thing, Lad. Once ye get a notion, ye don't give up on it! It's thet kind-o focus thet'll serve ye well! But we'll cover the technical questions later. What I'd like to know now , is if ye like the way she looks? I mean, does she meet with yer personal approval?"

Was he kidding? Here's a zillion Clintollars! Do you like it? Could any two-fister not be enthralled? Heck, even Dry, who sat every bit as pierced and gagged and bare ( except for her loincloth ), seemed to be ga-ga over the dark-haired dreamboat; playing a game of footsie herself --- girl-on-girl --- coy nudges and tickles --- quite sexy really!

"I like it! I like it a lot!", I rasped, sounding like I'd just swallowed a gravel sandwhich --- followed by a sandpaper chaser!

"Whinny! Snort! Whinny!"


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

slap! slap!

slap! slap!

slap! slap!


"She likes ye too, Lad!"

"She does?", I blathered, eyes riveted on Spin, boner mimicking a stalagmite! "How d-do you know?"

"Well, fer Clinton's sake, she just focking said so!"

It was pony-speak. And Mos was an expert translator. I was about to get a crash-course!

"A trio of tit-slaps, coupled with hitch-hiker toes? That's an easy one! She covets yer protein, Lad! No doubt about it."

"My p-protein?"


Spin's big toes were fully extended and quivering. So were her nipples --- all pink-n-pouty --- as alluring as possible. Golden rings cinched the former; shish-ka-bobbed the latter. Sleighbells whorishly jingled at both, driven by a combination of twitching muscle, boob-joggling breaths, and fleshy impulsiveness.

"And if ye don't believe it, Lad", Mos continued, "just look at her eyes!"


"I said her eyes, Lad! Please focus yer's about 60 centimeters upward!"

"I'm trying! I'm trying!"

Spin's pussy was a knock-out! Gorgeously pouty and smooth; labia adorned with glimmering rings; bejeweled clitoris the pi`ece de re'sistance! My attention was hammer-locked. I could barely get myself to exhale, much less look away.

"Ok! Ok! I'm d-doing it! I'm l-looking toward h-her eyes-s-s-s-s-s-s,.... "

"Whinny! Snort! Whinny!"


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

slap! slap!



"Not her boobs, Lad! Her eyes!", Mos chided. Then he admonished Spin. "Fer Clinton's sake, Girl, hold them titties still, so the Lad can concentrate!"

Jeepers! How much more pliant and wiggly and ball-breakingly whorish could a pair of tits get --- before my jaw cracked from smiling? And those beckoning nipples! And jingling sleighbells! It took a mental pry-bar to shift my stare.

But I did!

And, wow! Mos wasn't kidding!

"Y-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-b-b-a!", I hissed.

"Now ye've got it, Lad! That's unadulterated lust she's telegraphing! Have ye ever seen a female look so impassioned?"

"Errr,... ahhh,... m-maybe M-Maria Bartiromo?"

"No argument", Mos conceded. "She was a jewel, sure-as-shit! A Double-Yabba from the get-go! No wonder she's commemorated on Mount Bonermore. But I was referin' to females ye've personally encountered."

"Errr,... well,... on prom night, after I'd gone down on my girlfriend for 30 minutes non-stop, and she'd cum about six times, she kinda had that same glazed look. Not quite as intense. But similar."

"And what'd she do then?"

"Errr,... she,... ahhh,... pleasured me.

"Come on, Lad. What did she fockin' do?"

"She let me throat-fuck her --- down on her knees like a bitch-dog; sweating like a pig; mewing like a coyote; drumming her bare toes to a crescendo!"

"Sounds like she had quite the animal-thing going. And did she swallow the load?"

"Naw. Spit it out! She said she didn't want to have sexual relations!"

"Well that's where any similarity ends, Lad!"


"We've a cardinal rule in Barber School. No spittin'!"

"Gee, the last time I heard that one was back in third grade."

"Well this is higher education, Lad! And the course-load will be diverse --- classes in shearing debutantes, matrons, novitiates, and of course, a ponygirl curriculum that's lauded galaxy-wide!"

"Classes? P-Ponygirl curriculum?"

"Exactly! But let's get back on track. We was talking about Spin's eyes, if I recall. Take a good look, Lad! They'll tell ye what she covets.

I did Mos's bidding; locked eyeballs; took a really good look!




Unbridled whorishness! That's what blasted me like a freight train; made my hair stand on end! God she looked hot! Fully wound-up! Nitro-charged! Ready to blow! Focusing cross-hairs directly on...


... me!


"Ga-a-a-a-a-a-w-w-w-w-w-w-d! I,... I,... "

"Easy, Lad, don't try to talk. Save yer energy fer the inevitable!

"The inevitable?"

"The province of a dark-eyed slut, Lad! Thet's what I'm referin' to! The writings on the focking wall, if ye ask me!

"Snort! Whinny! Snort!"


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

slap! slap!

slap! slap!

jingle! jingle! jingle!

slap! slap!

jingle! jingle! jingle!


"Ah,... ba,... gah,... jah,..."

The surge of blood to my balls rendered me temporally mute! Nevertheless, I'd continued devouring the view. And I wanna tell ya, if one could over-dose on eye-candy, I'd have needed my stomach pumped! Maybe Mos was on to something. Maybe that's why I'd always preferred Veronica over Betty ( Or Betty over Wilma ). Or, for that matter, the back-door over the front! Or never fantasized about fucking Lucille Ball ( well, not very often ). Maybe it was the darkness!

"Gasp! Couldn't t-talk there for a m-moment", I stuttered!

"Don't worry, Lad. Voicebox mutation ( V. B. M. ) is commonplace! We see it all the time in new recruits. It's nothing to fret about! First ye get loss of articulation. Followed by Burt Reynolds mimicry. Then the barnyard stuff! It's normal!"

"Barnyard s-stuff?"

"Yah! Now why don't we get Spin down on her knees, so ye can get a better feel for the Barber's jurisdiction. No pun intended, of course."





"Well? Wha-da-ya think, Lad?

"Ah,... ga,... bah,... wah,..."

It was V.B.M. My larynx wasn't working. At least not very articulately. But my hands sure were.

"Pretty smooth, huh?", Mos pressed.

"Ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-ah! S-Smoother-n shaky p-puddin'!"

Yikes! I'd already hit phase-two of V.B.M --- recitation of dialog from old Burt Reynolds movies.

"Yep! We'd made her exactly thet! Slick as polished glass!"

Spin was on wide-spread knees, ass fully reared-up ( toward me ), torso bent forward, chin levered on the facing seat, mashed into Dry's crotch ( who'd shifted over to accommodate ). Her feet were kicked-back; straddling me. She was playing center. I was quarterback. Except, instead of pigskin, it was shaved-pussy being hiked!

And in the boner-department, instead of hut-one, it was et tu!




Mos, sounding decidedly more cranked, had become a brother-in-arms. Bless him!

"Peel those fat lips apart, Lad. Use the rings. That's what they're there for. Here,... lemmie give ye a hand."

He gripped a starboard ring. I an opposite one. Together we pulled Spin obscenely open. My right hand circumnavigated like Magellan --- exploring everything --- her jingling hardware --- girlish curves --- plump labia --- damp crevices --- wiggly girl-button!

"Don't neglect the girl-way, Lad."


"The girl-way! Give it a tickle! Capish?"

"N-Not r-really."

"Great Clinton's ghost!", Mos blurted, smacking a palm to his forehead. "Of course ye don't! Where did I leave me brains today? Ye haven't learned a speck-o barber vernacular yet!"

"Barber vernacular?"

"Fock yah! Look,... run yer finger in the groove betwixt her pussy and asshole,... under where that cable runs.

"L-Like t-this?"

"Exactly. Feel any stubble?"

"Nichts!", I jabbered.

"That stretch is called the girl-way. And it's a barber's obligation ta keep it totally hairless!"


"Now then, Lad,... see her pooper?"

"Errr,... yah!"

"What else do ye see?"

"Ahhh,... errr,.... it l-looks like a dildo!"

"Bingo! A # 5 to be exact. Buried, of course, to the focking hilt! Just like the # 4 up her cunny! Can ye fathom a better designed applience?"

She was wearing a double-pronged pelvic harness ( D.P.P.H.) --- dildos up both holes --- secured with ultra-thin cable, buried within crack and cunny --- wrenched as tight as possible --- padlocked at front and back.



I ran my finger around Spin's bung. Gooseflesh erupted, darting here and there, looming as delicious as possible. Girl-muscle squirmed. Boobies joggled. Digits fanned and wiggled.

My dick took note.


Double Spr-r-r-r-r-o-o-o-o-i-i-i-i-n-n-n-n-n-g-g-g-g!


Voicebox too!

"She l-ooks sweeter-n,... s-shaky p-puddin-n-n-n-n-n-n... "

"Whinny! Whinny! Snort! Snort! Whinny!"


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

slap! slap! slap! slap! slap! slap!


"Settle down, Girl!", Mos scolded. "Yer gettin' a bit too frisky!"



"Whinny! Snort! Whinny! Whinny! Snort!"


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

slap! slap! slap! slap!

slap! slap!


He'd released Spin's ring; gave her big bottom a crisp spank. As cheekiness quaked, I felt my larynx double-up.

"Lookie t-that,... gasp,... gah,... s-shaky p-puddin-n-n-n-n-n-n... "

"Don't worry, Lad, she's jest a tad over-heated. Hey, that happens sometimes in this line-o work."

"Oh r-really?"

"Absolutely! But we've ways to curb it."




"Snort! Whinny! Snort! Snort! Whinny!"


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

slap! slap! slap! slap!

slap! slap!

slap! slap!




"Whinny! Whinny! Snort! Whinny!"


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

slap! slap! slap! slap!

slap! slap!

slap! slap!


Blotchy palm-prints glowed.

And Spin's reaction?




And mine?




"S-Shaky pud,... ding-g-g-g,... gasp!... dis h-here's da Bandit,... ten-four g-g-good buddy!"

"I hear ye, Lad", Mos acknowledged. "She's not settlin' down an iota. Normally, it'd be no problem --- simply a matter of oiling-up that big bare bottom-o her's; lashin' it till she swooned. That's our usual protocol fer curbing pre-groomin' friskiness, ye know."

"Pre-grooming f-friskiness?"

"Absolutely! And we exclusively employ fluidian razor-strops! Nothin' but the best, mind ye, hand-crafted from Planet Fluidia!"

Mos had lost me. Planet who? Handcrafted what?

In fact, the only thing that'd registered ( and kept on echoing ) was that part about the strops! And the possibility of using one on Spin's quivering bottom!

The thought was overwhelming!




As was another notion.


Can we strop her luscious haunches too?


"Under the present circumstances, however", Mos continued, ", we're not allowed ta employ corporal punishment!

"Nutter butter", I hissed!

"Instead, we'll have ta rely on plan L.!"


Mos reached forward and plucked Dry's loincloth.

Spin reacted instantaneously, bucking and rearing, kicking up a storm, wrenching at her arm-restraints; snapping her ponytail like a locker-room towel. And, of course, sounding off!

"Whinny! Snort! Whinny! Snort! Whinny! Whinny! Whinny! Snort!"


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

slappity! slap! slappity! slap! slappity! slap!

slap! slap! slappity! slap!

kick! kick!

kick! kick!

kick! kick!

kick! kick!


"Easy Girl", Mos commanded, as he reached for the buckle securing her bit-gag. His voice was genteel. A tone employed when giving praise, not a whack. Then he turned to me.

"She really want's some clam-dip, Lad. This is gonna be good! Ye'd be best advised to watch very closely! Nyuk! Nyuk!"

No kidding?

Gee, I really do have some reading to catch up on. But,... if you insist,...


... get out-da-way,

all yo mother-fuckers even thinkin'

'bout standin' up in front-o me!

I want's ta see!


Then he unbuckled her.


- continued-