faster pussycat... type! type!

I have an Uncle. He worked as a scientist for the Amerikan Secrect Service. This what he said. He claimed to be the head scientific and medical point man on the project to infuse Seattle's Water with LSD-25. He often would put the entire failure of that project on one key idea.
“ Paradoxically the ability to abandon the established self-concept increases with self-acceptance and decreases with diminished self-regard. The person who does not accept himself fears the exposure of the unacceptable elements and struggles to maintain control in the face of the drug's effects. And thus...”, he would add only a smile. Like any of us knew what the hell he was talking about. Ultimately we all thought he was nuts.
Now we are not an Amerikan bloodline, this should be known. I am what some people kindly refer to as a foreigner. I was not born in that country, have never visited it, and can really not find a reason that would entice me to go there momentarily or for any prolonged period. Amerika scares the shit out of me. In the same way, as a child we would have been scared of another child that was 10 times my size that was obliviously mentally damaged with trends toward violence of things he didn't understand. And to be fair, the giant retard understands little.
But I digress, this is a story of reinstallation of faith. A reminder of the pride in family and in their achievements. This is a story of my inventive Uncle and he greatest invention yet, The Ass Fucking Chair.
I first saw the chair in action as a younger man. Not by compulsion, I would have never imagined a scene like that, nor would I have asked for the admission to see it if i had imagined it. But like most discoveries, I made this one completely by accident. Came upon the scene without hesitation a young man seated in the chair what stuck me as odd it seemed as his hands were bound, his eyes glazed, and his pants were intact except for, as I would learn later, the ass section of material. This had been dissolved. Ill touch back on this momentarily.
Perhaps now would be the best time to touch what exactly the chair was constructed of. This chair was fabricated of a body recovered at the Roswell Crash. Okay so yopu your wondering were did my Crack Pot Uncle get a Alien Body? Simple question, simple answer: payment. The Amerikan Goverment gave my uncle a alien body as payment fort the work he had done for them in the time of the great acid test. And why.... well because Acid-25 was the drug that was synthesized while trying to reproduce the alien jizz. And it was my uncle that was on top of that project.

What i had seen was fairly simple. The man in the chair . There was no point in talking to him. My uncle later explained that this was because he was in the grips of the excretions. The excretions?, I asked my Uncle. He said the excretion of the alien penile gland has worked as both a mild corrosive formula, but doubled as an hyper aphrodisiac, and had reprocussions that would allow it to be used for reprogramming. The process for this starts as the persons sits in the chair. And the chair feels to warm. Although the creature that was destroyed to build this sitting device, many of the organs keep an autonomous vigil. The lungs still swell, the eyes move, this can be creepy if you know where to look, and what to look for. And know as to be explained, the sexual organs still work. So as the victim sits in the chair he notices that the seat becomes warm. This is the beginning of the dissolution of the pants. After the secretion of the penal gland have burned off the seat of the victims pants those very same secretions then act as an aphrodisiac, or a mild brain washing drug. The victim slips into a state of total acceptance. As if the massage was transmitted thru the secretion, accepted by the anus for transmission, and agreed upon by the brain. by the time this happens, it already over. The fingers of the hands wrap them around the Victims wrists. and you know the alien penis is far inside the seated ass.

A sign has been placed on the chair. It reads simply: “Uncle Erasmus' ass fucking chair.

The screams were blood curdling and horrifying. Looks of horror came from the observers of such an unusual torture. Many wondered how someone could treat another human being so cruelly.

Beaten into submission by the screams of her toddler, the mother carried her into McDonald’s to purchase the dreaded Happy-Meal.

He loved this feeling. He sauntered past the cages, his power over them palpable. One by one they laid down on their backs for him whimpering, legs up in the air, spread for his approval. The bitch at the end caught his eye, something about her sixth nipple was inescapable.

His patent submission was fairly unusual. I mean, who would propose tiny condoms to help control rat population worldwide? He ignored all of their gloomy advice. The "Wrap your rat with that!" campaign was wildly successful in Seattle, where men are known for their diminutive dongs and wee willy winkies.

“You want another?!?” I ask.

“Please,” he states.

I don’t understand how he can handle any more. Aren’t his balls numb by now?

And yet, it is my job to please him. So I slowly slide another quarter into the rocking horse outside the Mini Mart. Damn three year olds.

(Apparently Zani and I were on the same path - to quell the anal penile gland!)

“But that’s what it means!”
”Why do I have trouble believing you?” The skepticism was evident on her face.
“Look, you don’t have to believe me,” she defended. “It’s just true.”
“Uh huh. Well, if Islam means ‘Peace through submission to God’, why are so many Muslims blowing shit up?”

"Submissive tonight?"

He meekly nodded.

She bound him strongly to the king sized bed posts. The pulley system installed months ago tightened, raising his naked body off the sheets.

She leaned over, slipped a quarter between his lips and rode him like the Mini Mart rocking horse all night long.

I sit down with my laptop. I start to write my 50. Frantically typing, I’m breathing hard, excited. It feels so good. Here it comes. The words are flowing now. I’m so close. Not enough words. Now, too many words.

Almost there. That’s right. That’s just right.

I press submit.

laura's ambitious submission to the academy was denied sincerely and with heart-felt sympathy while including a best of luck in re-applying in the following year. she decided that her path was unfolding for her and submitted to following her dream. laura is currently known as mother board as a consultant for a BDSM fan curriculum with a growing membership of 150,000.

see how far you can get without a degree.