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From: purfect9@aol.com (Purfect 9)
Subject: STORYbyMISTY: Mounted Policewoman pt1 (nc.oral+anal;bond;beast)
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The following story contains violence and sex, combined. (yikes!) as well as
acts of extreme perversion.
Due to its content, it should not be read by anyone.  PARTICULARLY anyone who
is under 21, either in age or IQ.  Also, if your locale does not recognize the
first amendment to the US Constitution (for instance, if you live in parts of
Georgia or Iowa), you may be forbidden to read on. Check your local laws, and
ALWAYS, I mean ALWAYS vote Libertarian.  Also, you are NOT encouraged to try
this with your girlfriend. Trust me, guys, she'll get pissed and it won't be
worth it.  

See My pic and outlines of some of my other favorite stories and story ideas on
my web-site, which you may visit for free at Http://members.aol.com/Purfect9.
When E-Mailing me to inquire about obtaining the full text of other erotic
fiction I've penned, Always be sure to write "STORY INQUIRY" in the subject
line.

And to those of you who've been buggerin' me to write a bestiality story, I
just couldn't find one in me.  So here's an "anti-bestiality" story.  The
moral, as you will see, is that it's OK to love your horse, just don't LOVE
your horse.  

MOUNTED POLICEWOMAN



In and out of her tight anus pounded the man's huge cock.  Slickened with his
spite, relaxed by the unexpected tonguing he had given it, her stretched open
sphincter muscle milked and squeezed his throbbing manhood.  She thrust back
toward him, although the handcuffs prevented full movement.  It had hurt a
little when he'd first entered her back there, but now she was feeling nothing
but pure pleasure.  His hands reached around to grope at her fleshy knockers,
and when his fingers made contact with her nipples, that was enough to send her
over the edge.  Her orgasm, in turn, pulled him past the point of no return and
he slammed into her upthrust buttocks one last time, spurting a river of
white-hot semen into her most private orifice.

More than a minute later, she noticed that they were breathing in synch with
one another as their breathing returned to normal.  He slowly pulled back, his
now slightly deflated penis pulling free from the snug embrace of her rectal
interior.  She squeezed, making his escape more difficult.  But suddenly it
popped free and the hole quickly sealed itself, trapping his love juice inside.

She lay still as he released the handcuffs, then heard the snapping of the
phone cord as he yanked it from the wall.  The phone itself crashed against the
far wall and then onto the floor.  Another full minute later, she sensed that
she was alone, and trembling, she rolled over and looked around the moonlit
room.  Gathering her strength, she got up and located her purse.  Pulling out
her cell phone, she pressed the three digits and hit "send".  "Police Dispatch.
 What is your emergency?"

"I've just been raped."  

Deputy Martin should have gotten this case too.  She was the first to realize
that they were dealing with a serial rapist.  That had been easy.  The MO was
unique, and so unchanging that the reports could have been written in advance.
Each victim had been out drinking on the night of her rape.  He apparently saw
them in various area bars, and when they left--by themselves--he followed them
home.  He would gain entry to their house, usually through an unlocked door or
by finding their hidden spare key.  On one occasion he had simply knocked,
asking to use the phone because his car was broken down.  And in the last two
cases, he had actually picked up the women in the bar and been invited back to
their home! In every case, once inside he would render them naked and restrain
them with handcuffs.  And then--the real "signature" move here--he would do
something that is all but unheard of in rape cases.  He would lick the victims
anus with his tongue.  On those rare occasions when a rapist offers his mouth
to a victim's genitals, it is usually just a quick means of applying
lubrication.  But this rapist seemed to take great pleasure in the enthusiastic
tongue lapping he gave to his victims' bottoms.  And, in all honesty, his
victims---every one of them--had stated that they found this part of the
assault quite pleasant.

None of them had ever experienced analingus prior to their attack.  In fact,
only one had ever experienced anal intercourse before.  He seemed adept at
selecting girls who were somewhat sheltered, somewhat naïve.  Two of the
victims had stated that it had never even occurred to them that it was possible
to take a penis in their rectum.  Which made it all the more startling that he
was able to get every single on of his victims to enjoy the assault.  Every
known victim, that is.  Seven out of ten rapes go unreported, and in a case
where the victim actually ends up liking it, that figure is probably much
higher.  Indeed, some of his victims may not even realize that what was done to
them is still considered rape.

Deputy Michelob Martin had a good record with the department.  (Yes, Michelob
is her actual name, on her badge and on her birth certificate.  Named after her
fathers favorite beer.  You'd think that her mom would have intervened, but she
could not.  She had already agreed to let Mr. Martin choose the name of their
second born, since she had chosen the name of their first, a boy.  Mr. Martin
wasn't too keen on his only son being named "Ayn" after the author of "Atlas
Shrugged", but it was important to Mrs. Martin.  So he gave in on the condition
that he could get even by giving their next child an unusual name.  Ayn and
Michelob Martin learned early in life that a well-chosen nickname was a
lifesaving benefit on the playground at school.  Ayn, by flipping a couple of
letters and adding an "R" became known as "Ryan"; and Michelob would come to be
called "Misty".  Or Deputy Martin.)  Yes, Deputy Martin had a good record with
the department.  She had taken the report of the first victim, highlighting a
valuable clue:  While having her anus licked, the young woman was pretty sure
she felt a solid, hard object in the middle of his tongue.  A piercing?  Yes,
she though so. A week later, another rape victim said the same thing, adding
that it was shaped like a tiny barbell.  A semen match was confirmed that both
women were raped by the same man.  A sketch artist was brought in from the
state police post, and Deputy Martin personally took the sketch to every tattoo
parlor in the area, inquiring about their tongue pierced clientele, but to no
avail.

Several more victims later, another pattern emerged.  All the victims looked
the same, physically.  And, with a shudder of empathy, Deputy Martin realized
who they reminded her of.  All were in their mid to late twenties.  All had
shoulder length blonde hair.  All had blue eyes, full lips, and a pretty face.
And all had a much larger than average bust size.  In short, they all looked an
awful lot like the woman who stared back from Misty's vanity mirror.  (Though
had it been a full-length mirror, one difference might have been obvious.  None
of the victims had large hips.  That's the only polite way to say it.  No one
would say that Misty was fat, really. Sure, she had some meat on her bones.
Breasts as large as hers didn't show up on skinny girls, except when a plastic
surgeon is involved.  Her waist, at 26 inches, might actually be considered
skinny, helping to enhance her classic coke bottle figure.  No, the extra
calories she consumed from time to time didn't collect themselves there.  Aside
from her oversized chest, every once of fat on her 5'6" frame had found its way
to her buttocks.  Yes, there is no kind way to say it:  Misty had a fat ass.)
She looked again at the pictures of the victims.  Then down at her body.  Then
at the donut on the wax paper in front of her.  A tear ran down her cheek as
she took another bite, her thoughts of the moment making it hard to enjoy the
rich creamy filling.

She was thinking of her poor horse, Slartibartfast. (Named from an unusual
character in a Douglas Adams Science fiction book.  Rather than object to the
unusual name she had chosen--no one wanted to say to Michelob that unusual
names were bad--the other deputies simply called the horse "Bart".  She too had
her own pet name for Slartibartfast, she called him "Slarty".)  Hers had been
the only police horse in the county, and had represented the department
valiantly at parades, during career day at the local schools, and at fairs and
festivals, and once during the funeral of a police officer who was killed in a
car crash in the line of duty.  But her beloved Slarty had developed back
problems a year or so back.  The vet had assured her that the spinal curvature
was hereditary, and was not painful to the horse,  But the sag in the middle
did create the illusion that the horse had been "overloaded".  Continued
display at police functions would have been an embarrassment to the department,
to the horse, and certainly to "Mile Wide Misty" as she'd once overheard
someone call her during a parade.

And so when the department decided to retire its only police horse, they
offered her for sale at the police auction.  Knowing that the horse had been
more Misty's than anyone else's, No one bid against her at the action, everyone
was happy to see her take possession of the animal in exchange for her $1 bid.
A corral was built in her back yard, and now Slartibartfast had the run of the
place.

"Your gun and your badge, deputy Martin!"
"It's not fair!  She doesn't look anything like the victims!!!"
"Neither do you, Misty. Not one of them had 48 inch hips.  You were taken off
this case.  Your persistence has jeopardized trooper Lewinski's investigation!"
 She fought to keep from laughing out loud.  Trooper Mary Lewinski used to have
a nice, common name.  Probably the type of schoolgirl who would have made fun
of someone named "Michelob".  But now things were a little different.  It must
be bad enough to have "M.Lewinski" on the name tag, but she actually looked
like the famous intern, too.  But she did not look like the victims in this
case, and Misty couldn't believe they had brought her in to use as a decoy.
And so on her own time, she had gone to the nightclubs where the rapist might
prowl.  Even though she had been warned not to.  She had a much better chance
of cracking the case, but trooper Lewinski had gone to the same club last
night, and complained this morning.  "One week.  Without pay!  Now hand them
over!"

She placed her gun and badge on the desk, and the Sheriff quickly slid them
into a drawer.

That night, she dined at one of the more upscale places in town, the Yacht
Club.  (It wasn't really a yacht club, the only body of water nearby was a
small stream that dried up completely during any hot spells.  But they did
decorate the place with a nautical theme, and the seafood was excellent.)  She
sat with her back to the wall, and with the tablecloth hiding her extra few
pounds, she could easily have been mistaken for the most attractive woman in
the crowded room.  Indeed, several guys tried to start conversations with her
or buy her drinks, but as soon as she was able to rule them out as a suspect,
she quickly and efficiently blew them off.  Most hadn't met the physical
description, and the ones who did, she only spoke to until she saw their
tongue.  (My name is "Michelob"--Say it "Mi kel Ob".  When they did, she could
see they had no tongue ornament.)

But then one guy came along, who did resemble the sketch.  She swore she heard
a "clink" when he raised his crystal glass to drink.  And sure enough, when she
made him say her name, she saw the telltale flash of silver.  "Is that a
barbell ornament in your tongue?" she asked innocently.

"Yeah",  he said, sticking it out for her to examine.  "Some people say it
makes for better oral sex."
"Oh really?  I think you should let a lady be the judge of that. <wink>  Where
did you get it done?"
"I did it myself!" He exclaimed proudly. That explained why none of the tattoo
parlorkeepers had seen him.
"I've been thinking about getting a belly button ring.  Do you still have the
needles and the disinfectant and stuff?  Maybe you could do me!"
"Sure I do!  Well, I'd have to run home and get it.  Say, why don't you give me
your address?  I could drop by your place in, say an hour?"  She scribbled her
address on a napkin, and he turned to leave.  But on his way out the door, he
literally bumped into trooper Lewinski, who also engaged the suspect in
conversation.  
"Damn"  thought Misty, slipping out the back way unseen. Unseen because she
didn't want to get in any more trouble for disobeying the sheriff.  And unseen
because she didn't want the suspect to see her oversized rump and decide that
trooper Lewinski was a better catch.

And so, back at her small home, she waited.  It was a hot night, and she opened
the patio door, shouting a greeting to Slarty.  It was OK to shout, there were
no neighbors around for miles.  Slarty whinnied back to her.   After an hour,
she was sure that the rapist had taken the bait of Trooper Lewinski, and was
probably in custody by now.  But just in case, she left her front door unlocked
as she moved the coffee table aside and folded the couch out into a bed,
turning her living room into her bedroom.  She stripped naked, turned the light
off and the TV on.  (This far from town, there was no light coming in the
window on a moonless night, and the TV on mute gave just the right amount of
light for sleeping.  Some nights, she left the volume on just  a bit, for
distraction noise, but tonight, she wanted to be able to hear any visitors
arrive.)  Soon, she was fast asleep.

"Come in!" She heard herself say in response to a knock on the door.  And he
did.  
"Hi, it's me.  I had a little trouble finding the place.  And I had trouble
finding my piercing equipment at home.  But I got it all, right here."

"Oh, yeah."  She said, rubbing her eyes as they focused on him in the dim light
from the TV.  "Well, I changed my mind on that after all.  But you can come in
for a while anyway, if you want."  She sat up, clasping her thin sheet to her
body with one hand, rubbing her shoulder with the other.

"I'll just set this bag of stuff at the foot of the bed, then.  Say, is your
shoulder sore?  I give great massages, why don't you roll onto your stomach?!"

"OK" she answered, tossing off the sheet and exposing her 38 D cups to his
almost shocked gaze.  This is it, she thought.  The moment of truth.  She
rolled onto her stomach, reaching under the pillow to make sure her pistol was
still where she had placed it.  She felt the cold steel in her fingers, and
waited to feel the hot steel of that tongue stud delve between her ample
buttocks.  As soon as she could positively identify that as his MO, she had
him.  She felt his hands upon her buttocks, softly, gently.  Spreading them,
then pressing them together.  Massaging them, feeling their mass.  And then the
hands were gone.

"Look, I'm sorry, I've made a mistake coming here I think.  I'm just gonna go
now."  

She begged his pardon. "I beg your pardon?!"

"Yeah, look, it's really late.  I just remembered I've gotta get up in the
morning. Maybe we can go out next week or something, I'll call you.  Yeah,
that's it, I'll call you!"

"What?"  She asked, drawing the gun from beneath the pillow as he made his way
toward the door with the bag of stuff he'd brought.  "My ass is not good enough
for you?  Since when are rapists so damn choosy!"

It took him a moment to see that she was pointing a gun directly at him. 
"R-r-r-r apist?" He stuttered in disbelief.

"Look, I know you're the rapist, you know you're the rapist.  There are no
lawyers here, so you don't have to enter a plea.  I just want to know why you
didn't want to rape ME.  And you better choose your words carefully, I've been
a little sensitive about the size of my rear lately."

"I'm no rapist!"  he insisted, lamely.

"Fine" she said, flicking on a lamp.  Empty the bag.  He stood still.  She
pulled back the hammer with a "click".  He dumped the bags contents onto the
floor:  Four sets of handcuffs--good ones, the same kind as her department
uses, a length of chain and a padlock, and a roll of duct tape.  And none of it
admissible in court, because of how she'd obtained it.  And of course, she
hadn't gotten him to expose his MO, either.  He was gonna walk.  Not only that,
but SHE was in trouble.  She was the criminal here.

"JUST TELL ME WHY, AND I'LL LET YOU GO!  But if you say 'I'm not the rapist'
once more, I'm gonna do society a favor and shoot you six times."

"Well" he said meekly. "When I seen you laying face down, I just suddenly
realized you weren't my type, that's all."  

"Not your type!  NOT YOUR TYPE!!!  You're a rapist!!!! How can I not be your
type."  She was waving the pistol in a way that made him fear for his very
life.  "My ass is fat!  Say it!  SAY IT!!!!!"

"well, it's just a little bigger than I'm used to, that's all."

"And what about the girl you talked to after me in the bar tonight.  Didja like
her ass?  Why didn't you go visit her?  Hmmmm?  Hmmmm?"

"Well, yes, she had a very nice butt." He saw her trigger finger start to
twitch.  "But she wasn't as pretty as you!" he added quickly.  "And I love your
hair, and your lips, and, and your chest, it's just awesome.  Please don't
shoot me.  I'm sorry!"

"Put those cuffs on. But first, kick that key over here.   One pair for your
ankles, one pair on your wrists--no, behind your back--and one pair linking the
two."  When he'd done what she asked, she picked up the key and told him to
kneel at the foot of the bed.  It was awkward, hogtied as he was.  Pressing his
pelvis to the bed, he managed to balance on his knees, but it was very
uncomfortable. Meanwhile, she disappeared for a minute into the bathroom,
telling him he'd better not move a muscle till she came back.

She returned, placing the gun on an end table.  Then she knelt--still nude--on
the bed with her buttocks facing him.  She then backed toward him till they
were, uh, cheek to cheek.  Almost knocking him off balance as he attempted to
keep a little distance between his face and the mondo ass approaching him.

"The string you see coming out of my asshole is attached to the key.  If you
can retrieve it using only your tongue, you can free yourself and leave.  If
you use your teeth to pull the string, I'll bust them out with a baseball bat,
and then we'll try again.  Understand?"  In answer, he ran his tongue up her
groove, trying to use his barbell stud to catch the tiny loop in the string.
It wasn't easy.  The loop was small, and the stud was back a ways from the tip
of his tongue.  He had to stick his tongue all the way out and press it hard to
her ass-crack as he licked upward.  After several attempts, he hooked it!  But
when he pulled back, he realized that he couldn't pull hard enough without
hurting himself, since the key was aperently lodged quite tightly up her ass.
So he used the tip of his skillful tongue to work at loosening and lubricating
the tight sphincter muscles---darting inward around the string, leaving a wet
trail of slippery spit.

Misty was in heaven during all this.  She'd never had her butt licked before,
and now she knew suddenly that she would need to have this done on a more
regular basis.  She understood why all the victims liked this part of the rape.
 She rested the weight of her heavy hanging tits onto the mattress, reaching
back with both hands to rub her clit and the lips of her vagina, which had
begun to secrete it's nectar.  She pressed her buttocks harder onto his face as
she felt her climax draw near.  And he worked harder and faster at extricating
the key from her ass.  But what she didn't realize, is that he was also working
at opening the handcuffs behind him, using the spare key that he always carried
in his back pocket.  That was no easy task, especially trying to do it quietly.
 But finally, his hands were free, and he was grasping the cuffs by their metal
chain.  

Just as Misty reached her peak, he bit the string with his teeth and pulled the
key from her throbbing, clenching anal ring.  Then he grabbed her hands, both
of which were conveniently buried in the fur of her climaxing cunt, and slapped
the cuffs on her before she could say "what the fuck!"  In a moment, the cuff
which had held his ankles now held hers.  He had intertwined the chains from
the wrist and ankle cuffs, eliminating the need for the third pair she had made
him use to complete the hog-tie.  Now SHE was the helpless one, and he began to
strip, all the while explaining that he had changed his mind about her ass
being too big.  She wanted to have her ass raped, eh?  He'd show her than an
anal rape was no goddamn picnic.  It wasn't a game.  He was gonna fuck her ass,
but good!

Oh my God!  She suddenly realized the horror of her situation.  She was tied
up, her ass sticking up over the edge of the bed.  And her gun way over there
on the end table!  How had she allowed this to happen? His hands slapped down
onto her ass with a lewd spanking sound.  This time, the hands weren't
massaging, or fondling.  They were spreading.  Peeling the big cheeks back.
Then, two spade-like thumbs pressed into the crevice, pulling the edges of the
hole itself apart.  Just for good measure, he leaned down and ran his tongue up
the crack once---and that did feel good.  But then she felt the throbbing head
of his penis press right between his powerful thumbs.  Lodged firmly against
the moist, virginal asshole, he released the cheeks, allowing the gelatinous
buttocks to close around the shaft.  His hands moved to the front of her hips,
pulling her back against him as he pushed forward.  

"NOOOOOOOO" she moaned, feeling the slick muscle start to give way.  What can I
do!  Oh god, what can I do!  Her mind raced in frantic panic.  Then it hit her.
  "SLARTY!!!" she screamed, adding the three little whistles that had been
their code for "come here, I need help right now."

"What the fuck's a 'Slarty'?"  he asked, just as his cockhead was about to pop
in.  His question was immediately answered as 2000 lbs of horse came crashing
through the patio door screen.  He screamed, breaking for the door but tripping
on his own pants as Slartibartfast skidded to a stop right were he'd been
standing.  The horse looked over at the silly naked man on the floor, and then
down at his master kneeling on the bed.  It took him a moment to recognize
Misty,  Slartibartfast was not used to seeing her at this angle, and there was
something a little different about her familiar scent.  He put his huge
nostrils against her crotch and sniffed.  Then his big tongue suddenly slurped
her from her belly button to the small of her back, smearing pussy juice upward
to her ass crack.  He stared at her butt for a moment, noticing how much it
resembled the horses' ass of a mare he'd known long ago.  

"Slarty, what are you DOING!"  came the voice of his master,  No, this was no
mares' ass.  This was the ass which had broken his back!  That had dug him with
spurs.  That made him practically beg for an apple or a carrot.  That would
ride him, even when he was tired.  Well, paybacks were hell, and now it was his
turn to ride.  Her ass was not as fine as a mares, but it would have to do in a
pinch.  Slartibartfast reared up, nearly banging his head on the vaulted
ceiling.  When his front hooves came down, they crashed through the mattress
and springs and down to the floor just above her shoulders.  And his hind legs
were right up to the foot of the bed, his saggy tummy resting heavily on her
back.  His massive cock, as big and hard as the thick end of a baseball bat,
pointed straight down, the shaft of it running adjacent to her upturned anal
crack and down past her pussy.  Not being a particularly kinky horse, he would
have liked to slide into her fragrant pussy, but then angle just wasn't right
for that .  On her knees, with her tits pressing down into the collapsed
bedsprings, her asshole was aimed straight up.  And his cock was aimed straight
down.  So when he stepped up onto the bedframe with his rear hooves, the hole
that his 18" cock lined up with was her slick little asshole.  And when the
mattress and bedsprings sagged, giving way under his weight, the horse dick
slowly slid into her tight, virginal ass.  

Meanwhile, Mr. Rapist sat there staring on in shocked amazement as he watched
the expression on Michelob's face as  her butt filled with horsemeat.  She saw
him looking at her, and wanted to turn away, but could not even toss her head,
much less move her body, so pinned was she beneath the weight of the stallion.
"help me" she mouthed weakly as the last of the mighty cock slipped unimpeded
into her colon.  Then, things got worse.  Slartibartfast began to fuck.  When
he first began to pull his cock out, she felt a sense of relief.  She had
somehow accidentally been impaled, but now the cock was being taken out, and
some of the crushing weight of the horses saggy stomach was lifting up as well.
 She managed to take a breath, gritting her teeth against the agony as it felt
like the cock was pulling all of her internal organs out with it.  But before
it cleared the gateway to her bowels, Slartibartfast heaved forward, burying it
to the hilt again, and this time the entry was not slow.   18" of radiator hose
thick cock shot into her guts, his groin slamming against her buttocks.  His
huge nutsack whacked her pussy, and the force of the lunge smeared her tits
along the mattress. Now that she was a little lower, he could pull all the way
back out to the tip of his cock with every thrust.  And so the fucking began in
earnest.  Slartibartfast stroked the full 18" with every thrust, knocking the
wind out of her and flattening her onto the bed.  She was gasping and coughing
and choking and crying and praying all at once, and yet the pain kept getting
worse.  The strokes kept getting harder and faster and more violent.  

With a mighty whinnie, the horse thrust forward with all his might, and
finally, the long-straining bed collapsed completely.  Both horse and rider
(ridee?) hit the floor as his legs gave out from under him.  The full weight of
the big animal was on her now, crushing her flat by breaking the chain of the
handcuffs that had held her tied in a kneeling position.  She could not
breathe.  The throbbing cock sunk another inch farther than it had gone until
now.  She could feel it deep inside her as it re-arranged her guts and
straightened her bowel tract.  And now it expanded, swelled within her,
stretching her anus and the walls of her colon still farther as the head pulsed
like a beating heart.  His nuts churned against her bruised pussy flesh, and
the liquid made its long journey up the imbedded shaft.  Her tensed body
finally let go, suddenly relaxing as the warmth of the soothing balm expanded
within her.  

As she neared the oblivion of unconsciousness, she felt a great weight being
lifted from her, and darkness had turned to light.  "Go toward the light" she
though to herself, before remembering that the light was just her lamp, and
that the great weight that had been lifted from her was a horse that had just
sodomized her. "Nice horsey"  said the rapist--the human rapist--as he shoo'd
Slartibartfast toward the kitchen.  

Air rushed into her lungs as she pulled in her first full breath.  God it felt
good to be able to breath!  She gulped in air, rolling onto her side, then to
her back.  Faster and faster she breathed, her big tits heaving.  She couldn't
get enough air!  "Here"  he said, handing her the paper bag in which he had
brought his "rape kit".  "Breathe into this."   And she did.

He shook his head.  This was one fucked up rape.  He comes to this fat-assed
bitches house, decides not to rape her and she goes psycho over that.  Then
when he does try to rape her up the ass, her horse comes busting in like the
stunt horse from a Hollywood movie and does the deed instead!  Damnedest thing
he ever saw.  Now he's still horny, but her ass is ruined, the bed is ruined,
and her brain is probably so confused right now that she wouldn't even be able
to understand a normal rape.  Oh well.  He was sure her ass was stretched
beyond repair, but she did still look pretty good from the front, especially
with those big heaving hooters.  He removed the busted handcuffs, and set a
couple of the couch cushions on the coffee table.  Then he helped her up and
walked her over to it, helping her lay down.  He took the bag away and wiped
off her face.  Some horse semen was drooling out of her forever-stretched anus,
and he gently wiped that off as well.  No blood.  He was amazed.

"ah, look, I'm kinda horny after watching that.  Is it OK if I rape you too?
Up the snatch I mean?"  

"It doesn't matter." She said, her voice flat, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.
And so he entered her, and she neither resisted nor aided him.  Her head rolled
slowly from side to side, not in rhythm to his strokes.  Slartibartfast,
meanwhile, had found some carrots in the kitchen, and munched on them till they
were gone.  Then he wandered back into the living room, silently straddling the
couple copulating on the coffee table.  Although she was being a completely
dead fuck, the rapist was enjoying the feeling of her tight, moist vagina
wrapped around the shaft of his dick.  And he loved the way her big hooters
were flattened into his chest hair.  And she was pretty--no doubt about that.
Yes, he was enjoying it so much that he hadn't noticed the return of the horse
until he saw the expression on her face change as she looked directly up past
his shoulder.  And a moment later, he felt the beasts saggy stomach press down
onto his back.  

Newly aroused by the scent of her pumped womanhood, Slartibartfast again aimed
his erection toward the womb of his master.  This time, 
---M
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