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From: chateaud@my-deja.com
Subject: {ASSM} Playdough's Isle - a spoof
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Date: Tue, 23 Nov 1999 02:10:01 -0500
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I posted this story some years ago, yet a new generation of news-
readers has appeared since then. I suspect most readers will not
recognize the opus which spawned this spoof, but perhaps it will still
amuse.
Playdough's Isle
"I want his dick-dong dripping down her creamy cunt-cum-cave," Dr.
Playdough raved, staring at the two squirming naked teenagers he had
just had thrown over the three-thousand foot cliff onto the rocks below
that he always used for his awful sadistic pleasures with naked
teenagers.
"Yes, Dr. Playdough," Dr. Playdough's assistant said. "And shall I .
. ."
"Scrape his scrawny scrotum with a scrawny-scrotum scraper 'til he
screams," Dr. Playdough ranted, picking up the male teenager of the two
teenagers he was about to torture according to the orders he had been
given by his flaccid cock.
"Yes, Dr. Playdough," Dr. Playdough's assistant said. "And do you want
me to . . ."
"Burn his balls! Tatter his testicles! Nullify his nuts!" the
diabolically fiendish Dr. Playdough screamed diabolically and stuck his
fiendish finger up his bum. In a paroxysm of foaming at the mouth Dr.
Playdough spun his bum on his finger until his feet splayed out and he
was spinning on his finger at the same rate of revolutions as his
turning bum. Then he turned his head and his eye fell onto the girl
teenager who he had a sudden urge to torture with an evil glint. He
dropped the boy onto the hard rocks, breaking his arm and kicking the
unclothed girl teenager's long, shapely legs although she was only a
teenager apart. His diabolical and fiendish eye looked up the space
between her long shapely legs and gave his assistant an order:
"Chain this chit of a chattel to a chastising chair in the chiding
chamber and char her channel with chafing charcoal," he chortled then
turning to his assistant asked: "What's her name?"
"Charity," Dr. Playdough's assistant said. "And would it be okay if I
. . ."
"Take these two teenagers to the terrace - to the torture tower . . .
," Dr Playdough ordered, sloping off on his head, an old felt hat
covering his lower legs, spurred riding boots dug deep into his
pockets, horny hands mumbling: "I'll nail their nubile nips and plug
their precious posterior portals . . ."
The tender teenage boy who Dr. Playdough had orders to torture and
whose name was Faith hoped Charity would forgive him as he had filled
her girl fuck-cavern with his thick steaming shooting gism-sperm-
spend. His white oozy sticky boy-fluid dribbled out of her tight
teenage love-tunnel and into the bushy thatch of tangled snatch-fur
growing from her girl-mound. The lovely titted teenage Charity was
nakedly hanging suspended by her ankles with her feet as far apart as
the tips of her fingers when her hands were stretched out as far as
possible and level with her shoulders from a beam in the ceiling
running along the length of the torture room and was fastened to
ceiling joists at both sides of the room with 2-&-1/2 inch fastenings
that had been bolted though the beam and the joists and fastened with
bolts that had been tightened with power wenches. Heavy weights were
attached to the teenage girl's wrists so that she could not lift her
arms because of the heavy weights to protect herself. She hung in a
letter 'Y' with her long, supple legs stretched as wide as possible and
her arms hanging down over her head.
The teenage boy hung between her legs, but at right angles to the
teenage girl by his hands and feet from other beams which had been
cleverly arranged to avoid the beam that held the teenage girl and so
that his throbbing boy cock-head hung over the hole of the girl's woman-
hole. A ring was surrounding his throbbing impalement shaft and it
went up and down all of the time and excited the teenage horny teenage
boy because it was attached to a clever machine that Dr. Playdough had
invented to make it go up and down.
"Can you calculate his climax count?" Dr. Playdough asked.
"Forty-seven since our breakfast burrito," Dr. Playdough's assistant
said. "And might I ask if I could . . ."
"Lower the lad so that the lady's littler lips lick his livid limb,"
ordered Dr. Playdough.
"Yes, Dr. Playdough," said Dr. Playdough's assistant. "And could I
possibly . . ."
"Wrap and rub his ruddy rod with her redolent wringing!" Dr. Playdough
screamed.
"Yes, Dr. Playdough," said Dr. Playdough's assistant. "And might I . .
."
"Watch while I wheedle wails when we weld our wanton wench and wayward
whelp in whimsical wedlock," grinned the diabolically fiendish Dr.
Playdough pulling on a pair of gloves from a compartment in a trolley
that he had earlier wheeled into the room that was cleverly designed
not to stick to anything. Then he took a tube of glue from another
compartment in the trolley that was also cleverly designed to stick to
everything. Then using the non-stick gloves to protect his hands from
the super sticky glue he rubbed the super sticky glue all up and down
and over the boy teenager's throbbing heated fuck-rod and then made a
pulley let go of the chains that held the boy teenager's naked ankle
shackles so that his stiffened rigid sticky love-shaft dropped into the
girl teenager's waiting cum-slot and got stuck there. Then he let them
both down and laughed a lot while he watched them struggle to free
their fuck-parts from each others. But Dr. Playdough was not done with
the unfortunate teenagers because he had got long orders for torturing
them from his superior supervisors.
"Tipple their nipples in nettle nectar and we will watch their frantic
antics," Dr Playdough insisted. And so the diabolical torturing went
on until all of the diabolical and fiendish torturing orders had been
done to the naked teenagers. Then Dr. Playdough opened his new
torturing orders.
"Ah, two teenagers to taunt and terribly torture," Dr. Playdough
grinned at his new diabolically fiendish torturing orders. (Yet it had
been a day of protracted effort, and the doctor's wellspring of
assonance was rapidly exsiccating, fading in concomitant harmony with
the light of the dying Sun; and his ultimately self-immolating
predilection with the alliterative style of his beloved Nordic prose
finally betrayed even the limits of his encyclopedic lexicon.)
"Throw them over the three thousand thoot thliff . . ."
--
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