Message-ID: <7440eli$9801181714@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/7440.txt>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: RP JayCee 2/9
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-Id: <19980117213601.QAA00386@ladder02.news.aol.com>


TG: "JayCee" by Vickie Tern, 2/9 teen femdom, m/f etc

This story contains no unnatural acts only because nothing in
nature is unnatural.  But various characters here do uncommon
things with each other, as well as the usual things, always
considerate of each other's feelings.  If this offends you, read no
further.  

If you're under whatever the age of consent where you live, read no
further.  You might learn to do uncommon things while being
considerate, as well as the usual things, and we can't have that.

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern 

To archivists everywhere who make stories like these freely available 
to those who enjoy them, thanks.  You are among the glories of the Net.

Also, I appreciate any kind of e-mail comment on my stories, 
VickieTern@AOL.COM, and I usually reply in kind.






     "I use my juice for me," I said with finality.  "You've got a
mouth, Ronnie.  Take care of your own needs!  Petey'll do the same
for you afterward, blow job for blow job, won't you Petey?"  I
flashed him a smile to keep him encouraged, didn't even glance at
Petey, then turned and sat down again to watch.  Can you imagine? 
I was only fourteen then!  

     And sure enough, Ronnie looked at Petey, and Petey nodded, a
little overwhelmed by all this wheeling and dealing.  So Ronnie
dropped to his knees in front of Petey and took Petey's little cock
into his mouth.  He gave it just a few licks all over to coat it
with thick saliva, and only a few sucks and strokes up and down
with his lips to spread the slick stuff around, but it was enough
for Petey to forget himself, and stiffen up all the way, and then
to start fucking his friend's face.  

     I was ecstatic!  Here before my eyes was a boy I'd turned into
a genuine cock sucker, home-made, my very first!  I wished I had a
camera.  Petey's cock grew as swollen as it would ever get, sliding
in the warm moisture of Ronnie's mouth, and his face again took on
a glazed look.  But Ronnie took no chances.  He stopped suddenly,
then got down on his hands and knees and lowered his head and chest
onto a towel on the ground, with his butt way up in the air.  Petey
mounted him doggy style, spread his cheeks, felt for his asshole,
and pushed at him a few times with that stubby cock.  

     At first all he did was shove Ron forward.  But I could tell
when he finally managed to get it into Ron, because on that stroke,
the third or the fourth, instead of lurching forward when Petey's
cock shoved on him Ron's body held steady.  In fact Ronnie wriggled
and snuggled back, and then Petey really began fucking him!  Ronnie
was now genuinely queer at both ends!  I felt like a Maestro
conducting an orchestra!  A few more lunges, and then Petey was
sprawled onto Ronnie, hugging him tight and squeezing his belly
against his ass, and shouting "Hah! Hah! Hah!"  Each shout another
spurt of semen squirting into Ronnie's guts!  Then Pete softened
and flopped out of Ronnie's ass almost at once, leaving behind a
trail of oozing cum.  

     Petey may have been small, but he had semen to spare. 
Ronnie's asshole was filled to the brim and running over.  I bet
he'll still be leaking tonight, I thought to myself idly.  I'll try
to remember to lend him a tampon before he goes home, or his
folks'll ask about the stain on his bathing suit.  I wondered if
he'd want to fuck himself with the tampon while putting it in, now
he'd had a taste of it, the way I sometimes do.  He would if I told
him to.  Maybe he would for no reason at all.

     I caught a glimpse of Petey's softened cock, and marveled that
anything that small had even gotten past Ron's ass cheeks.  But
he'd done it!  They both stood up.  Pete's cum leaked down Ron's
legs and glistened in his crack, and Pete looked like any boy who's
just blown his wad, complacent and a little arrogant.  Ron looked
disturbed.  I knew why, of course.  He did feel more like a girl
than he'd meant to feel, now he'd been irrevocably fucked by a
stiff prick up the ass.  But he wasn't a girl.  Not with that cock,
he wasn't.  And he still hadn't managed to cum yet himself.  It was
time.

     "Sit here under the umbrella, Little Peter," I said to him. 
"I'll give Ronnie back to you so you can be his girl next time, now
that he's yours.  Put your bathing suit back on now.  If you can't
find it I'll lend you some panties to wear home."

     I don't know, I suppose I was just teasing these would-be
macho studs who'd come by my house cocksure that any girl's
swimming pool was theirs for the asking.  But Pete turned bright
red, and when I looked I saw Ron was red too.  Well, well!  A
discovery of some kind!  Had they done each other previously, or
dreamed of it, these buddies?  Had they just now been girls in
their own minds, while they jerked each other off with such loving
affection?  Had I just ordered them to enact a really secret
desire?  Maybe that's how boys use each other sexually and yet keep
their self-respect, by pretending one of them at least is a girl. 
Were guys so ashamed to do it with other guys that they'd rather
pretend they're the other sex, to avoid thinking they must be gay? 
Do gays do that too, pretend they're girls when they're really only
guys who prefer each other?  All interesting to look into later,
but I said nothing.  Pete put on his bathing suit and sat down
without another word.

     Well, this time I let Ron lubricate himself on the outside of
my pussy.  It was my ass, after all.  "Now go easy," I said to him. 
"Remember how Little Petey felt in you when he was moving in and
out of your ass?  Did he stretch you out first, and then feel real
good?  Delicious?  Yummy?  Could you feel his cock pulse when he
came, and did his cum feel hot when it splashed inside you?  At
that moment did you think to yourself, now at last I'm a real
woman?  Remember that my ass isn't slippery like yours is right now
with that cum leaking all over, so go slow!"  

     Then I got down the way he'd done it, and let him slowly push
that long cock of his into my rear, a little at a time.  I
instructed him inch by inch, like a steelworker signalling how to
work a girder into position.  It took a while.  This was only my
second ass-fuck, so mainly I was comparing it to my first, to see
what new sensations were available -- I don't like expecting
something and ending up disappointed.  Well, Ron's cock was really
huge compared to my cousin's, and it did feel tremendous when he
finally got it all in. I felt full.  Complete.  It's nice,
something that swollen way down deep inside you, I decided.  School
would begin again before too long, and this was something I could
use to reward boys who were especially obedient, or as they liked
to think of it, especially gentlemanly and courteous with me.  I'd
let them put their most prized possession into my shithole.

     But that was the best of it.  Ron began thrusting, and it
seemed to me that each stroke in and out was like a slow commute to
the suburbs and then back into the city.  Each one took a while,
and together they got repetitious.  He pumped me, and my mind
drifted to the magazine I'd been flipping through a couple of hours
earlier, when the two of them first came by looking for a free ride
and I'd taken them for one.  For sure, from now on, I decided,
whoever's doing my ass will at least diddle my clit at the same
time, unless they've gotten me excited some other way.  If he isn't
Mr. Right.

     When finally Ron came I let him stay in me a minute longer,
and then I wriggled out from under him.  He looked so grateful I
almost laughed.  But instead I turned and kissed him on the cheek,
thanked him, and told him that now he was my favorite stud as well
as my favorite girlfriend.  Then I asked him to let me know the
next time he and Petey jerk each other off or fuck each other,
because I'd enjoy knowing I was the one who'd helped them find
themselves.  

     That reminded Ronnie.  He stood up and went over to where
Petey was sitting and watching the two of us.  His cock was still
half-engorged, and still slick with semen and who knows what from
my bowels.  He walked over where Petey was sitting and just stood
there with it touching Petey's nose, and didn't say a word. 
Feeling macho?  Too embarrassed to ask?  But after only a second's
hesitation Petey took it into his hand, then dropped his mouth onto
the big purple knob and plunged his head all the way down onto it. 
All the way down!  It swelled up full even as I watched, and then
disappeared down Petey's throat!  Petey bobbed his head up and down
on it several times!  Had I discovered something about their
relationship they'd rather have kept to themselves?  Had Petey done
this before?  He took in Ron's cock like a master sword swallower! 
Ronnie then leaned back slightly with his hands on his hips, and
Little Petey dropped his hands to his sides, headfucking Ron
unassisted in long, easy, comfortable strokes.  Then Ron grunted,
clasped Petey's head tight to his crotch, squirted his load
straight down his throat, and reached over and lifted Petey's head
off his cock by both ears.  

     When they left I told them I'd love to have a picture of Petey
sucking on Ronnie as a souvenir of the afternoon, and Ron nodded
his agreement absent-mindedly while looking for one of his sandals. 
Apparently nothing even to think about.  So maybe I was right about
them.  They may or may not have done it before, but they surely
were going to do it again.  Ronnie would see to that.

     A few days later, three Polaroid pictures arrived in the mail:
Little Peter cocksucking Big Ron the way I'd seen, and another of
Petey grinning at the camera while wiping a blob of cloudy glop off
his lips, and last of all the two of them blowing each other in a
classic 69.  On the back of that last one was written "Here's how
we learned to swim at your place!"  These were pictures with their
faces fully visible!  Talk about trust?  The next three or four
times they got together to do each other they phoned to tell me. 
I congratulated them each time, and wished them a long and happy
life together.

     They often invited me to come watch once they were well into
it, and I took them up on it just often enough to keep them eager
to see me.  They liked doing whatever I told them, and I never ever
had to remind them about the pictures they'd sent me.  I sent them
on lots of little missions to keep them busy and happy.  For
example, it turned out after a while that they weren't really
girlish, they were gay.  They even preferred sex with each other
dressed normal, like guys.  Even so I made Ron buy Petey a full
girl's outfit from K-Mart, from a bra on out, one item each day,
the two of them livid with embarrassment each time Ron had to ask
the salesgirl if Petey could use a changing room to try the item
on.  I told Petey to dress up for Ron for a big date out at least
once a month.  And to wear makeup, and to make himself as pretty as
he could.  And to send me a picture now and then of Ron lifting his
skirt to ream him in the rear.  During the next year those pictures
got more and more elaborate as Petey got more and more into
dressing up, and spent more money on costumes.  He turned out to be
a real Drag Queen, no mistake about it, a real contest-winner.

     Of course other kids at school caught on in no time at all. 
The two of them got careless, and sometimes they were seen holding
hands, and there was talk.  The clincher came when they were seen
together in a pizza parlor on the other side of town, Petey dressed
like a girl, though in bad taste, another girl told me.  Well, I'd
seen that outfit and thought he looked rather cute in it, a
low-neck peasant blouse and a teeny denim mini-skirt, with sort of
clunky shoes and big bold eye makeup.  I liked it on him.  Anyhow,
after that, girls lost interest in dating them, though some girls
felt especially comfortable with them and invited them to slumber
parties, and gave them advice how to use makeup with more
restraint, and asked them how it felt, doing each other.  Girls are
curious about things like that.  

     Boys wanted no part of them of course, and called them all the
usual names.  So they got more and more dependent on each other for
their social lives, and by the end of the year they were living
practically in each others' pockets.  Petey's parents caught on
eventually, and when the school year ended the family moved across
the state to another town, so Petey could get a fresh start.  But
by then he didn't want one.  Petey soon found some new boyfriends,
and Ron knew where he lived, and they visited each other now and
then.  

     I dated lots of guys the next few years.  A girl with my kind
of self-confidence who isn't afraid to tell boys what to do
attracts certain kinds of boys.  I'd let them do my homework for me
if they were smart enough, or drive me to school mornings, and I'd
reward them by letting them perform little services for me.  They
got to be known as "JayCee's nursery school," and it turned out
they were real popular with other girls when I was finished with
them.  They had all kinds of special skills.

     The jocks took me on as a personal challenge, and of course
got nowhere.  None of them ever got into my pussy, because I was
still saving it for the boy I would one day marry, I told them. 
Also because they were boastful adolescents who still thought a
fuck was a conquest, even the smart ones.  It was easy to outthink
them.  They were never sincere with me, so I saw no reason to be
sincere with them when I put them through hoops.  

     The other boys at our high school all knew that my pussy was
out of bounds except to their mouths.  But they knew I expected
that much lip service from them at least, and they looked forward
to offering it.  They knew that if I really liked them, or if I was
in just the right mood, or if I wanted something special from them,
they knew that I might even use my mouth on them too, to help
persuade them to do whatever it was I wanted.

     And they knew that if they were really attentive and
submissive and grateful and courteous, and if I was especially
turned on, and if they were willing to do certain especially
humiliating things while I watched, they knew I might actually
allow them to fuck my ass, enter me near that sacred place where my
eventual husband's semen would eventually unite with my own
eventual egg.  Knowing all these things, they'd all try extra hard
to please me as soon as their faces got down to business. I had no
complaints, and I heard none. 

     Ron never got into my ass again -- despite its size his cock
was just plain boring, and it turned out to be mutual, because he'd
discovered girls just didn't interest him.  He liked Petey and a
few other boys he hung out with, and that was it.  He'd let me put
my legs on his shoulders when I wasn't going with anyone else and
wanted someone down there, though he confessed once that he did it
only because I asked him.  In return I let him use our swimming
pool without his ever having to ask.  Oh yes, I also got good
grades in school, very good grades, though that was never what
school was really about as far as I was concerned.

     

                                   II.

     So along came that summer when I was nearly seventeen, and had
half the boys in my class, practically, under my pussy or my thumb. 
But that summer nearly every boy I knew left town.  They went to be
camp counselors, or for sports training, or to learn mountain
climbing, what they called "Leadership School."  What a joke!  Some
wimp hangs from a rope between some rock and nowhere, and that's
how he learns how to be a leader.  Really!  Any girl who can't get
a guy to do that any time she wants ought to turn in her tits. 
Anyhow, some guys went out of town because there weren't too many
summer jobs that year, or else they were farmed out to relatives in
other cities to broaden their experience.  Ronnie talked his
parents into letting him spend part of the summer with an Uncle who
lives in Provincetown, on Cape Cod, and then talked Petey's parents
into letting Petey go there too.  Some families moved out of town,
the way families do.  It's sad when that happens, just before a kid
finally get to be a Senior in High School and can do anything.  But
it happens.

     It also happens that families move in.  In fact it happened
just down the street from us.  Right after school ended I noticed
how dull everything got suddenly, how the place emptied out.  There
were still a few guys around, of course, not my usual crowd, though
you make do with what you've got.  I almost took up my mother's
idea I should find summer work of some kind to earn money for
college.  In fact, that's what my family still thinks I did do,
that that's where I got all that money I saved up that summer, that
that's how I won that whopping scholarship that's paid my way
through college mostly.  I guess in a way I did find summer work. 
For sure I found what I wanted to do when I graduated.    

     This new family that moved in down the street a block away
wasn't really a family.  Just two people, a mother and a son.  The
day the movers came I saw him outside cutting the grass.  He looked
to be about my age, a little taller but not much, and real thin,
though it was hard to tell from a distance because he favored loose
clothes.  He had long hair worn straight and loose the way all the
guys did that year, when only geeks wore pony tails.  A girl's hair
that year had to be long too, but mainly it had to be as crimped
and curly as rollers and hot irons and drug store permanent waves
could get it.  Slaves to fashion, that's what we all are, all of
us.  The guys too.  But this guy checked out OK on that score.

     My mother went over with a tray of sandwiches the day they
moved in, and stayed about an hour.  "Nice people," she reported to
my father and me at dinner.  "At least she's very nice.  Jane is
her name.  She runs some kind of merchandising by mail thing, and
is very successful at it to judge by the furniture and china
they've got.  Spode, service for twelve, she was unpacking and
putting away -- beautiful -- it must be priceless!  I don't know
why she didn't buy a bigger house on the other side of town, but
she says this one is ample for the two of them, and she likes the
location.  She was divorced when her son was just starting
kindergarten, she tells me -- her husband ran off, or ran off once
too often, or something.  The boy seems a little quiet, maybe even
shy, but he's very polite, very well brought up.  He'll be a Senior
when school begins again, same as you, JayCee.  I told them you'd
come over some time and introduce yourself, and maybe show him
around a little, where you kids hang out, things like that.  With
school out and so many families away, he's got no way to meet
people his own age.  His name's Marion."

     I didn't say anything.  My Mom was always trying to fix me up
with boys she thought she could trust, our cousins for example,
which is how my ass lost its cherry and my Uncle lost his baseball. 
Or with boys from families that belong to our church -- she thinks
they're respectable because they call her "ma'am."  I tell her
they're the worst, because by the time she quits talking me up they
think she's already guaranteed them a piece of my ass, and they
expect me to hand them the rest on a platter.  That's why so often
I hand them their own asses, not always as nicely as I did it that
time with Ronnie and Petey.  I stay away from polite creeps.
They're the worst. 

     What I was actually thinking was, with a name like 'Marion'
this kid better be a fighter, with a nickname like "Spike" or
"Crusher," something to slow the guys down when they want to lean
on him a little.  Polite won't cut it.  Boys like to push each
other.  Nice boys in our neighborhood don't stay that way.

     Anyhow, a week later I happened to be out front getting ready
to visit my friend Marcie, when I saw this Marion kid coming down
the sidewalk toward me wearing his oversized shirt and baggy pants,
carrying a plastic bag from that drugstore in the mall on the
highway two blocks south of us.  Sort of hip-hop, his clothes, I
saw, acceptable enough, big, everything out and hanging loose.  I
checked myself.  Just the reverse -- real tight jeans and a black
stretch sleeveless pullover with a turtle neck, no bra, fresh
lipstick I'd just put on to show Marcie the shade I think goes with
a jumper she just bought.  My hair up in the Betty Grable forties
look I'm trying out.  I'm OK, I decided.  If I smile at him he'll
fall over.  

     So I crouched down pretending to do something with a flower
bed alongside the sidewalk, and when he got nearer I wiggled my
tail at him a little.  Looking him over sideways, I could see he
was trying hard not to notice me, the way polite boys do, but he
couldn't help himself.  Then when he was just about to pass by I
suddenly stood up in front of him and faced him down and smiled. 
I gave him both barrels at close range.  I can be devastating when
I want to be, and I can be mean, too, and sometimes it's the same
thing.  I didn't know which it was yet myself, in this case.

     He stopped walking as if he'd hit a wall, and then he stared
at me with no change of expression. 

     "Hi!" I said brightly.  "I'm JayCee, the girl who lives here? 
My mother was over to your house the other day, a week ago?  When
you were moving in, and she met you and your mother?"  I saw he had
huge almond-shaped eyes and long black lashes and high cheekbones. 
Close up he looked real cute!  In fact he was a living doll! 
Stroke him the right way, and he'll purr like a cat I'll bet.  Or
a tiger.  He might be worth getting to know after all!

     He smiled just a bit, a little nervous, and he passed the bag
he was carrying over to his other hand, then half-hid it behind his
leg.  I'd already seen through the plastic that it had some big
bottles of pills, and a big blue and purple package with "Kotex
OverNite Maxi Pads" in white letters.  No mystery -- he was on an
errand for his mother.  But at his age mothers can seem an
embarrassment.  "Sure," he said. "JayCee.  Your mother said you
might be coming by real soon.  I'm pleased to meet you." 

     "I'll walk you," I said.  "Then I'll have come by."  No sense
letting anyone get any advantage over you, any time.  I started
down the sidewalk.  But he kept standing there, so I stopped and
looked back at him over my shoulder, and I gave him my slow steady
inquiring look with one eyebrow raised real high.  I once turned
two football players into drooling mush with that look.

     "No, I didn't mean that," he said, now altogether flustered. 
"I mean I'm very pleased to meet you.  I was looking forward to
it."  Now he clutched his shopping bag in front of him with both
hands.

     I realized that he was one of those boys who have a hard time
speaking to girls, a late bloomer or something.  He wasn't just
jockeying for position when he'd said that about me supposed to
come by and I didn't, trying to hang a guilt trip on me.  He'd said
it because that was all he could think to say.  He understood that
I misunderstood him and that I was miffed, and now he was trying to
apologize and be nice!  Now that was something!  The other boys I
knew wouldn't have had a clue to anything that had already happened
in this little conversation, and if they could have figured it out
they couldn't have cared less!  

     "Likewise," I said, and this time I gave him my special smile. 
Sincere.  I really do have one, though there isn't much call for
it.  "I'll walk you.  I'd like to."  Should I tell him I've seen
him cutting the grass?  No, too relaxed and neighborly.  Keep the
initiative.  Stay on him.

     "Your name's Marion, isn't it," I noted.  

     He realized he'd forgotten to say so, and felt further
disadvantaged, which was my intention.  "Yes." he said.  "'Marion'
spelled with an 'O.'  That was John Wayne's name, too, before he
was John Wayne."

     The poor boy was belly up!  So sensitive about having a name
that sounds like a girl's that he had a canned speech prepared to
prove he's really a man's man like John Wayne.  Who'd doubted it? 
Obviously he was first in line!

     I decided to keep after him.  "Marion with an 'O," I said. 
"That's pronounced 'Marianne,' right?  Then you won't mind if I
call you 'Marianne'?  'Mary' for short, maybe?"  Then the clincher
so he wouldn't dare object.  "It sounds more friendly that way. 
You don't mind, do you?"  Now let him hang himself.  What's in a
name?

     He surrendered.  "No, not at all," he said.  "Whatever you
like."  I had him.  He was outclassed.  But he *knew* he was
outclassed, and that showed more intelligence than ever glimmered
in any of the boys I knew.  I decided that I liked him.  Maybe I
should have come by after all?  I decided that this could be a
prize fish, so I should reel him in.  Keep up the pressure so he
won't throw the hook.

     "Mary," I said to him, taking his arm real comfy, so he'd know
I wasn't being sarcastic or threatening, but also so he wouldn't
spook and run off, "Why did you buy Kotex at the mall?  Are you
having your period now?"  

     I hung on tight until he could get a grip on himself.  Now his
doll face was bright red.  "Oh, JayCee," he said finally.  "Quit
teasing me, OK?"

     Terrific!  I loved it!  He respected himself after all!  He
didn't fall all over himself to explain the obvious, that it was
for his mother.  He was uneasy about his name, but he didn't feel
totally apologetic about everything, as if everyone's opinion but
his own mattered.  He knew I was mocking and testing him, maybe
even insulting him, but he took off the edge by calling it teasing. 
And it worked!  All of a sudden, I'd only been teasing him, in a
friendly way, the way girls do when they meet an interesting guy. 
I liked that.  I squeezed his arm to tell him, and I knew he knew
that too.  His blush faded, not altogether.  "OK, Marianne," I
said. No reason to back off just because I was beginning to like
him. "Deal!"

     "What're the pills?" I asked him, now just making
conversation.  We were only about halfway to his house from mine.

     "Vitamins," he said.  "I had asthma and such when I was
little, and I took a lot of pills.  Now my mother feels better when
I take them."

     "Prescription vitamins?  Let's see!"  I could see the typed RX
labels through the translucent plastic bag, so I reached over and
took the bag from him before he could pull back and be embarrassed
into playing tug of war, and I reached in and started reading the
bottles.  They had his mother's name on them, not his.

     "These pills are for your mother too," I said, to put my Kotex
taunt behind us once and for all.

     "She's got the health insurance policy," he said, "So she gets
the prescriptions, even the ones for me."

     Was he kidding me now?  About asthma and vitamin pills?  I
could read, and I saw that these were birth control pills.  Female
hormones of some kind.  One was "Estynil Estradiol" and the other
was "Progesterone."  The same stuff the doctor started me on last
year, to make my period more regular, and as Mom said, to forestall
any little problems.  Only mine come in a cute little pill wheel
inside a compact, so I won't forget to take one each day, or forget
which one.  And mine are a lot smaller.  These were big pills, like
the kind my Mom started taking after her hysterectomy, massive
doses of female hormones to keep her in womanly trim.  I checked
again in the bag.  It was Kotex all right.  No hysterectomy.  A
mystery.  I decided he was kidding me but wasn't very good at it. 

     "Well, here we are, Mary," I said.  We stopped for a moment on
the sidewalk in front of his house.  And I added sincerely, because
he needed all the encouragement he could get, obviously, "It's nice 
that we live near each other, Marianne."  He smiled.  "I like you. 
You stop by.  We have a pool."  

     He hesitated, and then asked if I'd like to come in and meet
his mother.  Meaning he wanted me to meet her.  Meaning, he really
liked me too.  He led the way into the kitchen, and there she was
standing by the window, cutting vegetables.  


end 2/9
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/><http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>