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From: Begonespam@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Lord of the Ring Gag by Adrian Hunter (bd, fetish, prancing pony parody)
Date: Thu, 20 Dec 2001 16:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "lord of the ring gag.txt" begin>

Lord of the Ring Gag
By Adrian Hunter
(with deepest apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien)


"Stop it, Marie-No lle. That tickles!"

Spirella cantered ahead of her slender companion, who giggled as
she bent forward and pretended to initiate another attack with
the long feathers that adorned the harness of smooth white
leather daintily padlocked around her head. 

"Seriously! We have many miles yet to journey ere we take our
rest."

"Yeah, enough with the pillow fights already," muttered Buttplug,
still annoyed by the morning's revelation that he was down to a
frightfully tiny portion of catnip at the bottom of his pouch.
Accompanying two jejune ponygirls on a doomed quest across barren
lands called for acres of potent snuff at his immediate disposal,
and he was forever darting off the trail in search of fertile
fields of unwanted male chronics to illicitly harvest.

Spirella snorted as she tried to stifle a laugh. Oh, she just
loved Buttplug to pieces, she did! Of all the fabulous Furries
they had met in Rivenmyst, she had immediately taken a shine to
this morose male cat who appeared to be in perpetual need of a
hug. Such kindred spirits, the Furries were...willfully adopting
the ways and means of a favorite animal was certainly a higher
calling to which frilly fillies could relate. And poor Buttplug
certainly didn't make things easy for himself, given his name and
species.

"Couldn't be helped," he had explained after rescuing Spirella
and Marie-No lle from a particularly treacherous patch of muddy
muck that were common to the province. "Some Furries choose brave
and fearsome animals they imagine themselves to be, like lions
and wolves and sports mascots. But true Furries know that one's
animal self is discovered, not selected off the rack like a
freakin' prom dress. And I'm a purple cat. Coulda been worse.
Coulda been a poodle. Or a ladybug."

As for his name, he explained it as the whim of a previous owner
who fancied herself a comedienne. "Beats Mittens, Fluffy or, ugh,
Pussy," he had added thoughtfully, and not a little thankfully,
Spirella had observed.

And thankful definitely described Spirella's mood as she pranced
ahead of her attendants. Thankful she had been born a ponygirl.
Thankful for her warm stall, her shiny tack, her comfortable
bridle, her flexible harness, her adjustable clamps, her endless
meadows and her dozens of dear friends like Marie-No lle.

But most of all, Spirella was thankful that she, among all the
ponygirls in Snobbiton, had been selected for the undertaking
upon which she and Marie-No lle had recently embarked.

Granted, epic adventure did not come naturally to her, nor her
fellow former foals. Ponygirls much preferred to keep among
themselves, having been the subject of much calumny over the
years when strangers to Snobbiton had paused to scoff at their
exquisite equestrian ways. Worst of all were those who would take
advantage of the ponygirls' kind and trusting natures with
uncouth manly efforts to defile, if not pillage, their hay-strewn
sanctuaries. Spirella felt it was much better to steer clear of
such unpleasantness and focus on more pressing concerns, like how
to keep the brass rivets that adorned her beloved chastity strap
from rusting.

But that was before the day when the elder mare known as Fanfic,
a pony of much wisdom, poise, grace and a shimmering tail
reportedly hewn from the hairs of a real-life princess who
adopted a seriously short coiffure when she ran off with a member
of a raucous troupe of ill-tempered and frightfully pierced
musicians, had taken her aside with an urgent request.

"The ring," she had whispered as she nibbled Spirella's ear
suggestively. "The dreaded ring must be returned to its place of
origin and destroyed ere more harm befalls our happy corrals."

Hidden under Fanfic's rhinestone-peppered saddle was a strap of
ancient leather with buckles on either end, and a large circle of
tarnished silver in its center. When Spirella first took the
device in her teeth, she felt a sensation of unfamiliar terrible
warmth course through her silken loins. Suddenly, the malicious
foreigners who visited Snobbiton did not seem so dangerous
anymore. In fact, she quite fancied the idea of getting to know
them better, preferably in a dark stall with the doors bolted
shut, their cunning eyes blazing with unmistakable intent, their
powerful fingers clutching raw flesh beneath her fetters, their
sweat-crusty jerkins slithering off meaty shoulders, no
possibility of escape...

"Enough!" the mare had whinnied as she knocked the device from
the grip of Spirella's teeth. "You must never replace your bit
with the ring, no matter how tempted you find yourself."

Fanfic explained the origins of the strange device in greater
detail. How it had been forged by a tribe of evil spirits who
lived many leagues beyond Snobbiton, in a land where males
treated other living creatures with the same lack of respect a
young boy pays to an insect under his magnifying lens. How it
could cause even the most chaste ponygirl to fall under its
spell, leading her to commit wild and wanton acts of such dire
perversity that Fanfic was loath to discuss their particulars
beyond a telling nudge with her well-etched hoof against
Spirella's chastity belt. And especially how the ring worked, a
description which made Spirella's nicely-toned tummy a little
queasy, although she didn't necessarily feel sick.

"Very well, Fanfic," Spirella had said bravely as she placed the
ring under her own saddle. "With the help of my bestest bud,
Marie-No lle, I shall dispose of this artifact. Besides, I need a
new bridle, and everybody's already seen this year's collection
offered by the mange-riddled merchants of Snobbiton."

To date, their voyage had been fairly uneventful, with the
exception of meeting Buttplug in the muddy muck, who afterwards
insisted on accompanying them, mostly to avoid having to attend
the Furries' annual gathering, an event which he described in
grisly terms that made Spirella and Marie-No lle thankful that
ponygirls didn't much care to parade their pride in public.

But Spirella knew that every puff of dust kicked up by the cloven
heels of their crotch-high leather boots took them a step closer
to their unknown fate. While Fanfic had been reticent to provide
a detailed description of the nasty beasts who had forged the
ring, Spirella entertained herself and Marie-No lle for hours in
the evenings with fanciful thoughts that left both of them more
than a little flushed and primed for the privacy of their
sleeping rugs.

As they rambled down the road at a cheery pace promiscuously
close to "skipping," Spirella allowed her mind to ponder the
shape and size of her eventual foes, not to mention other
fearsome and muscular creatures they might encounter in their
travels.

"What the fuck is that?" cried Buttplug suddenly, his
verging-on-violet fur standing on end. "Did you hear something?"

"Help! Oh please, won't someone help me?" called a pretty voice
from somewhere along the side of the path.

"Come, Marie-No lle, we must investigate!" Spirella cried as she
galloped down the embankment and into the woods.

It didn't take long before the threesome found a clearing between
the trees where railroad tracks had been laid. Off in the
distance, Spirella thought she heard the high, lonesome whistle
of a southbound freighter coming their way.

"Look! Over there, on the tracks!" Buttplug exclaimed as his
plastic claws clicked excitedly against the smooth steel of the
rails. "Someone's in trouble!"

A few yards away, a young woman in a long flowing dress that was
hiked up her legs, exposing multiple petticoats and a pair of
adorably retro button boots, lay across the tracks, her body
bound securely in vast quantities of thickly-braided rope.

"A damsel!" cried Spirella.

"In distress!" echoed Marie-No lle.

"What, no ripped bodice?" moaned Buttplug.

"Hurry, Buttplug, untie her," Spirella said, her ears twitching
as they discerned the rumble of the fast-approaching express.

The woman gave them a sheepish look and batted her eyelashes
demurely.

"Uh, that's okay," she said, suddenly calm. "I'm fine, really.
Don't mind me."

"What? But there's a train approaching," exclaimed Spirella.
"You'll surely be crushed, and your attractive dress shall be
permanently soiled."

"Please, leave me be," the woman insisted. "Worry ye not about my
apparent predicament."

"It's clear you are in need of immediate rescuing," Spirella
asserted as she studied the layered coils and intricate knots
surrounding the damsel's limbs with no small degree of
admiration.

"Yes, but...well, it's a long story. Best you be on your way.
Thanks for asking though. Good afternoon."

With that, the woman resumed her plaintive calls for aid,
oblivious to the presence of the two ponygirls and their feline
friend.

"Well, I never," huffed Spirella as they made their way back to
the path. "She's going to be lunchmeat any minute now. Oh, we
can't just leave her there. Buttplug, you must...wait, what's
that I hear?"

Ahead of them, the unmistakable sound of another woman calling
for help reverberated through the trees.

"Ohmigod, someone else is in trouble! Quickly!"

The trio rushed back into the woods to a second clearing where an
equally-attractive woman, dressed in a parallel manner to the one
they had previously encountered, was likewise trussed and
squirming most appealingly on what looked like a continuation of
the same set of train tracks.

"Help, please won't someone...oh, hello," she said as Spirella,
Marie-No lle and Buttplug burst noisily into the clearing.
"Lovely day, isn't it? And I'm quite keen on the way the leaves
change around here."

"We have no time to waste with idle chit-chat," Spirella said
brusquely. "We must get you untied before..."

"That really won't be required, love," the woman said with a
smile.

"And pray tell, why not?" asked Spirella with just the tiniest
hint of exasperation.

"Be quiet for a moment, and listen carefully," the woman
instructed.

Cocking an ear to the sky, Spirella still heard the oncoming
train, but surprisingly, it didn't sound like it had gotten any
closer in the minutes since they had left the first woman. More
importantly, she could make out the distant calls of several
other women, all crying for help with varying degrees ofanguish.

"Why, there must be dozens of distressed damsels in these woods!"
Spirella deduced.

"Hundreds, actually," the lassoed lass replied demurely. "Tis a
common practice on the frontier where you find yourselves.
Following a merry chase and a stirring struggle, our men bind us
firmly and leave us to our fate on the tracks, whatever that
might be."

"But aren't you in mortal danger?" Spirella worried.

"Hardly. In fact, the process is quite pleasurable when done
correctly and without extraneous interruption. Speaking of which,
if you will excuse me..."

"An entire village of damsels in distress," Buttplug marveled as
they made their way once again back to the path. "Well, I suppose
it's better than being mangled by dragons. Unless they're Furry
dragons, of course, in which case they're about as scary as a
certain Rasta-spouting anthropoid from the aptly-named Plateau of
Phantom Menaces."

"I should quite fancy a go at this distress business myself,"
said Marie-No lle unexpectedly. "Do you think I could try,
Spirella? I shan't be long, I promise."

"Of course not!" Spirella said, desperate to shake the idea of
all those complicated windings around her own body. "We have much
more important things to accomplish than indulging infantasies."

Buttplug couldn't help snickering.

"Oh, you know what I mean," Spirella snapped impatiently, her
padlocks jingling as she wagged a forelock in his face. "We're on
a mission. A quest. A journey into the depths of ourgreatest..."

"And don't forget shopping," Marie-No lle added, her heart set on
a pair of shoulder-length gloves in white leather to match the
rest of her ensemble.

"Quite right. We mustn't dally and delay our expedition any
longer. Look, the sun has already passed its zenith, and soon it
will be time to mount our feedbags. We must press on. Come!"

"With pleasure," Buttplug meowed, expertly avoiding the airborne
hoof that Spirella had targeted for his crotch.

An hour later, the three adventurers noticed a strange set of
footprints in the path.

"Look at these markings in the dirt," Spirella said. "They appear
to be holes of exceptional depth, preceded by triangular
impressions of some sort."

"Most irregular, yet quite consistent in their spacing and
direction," noted Marie-No lle helpfully. "Almost as if each step
had been carefully considered prior to its placement in the
path."

"Uh huh," Spirella agreed distractedly as she pondered what sort
of walking device would have such an abnormal effect on such a
well-traversed road. "Well, not to worry, as they seem to be
heading the same way we are. Unless we significantly increase our
pace, I doubt we shall overtake them."

They followed the oddly-shaped footprints for another mile,
somewhat disturbed by the increasing number of unique tracks that
joined the original pair.

"Their ranks are growing," said Buttplug as he idly swiped a paw
at a passing butterfly. "Whatever they are, there's more of them
than us."

"Thank you for your brilliant observation," Spirella replied
icily, her mood soured by a growing sense of regret over taking
their leave of the damsels in distress so quickly. Perhaps if
they had tarried, they might have encountered the dastardly men
for themselves, leading to a skirmish in which her band would
have doubtlessly fallen prey to their immoral...

"Sorry for paying attention, your horsiness. In the future, I
shall prohibit myself from pretending to give a flying...whoa,
bandits at 12 o'clock high!"

Indeed, there appeared several shadowy figures on the path ahead
of them, all of whom appeared to be walking rather unsteadily.

"Hallo!" Spirella cried out with as much friendly inflection as
she could manage. "Who precedes us in our journey that takes us
far from the well-maintained dressage arenas of Snobbiton?"

"Oh, thank God," one of the strangers exclaimed.

"Maybe they've got bunion pads!" said another excitedly.

"Dr. Scholl's, even!" added a third.

"I'll settle for comfy slippers and a soak in the creek," sighed
a fourth.

Spirella, Marie-No lle and Buttplug quickly overtook the curious
band of fellow wanderers and introduced themselves with practiced
curtseys, with the exception of Buttplug, who began mewling in a
most unattractive fashion as their eyes took in the spectacle
before them.

At least a dozen young women sat dispiritedly on the side of the
path, all dressed in short black dresses decorated with much lace
around their slender waists and atop their curly-haired heads,
their legs ensconced in stockings of sheer black silk and their
wrists entwined with matching gauntlets.

But it wasn't their splendid garb that led to Buttplug's
outburst. It was their feet, or rather, the unusual walking
apparatuses that were strapped and locked around their ankles.
Each one sported an elaborate heel of considerable length that
forced their wearers to walk on the very tips of their
doubtlessly delicate toes in a manner not unlike a nimble dancer
of dervishes.

"Greetings, fair maidens," said Spirella. "My name is..."

"We ain't maidens, we're bleedin' maids," spat one. "And unless
you brung an ice bag for my achin' tootsies in one of yer
saddlebags, you can piss thyself off."

"You try walkin' down this ruddy alleyway with an unabridged
dictionary on top of yer noggin," screeched another. "Practicin'
your balance in these contraptions is worse than listenin' to the
prime minister babble about his poxy baby, like squirtin' useful
sperm in middle age is some great accomplishment."

"Ahem," Spirella continued, motioning to her own fabulous
footwear which arched her calves in a delightfully alluring
fashion. "Well, we are on a quest to return the ring..."

"Ooooh, you got yerself a ring, didja?" piped up another maid.
"Bloody typical that a decent man would want himself a horsy for
a bride."

"No, no, it's not that kind of ring," Spirella replied, a bit
more wistfully than she intended. "Anyway, where are youheaded?"

"Back to the scullery, if you must know. And you can call me
Giselle."

"Me, too!"

"Ditto."

"And me as well!"

"Well, my name is Claudia."

"Same here."

"Likewise, I'm sure."

"Except me. I'm Gwen."

Spirella could not help notice Marie-No lle's unnatural
fascination with the cruel shoes, their stiletto-like spikes
sinking deeply into the unpaved dirt of the path. But she knew
they had little time to tarry, especially with such crass and
uncouth strangers.

"From where do you hail, kind servants of extended soles?"
Spirella inquired with a supercilious twitch of her tail.

"We come from the land of Flagrantly Fastidious Fetishes," the
first Giselle replied. "Our masters have sent us on an exercise
run in which we are to traverse this accursed locals-only lane
for a period of not less than eight hours balancing these heavy
tomes atop our heads. If any of them should discover us in our
current seated condition, we shall be collectively punished in a
manner that will prohibit us from sitting again for an extended
period."

That pronouncement caused Marie-No lle to swoon in a manner
precipitously close to the vapors.

"You mean...they might actually...raise a hand to..."

"Whip us. Beat us. Strop us. Thrash our bottoms until they glow
brighter than your cheeks right now."

"Oooooohhhhh..."

Buttplug crumpled like an abandoned marionette into the grassy
meadow abutting the path.

"Yes, well, that's all very fine and dandy for you gentlewomen, I
suppose," Spirella said as she felt her haunches glow with
unnatural fire at the thought of the illicit riding crops some
ponygirls kept hidden at the bottom of their tack boxes. "And
there is much to be said for poise, as any livery lass worth her
saddlehorn could tell you. Come, Marie-No lle and Buttplug. Let's
take our leave of this situation ere we are inadvertently
introduced to the lords of these maids' households."

"Yeah, best to trot along, ya fuckwits," one of the Claudias
sneered. "Wouldn't wanna soil those lovely leggings o' yours with
an honest day's labor."

"Since when was Labour honest?" Giselle Number Three inquired,
sparking a vicious political debate between the maids that
sounded well-rehearsed to the point of ennui.

"Well, happy scrubbing," Spirella said over her shoulder as the
trio scurried down the path as fast as their hooves would carry
them. "Good thing we ponygirls don't have to suffer such
injustices to our delicate carriages."

"Like running around in spurs and halters isn't a flagrantly
fastidious fetish?" asked Buttplug with genuine curiosity,
himself unsure of why he subjected himself to the daily
distresses of his feline persona.

"Of course not!" Spirella retorted. "As a Furry, you should be
well aware of the difference between a fetish and a true calling.
One's a voluntary perversity, the other is nature's way of
amending God's occasional errors."

The three of them continued chatting until Spirella finally
announced that the time had come to end the day's journey. After
finding a comfortable clearing just off the path, they settled
down for an evening of much munching, grooming and storytelling
about the ring still safely stashed under Spirella's saddle.

"What do you call these wicked dudes anyway?" Buttplug wondered
as darkness overwhelmed the remains of their tidy campfire.

"Fanfic didn't tell us, but she assured me we would know them as
soon as we met them," Spirella replied sleepily. "And with that,
a very good night to you, and Marie-No lle, too."

Several hours later, the threesome awoke with a start to the
sound of shouts and a great many men crashing in an orderly
manner through the trees.

"Ohmigod, who goes there?" Spirella demanded as she hurried to
straighten her mane and apply just a bit of mascara before they
met whatever fate was about to befall them.

"Oh, Spirella, I'm frightened," squeaked Marie-No lle as she tore
apart her rucksack in search of her curry comb.

"Oh, shit," sighed Buttplug, realizing he was going to have to be
heroic without the benefit of stuffing his snout with snuff.

But the valiant vacationers proved to be no match for the dozens
of short, hairless men wearing long white robes and matching
headbands who descended on their clearing. Within minutes,
Spirella and Marie-No lle found themselves stripped of their pony
gear, gagged with large red balls, tightly bound in coils of
rough brown hemp, and hung like fresh meat from long sticks
carried on the shoulders of the men.

As for Buttplug, the invaders had simply laughed at his synthetic
claws and electric-blue fur, but when they discovered he was
male, they slapped him on the back, gave him a headband to match
theirs, and beckoned for him to march alongside them as they
advanced down the path to their village.

Buttplug couldn't understand their language, but as dawn broke
over the horizon, he thought he recognized their thin eyes,
clever fingers and great love for electronic gadgets.

"The Shibari," he whispered into Spirella's delectable ear as
they approached a cluster of strangely-shaped wooden structures
surrounded by elegant gardens filled with artfully-arranged
stones of pleasing shapes and colors. "A politely barbaric tribe
from the far east. I have heard they aren't really dangerous, but
they have many rituals and very specific tribulations that they
like to practice on their females and, er, esteemed visitors."

Spirella twisted and thrashed excitedly, and not just because of
the coarse cords digging geometrically-symmetrical trenches in
her limbs.

"Mmm mingggg!" she mumbled urgently through her gag.

"Don't worry, ma petite equestrianette. I snatched your precious
cargo, not to mention the rest of your stuff, while the Shibari
were busy with your bitchin' bindings. Besides, I don't think
these are the chaps you're looking for. Shhhh, best to play nice
until we get to wherever we're going."

The captors and their trussed prey entered the largest of the
buildings, which was filled with painted screens, rough-hewn
furniture, odd-looking scaffolding, and a preponderance of
pulleys hanging from the ceiling. Spirella and Marie-No lle were
freed from their poles, only to be tied again in an extremely
elaborate fashion, including multiple windings around their
breasts and hair, and hoisted high into the air, their refined
orifices exposed for the pleasure and amusement of the men.

The shortest and most portly of the Shibari gestured excitedly at
Buttplug and began babbling in his strange tongue at a very rapid
pace while his cohorts busied themselves with various tasks, many
which seemed to involve large rubber bags festooned with clear
plastic hoses.

"He's the leader," Buttplug translated. "He seems to be saying
that you are the Shibari's honored guests, and he wants to share
his tribe's special form of hospitality with you. Apparently, it
involves some kind of...cleansing."

A few moments later, the purpose and intent of the rubber bags
became painfully apparent as Spirella and Marie-No lle found
their most private passages filled to the point of bursting with
warm, soapy water.

"Don't worry," Buttplug assured them, trying his very hardest not
to enjoy his companions' dire and somewhat disgusting
predicament. "It's very healthy and beneficial, or so I've been
told."

After being instructed to release the contents of their bountiful
bottoms into chipped white pans held beneath them, the Shibari
lowered them to the ground and proceeded to take turns tying them
up in some of the most fiendishly convoluted positions Buttplug
had ever witnessed. Limbs bent backwards at impossible angles,
scratchy ropes snaking around and across every inch of their
elegant epidermis, dangling from the scaffolding in positions
best described as "oblique," Spirella and Marie-No lle were
treated like beloved dolls in the hands of older brothers.

After many hours of knotty diversions, the men invited Buttplug
to join them in another building where their regular women served
them bowls of steaming rice and plates piled high with strange
delicacies from the sea, as well as copious quantities of a clear
liquid which made Buttplug's head feel like he had inhaled a silo
of snuff in one snort.

When they finished eating, one of the Shibari produced a wireless
microphone and began crooning a popular song about a far-off
metropolis so great, its name had to be repeated repeatedly in an
off-key but heartfelt manner. Following much applause, the rest
of the men clamored for a turn, and Buttplug slinked away
unnoticed, his spirits much lightened by the day's unexpected
turn of events.

"What took you so long?" shouted Spirella once Buttplug had
untied and lowered her.

"Ooooh, why did you hurry?" Marie-No lle slurred, a contented
smile replacing the gag across her mouth.

"Snap out of it, Marie-No lle!" Spirella growled at her
semiconscious compadre. "We must effect our escape forthwith!
Buttplug, where is our pony gear! And the ring! We must get away
from this accursed village as fast as our hooves can carry us!"

"Stop sweating. Like I told you, I stashed everything safely in a
tree by the path. And geez, what's your rush? I think Marie-No
lle wants to, er, hang around a little longer."

"Not funny," Spirella hissed at Buttplug. "How would you like to
spend the entire day suspended from the ceiling by
your...manhood?"

"Are you sure we can't stay the night?" Marie-No lle inquired
wistfully. "Or maybe Buttplug should alert them to our escape so
the Shibari can capture us again..."

"Get real, Marie-No lle! The Shibari are obviously a cruel,
cunning and dangerous clan. Their skillful masculine tricks have
warped your fragile mind. And you're not helping matters here,
Buttplug. Now, let's get properly accessorized and be on our
way."

They tiptoed past the building where the sound of a Shibari
warrior warbling about his feelings more than compensated for the
sound of their bare feet on the well-manicured garden walkways.

"One hell of a hero you are," Spirella said to Buttplug once she
had regained her composure, as well as her harness, boots, saddle
and much-missed chastity belt. "How could you let the Shibari
commit such heinous acts of affliction and encumbrance to
Marie-No lle and me?"

"Oh sure, like I was going to take on an army of fierce warriors
armed only with claws that barely cut paper? And might I mention
that I did come back to rescue you as soon as I could?"

"Right, after you were properly fed and watered and tended by
giggling geishas."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it sucked so hard for you. Seemed to
work okay for Marie-No lle, though."

Indeed, Marie-No lle was greatly distracted in her reappointment
of her accoutrements, arranging her harness both upside down and
backwards, and even going so far as to stick one of her hands
into a long white boot.

"Shinju...nawa...ryo-tekubi...ushiro takate kote...chokushin fudo
ippon...no, please, not the nose hooks..."

"Marie-No lle, whatever are you talking about?" Spirella asked as
she cinched her stirrup straps and replaced the ring to its
secure spot under her saddle. "If I didn't know you better, I'd
say you got dosed with a bad case of brainwashing from the
Shibaris."

"It wasn't just her brain that got washed back there," leered
Buttplug.

"Oh, do cram it," Spirella sniffed. "Come, let us continue our
trekking without delay."

The m nage a trois stomped onwards for many miles, their stony
silence punctuated only by Marie-No lle's continued outbursts in
the indecipherable tongue of the Shibaris.

"Dojo...uke...kinbaku...sukaranbo...karada...must you bind my
tongue as well, sensei?"

"I fear my best friend may have a few eyelets missing in her
corset, if you catch my drift," observed Spirella to Buttplug.

"Well, nothing that a mind-shattering orgasm, or two, or ten,
won't set to right. Perhaps I could be of some assistance in that
department..."

"Hush, crazy cat. What's that shimmering yonder in thedistance?"

"Dunno. Looks like a lake or something. Awfully dark for water,
though."

As the intrepid voyagers made their way closer, a pungent odor
permeated their nostrils.

"Hmmm, smells vaguely familiar," said Spirella. "Sort oflike..."

"The Shibari's magic bags!" Marie-No lle squealed as her flanks
clenched visibly.

"No, not that," Spirella gently reprimanded her clinically-addled
associate. "But in the same barn, that's for sure."

"It reminds me of something I once smelled in a hotel room at the
annual gathering," said Buttplug. "I was intrigued by the promise
of many Furries in cunning catsuits, and when I opened the door,
my nose practically blew off my face. Everybody was dressed from
head to toe in..."

They arrived at the edge of the lake. Spirella cautiously dipped
a hoof into the gently undulating fluid, then quickly retracted
it when she realized her beautifully-polished boot had been
covered with a shiny black substance that resembled a mirror,
only in reverse.

"Ye gods, it's a..." Spirella sputtered.

"Lake of Liquid Latex!" finished Buttplug. "Last one in's a
rotten ovary!"

With that, Buttplug dove headfirst into the gleaming water, only
to resurface a second later desperately wiping the glossy
substance away from his eyes and mouth.

"Whoops, maybe it's best to wade in slowly. Who's next?"

"Me me me!" yelped Marie-No lle as she splashed happily into the
dark liquid, coating her pristine white leather in slime noir.

"Oh, Marie-No lle," admonished Spirella as she tried to grab her
errant friend's tail, "you've gone and...uh...uh...help!"

Spirella lost her footing on the bank of the lake and fell
sideways into the murky depths.

"Wheeee!" Marie-No lle paddled over to her unhappy pal and began
splashing latex on the few spots on Spirella's body that weren't
covered in black goo.

"Stop that this instant, Marie-No lle! You'll ruin the lining on
my...ohmigod! The ring! Where did it go?"

Spirella wrenched herself around and desperately searched under
her saddle, only to find nothing more than another layer of runny
rubber between the leather and her skin.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!" Spirella screamed at the top of her
lungs.

"At your cervix, darling," Buttplug snarked as he swam lazily
past the perturbed ponygirl.

"Help me find the ring, Buttplug! It's got to be around here
somewhere!"

"Oh great, like it's going to be real easy to see something
that's sunk to the bottom of this particular puddle."

"Well, don't just stand there," Spirella wailed. "Start diving!"

"What, stick my face in this gunk? I might be kinky, but I'm
really not into serious sensory deprivation."

"Marie-No lle!" Spirella cried as she began wrestling with the
laces running up her thighs. "Take off your boots like me and
feel around with your toes!"

"Ewww, do you have any idea what might be down there?"

"No, but we're all going to find out right this instant!"

Spirella took a deep breath and plunged downwards into the murk.

"Aw, geez...the things we do for higher species," Buttplug sighed
as he followed suit.

Much thrashing and gasping ensued as the two brave aquanauts
explored the bottom of the Lake of Liquid Latex while Marie-No
lle cheered on her friends, secretly luxuriating in the
unmentionably greasy sensations against her skin.

Many moments later, Buttplug popped to the surface holding the
gag between his teeth, since his claws were much too slippery to
gain a secure grasp.

"Got it!" he choked. "Although I feel a bit funny all of a
sudden..."

"That's great...oh, no! Buttplug, spit out the ring!" Spirella
shouted.

"Wow, this is truly weird," Buttplug gulped. "Here I always
figured I was 100 percent hetero, but man, I could really get
into a nice, big, juicy, thick, throbbing..."

Spirella stumbled over to Buttplug and yanked the silver circle
out of his mouth.

"Hey, watch it, bitch! I swear, you pushy breeders are all the
same...thilly thavages, the lot of you. Christ, did I just say
what I think I said?"

"Take a deep breath, Buttplug," Spirella counseled from practical
experience. "The dire effects of the ring should wear off in a
moment or two."

"I like girls, I like girls, I like girls," Buttplug chanted as
he sat down on the banks of the Lake of Liquid Latex and began
wringing out his tail.

"How will we ever remove this icky coating from our skin, much
less our leather apparel?" Spirella wondered aloud.

"Oh, must we bother?" inquired Marie-No lle hopefully. "I quite
enjoy the effect myself, alternating between great heat and
clammy cold. And it shows off our graceful limbs to marvelous
effect."

"Oh, behave," Spirella said as she tried to peel off a layer from
her forearm. "Rubber is best deployed on the walls of cells for
lunatics and readers of hyphenated newsgroups."

"But what if it rains?" Marie-No lle pleaded. "What if we want to
go surfing? Or snorkeling? Latex is so practical as protection
against the elements..."

"Nice try, but as they say around the water trough on a
blistering afternoon, enough!"

The two ponygirls bickered for the rest of the day as they
methodically removed the residue from their maritime escapades,
while Buttplug continued to fret about the aftermath of his
taking the ring in his mouth.

"Well, sure, I'm often happy," he muttered to himself, "not to
mention spirited, fun-loving, glad, joyful and cheerful on
occasion, but I am most definitely not g-g-g..."

They made their camp on the shores of the Lake of Liquid Latex,
vowing to press forward at double their current rate to
compensate for the day's distractions.

"Given the events of last night, I think we'd better set a
watch," Spirella observed as the last embers in their fire lost
their golden glow. "Who will go first?"

"What the heck, I can't sleep anyway," replied Buttplug. "You
appaloosas vamoose to the land of nod, capiche?"

"What did he just say?" Marie-No lle yawned extravagantly, trying
hard not to reveal to Spirella that she had not yet removed the
leftover black goop from her nether regions.

"Hit the hay, girl," Buttplug translated. "I'll wake one of you
up if I need relief."

Of course, Buttplug fell asleep mere minutes after he made this
pronouncement, only to awaken several hours later by the noise of
great wings flapping overhead.

"Fuck me," Buttplug scowled as he squinted into the darkness.
"Sounds like tarns."

Within the space of seconds, he was proven correct as he,
Spirella and Marie-No lle were quickly subdued by a party of
swarthy raiders riding huge taloned birds, and rendered
unconscious via a virulent potion administered in a fashion not
often recommended for anyone past the age of consent.

When the tormented tourists finally awoke, the ponygirls found
themselves in a dark, smoky and smelly room stripped of their
rawhide accoutrements, their bodies bound severely in chains,
bracelets and heavy leather collars, while Buttplug reclined
opulently on a pile of furs.

"They think I'm something called a 'larl,'" he explained as he
stretched his limbs and tried not to purr. "And they've never
seen a purple one before, so they're being extra careful with
me."

"What has happened to us?" Spirella inquired as she shimmied with
much futility while Marie-No lle adopted the smug look of someone
unexpectedly upgraded to first class.

"I have heard rumors about the existence of the legendary Gorcs,"
Buttplug began explaining, "but Furries always dismissed the
stories as fantasy of the lowest order, science friction for
knuckle-dragging heathens too dim for Hogwarts."

"As usual, you make no sense," Spirella interrupted. "All I know
is that we're being held prisoner in what looks like a dinosaur's
rec room, Marie-No lle and I are heartlessly constrained while
you're lounging around, I've lost the ring, I need to pee wicked
bad, and our grand outing will be a total wash if we don't..."

"Surely now," boomed a man who entered the room suddenly, "you do
not allow your slaves, stinking, meaningless, lascivious little
beasts whose sexuality, shamelessness, needs and helplessness
make them worthy of nothing more than excessive whipping, to
speak to you thusly?"

The stranger strode into the room with the seething confidence of
a dragon facing a knight armed with a bucket of water as Buttplug
scrambled upright hastily. Dressed in a tunic and long boots of
soft leather, he ignored the shocked stares of Spirella and
Marie-No lle and addressed Buttplug directly.

"You stand on two feet. Curious. Are you man or larl? The
initiates are much confused by your appearance, and seek
immediate clarification."

"Uh, let's go with larl for now," Buttplug replied cautiously.
"New breed, very top secret. And these two are my trusted,
er...what do you call your weirdo horses again?"

"Kaiila, terrifying but beautiful, lofty, stately, fanged and
silken, they can cover as much as six hundred pasangs in a single
day's riding," the Gorc responded with what he believed to be
eloquence. "But my fellow freemen are familiar with the pathetic
genus of overdressed quadrupeds which you call 'ponygirl.'"

"Pathetic?" Spirella shrieked. "Overdressed? Hey, look who's
talking, Fringeboy."

"Quiet, slave! Man-larl, I must insist that you gag these
insolent wenches before my ears convince my hand to plunge my
sacramasax, with wine-tempered blade of fine, double-edged steel,
carried even at the siege of Argh, so long ago, directly into
their hearts."

"Your whatsis? Hey, speaking of gags, we seemed to have misplaced
one. A silver circle and some old straps, goes by the name
'ring,' last seen stuffed under the big gal's saddle..."

"Big?" Spirella exclaimed. "Why, I've lost five pounds at least
on this trip alone, and my instructor in pointless perpetual
motion says I can probably slim down to a size four after a few
more..."

"Enough, kajira!" the man bellowed. "Is this what you were
looking for?"

He produced a ring gag from beneath his tunic and proceeded to
strap it around Spirella's head.

"Uh, yeah, that's the one, I think," Buttplug answered. "Except
hers was more decrepit, as I recall. She said it was pretty old
and probably very valuable. Definitely cursed, too," he added
with a shudder.

"Valuable?" the man scoffed as he reached under his tunic again.
"These gags are as common as rennels in the sands of the Southern
Plains," he laughed as he produced another one and inserted it
into Marie-No lle's fairly receptive mouth.

"Uh, yeah, I can see that," Buttplug said warily as he observed
the power of the rings taking effect on his former friends. "So
how come Spirella and Marie-No lle, um, these incoherent,
worthless, er, bargain-basement, ah, Swatch dogs and Diet
Cokeheads thought it was something important?"

"I can answer that," neighed a feminine voice outside the door.

"Tal, Fanfic," said the man, nodding curtly to the mature
ponywoman as she clip-clopped slowly into the room.

"Tal to you, too, Tarl Gruntwig," Fanfic replied, raising a hoof
in salute. "I see our latest acquisition expedition was eminently
successful."

"Yes, you have done well once again," the man said, nodding at
the thoroughly confused captives in the corner. "The willowy one,
she is white silk?"

"Alas, I fear that the Shibari opened her during an unplanned
encounter en route to Port Kar," Fanfic replied.

"The careless fools!" the man grumbled. "We shall send an army
forthwith to smite them for their audacity in defiling the
rightful property of Gorcs."

"Aw, the little guys didn't know any better," injected Buttplug.
"Besides, she's still a peach. Show 'em your teeth, Marie-No lle.
And hey, if you don't want her, I'd be happy to take her off..."

"Silence, man-larl," the man commanded. "Fanfic, this soiling of
the goods is unacceptable, and shall result in a drastic
reduction in your fee."

"Not so fast, Tarl Gruntwig," the mare countered testily. "Our
agreement was for two fresh ponygirls, period. Nobody mentioned
the state of their silkiness, or any other conditions. I will be
paid 20 silver tarsks apiece, or you can find another purveyor of
pulchritude for your slave stables."

"Very well, Fanfic," the man concluded as he withdrew the coins
from a leather pouch on his waist. "Same time next month?"

"Absolutely," she smiled. "Lots more where these two lovelies
come from. Well, I need to do some shopping before I head back to
Snobbiton. Ta tal, all."

With that, Fanfic spun on her hooves and cantered out of the room
as the Gorc turned his full attention to Spirella and Marie-No
lle's quivering, glistening bodies.

"The time has come for your training to begin," he intoned. "We
shall start with nadu. On your knees, back straight, with your
palms on your thighs...you dare to delay, she-sleen?"

"Hmm, I can see you've got a big day ahead of you here, so I'll
just be moseying along," Buttplug said as he began backing slowly
out of the room while Spirella and Marie-No lle scrambled to the
floor. "Don't worry, I can show myself out. Ciao, er, tal, um,
whatever, dude..."

"Wait, man-larl of excessively unique coloration," the Gorc
barked. "We have unfinished business between us."

Buttplug gulped as a glimmering of the ring's ghastly sway
fluttered through his paralyzed psyche.

"You have done your species proud in the transport of the new
slaves to me," the man solemnly intoned. "For your efforts, you
shall be amply rewarded."

He pulled five silver coins from his purse and pressed them into
Buttplug's Day-Glo paw.

"Wow, cool!" Buttplug said with obvious relief. "You're good
people, even if you haven't taken a bath for the last three
hundred pages."

"Tell me, man-larl, what is your given name?" the man queried.

"Uh, Butt...er, John," Buttplug stuttered. "John Holmes."

"Well, Tarl Holmes of the John, are there others of your species
from the land of your Home Stone?"

"Sure!" Buttplug replied cheerfully. "Not as authentic as me, of
course, but yeah, there are loads of Furries, not just cats, but
dogs too, and foxes, and mice, and tigers, and bunnies, lots of
bunnies, and just about any creature you can imagine, and more
than a few you can't, or really don't want to."

"I would be most interested in meeting some of the females of
your tribe," the Gorc smiled. "Perhaps you could arrange to
deliver a few specimens for my inspection in a manner similar to
the arrival of these knee walkers."

"Very do-able," Buttplug said, his tongue inadvertently massaging
his whiskers. "But I might need one of those magic mouth thingies
as bait."

"You can purchase a huda of rings for a copper tarn from the
merchants of Port Kar," the man said with a wink.

"Huh?" Buttplug shrugged. "Suit yourself, I'm easy. Well, nice
doing business with you."

"I shall anticipate your return to Gorc in not less than five
hands," the man said as he returned his gaze to the two ponygirls
bowing on the floor. "Did I not command you to maintain a
straight back? Look up! Split your knees! More widely, slut!
That's better. We shall now test the properties of the rings,
starting with the larger one. Yes, you! Stop scowling at me like
that! Har-ta!"

Buttplug grinned as he left the room, his mind filled with
extravagant tales of enchanted jewelry, inescapable destiny and
bard-worthy bravery with which he would ply many female Furries
in the days, weeks and months to come.

"Peace on you, Tarl Holmes of the John!" the Gorc called out
behind him.

"Goddamned watersport freaks," Buttplug muttered as he groped for
his pouch of catnip.


###

Copyright (C) 2001 by Adrian Hunter and Chelsea Shepard. All
rights reserved.

AdrianHunter.com
Superlative bondage fiction, including our brand new BDSM novel,
"Once Bitten"
http://www.adrianhunter.com

Correspondence: adrian (underscore) hunter (at) hotmail (dot)com
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