Message-ID: <51702asstr$1123830603@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <nntp-bounce@supernews.net> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: corp.supernews.com!not-for-mail From: oldmudrat <oldmudrat<takethispartout>@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <11fn40ih0dg4v15@corp.supernews.com> X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MIMEOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V6.00.2800.1441 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 11 Aug 2005 12:48:38 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} RP: With A Whimper Chapter 1-3 Lines: 660 Date: Fri, 12 Aug 2005 03:10:03 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2005/51702> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw With A Whimper by Oldmudrat copyright 2004 ********************************************************** Standard Disclaimer: This story is copyrighted material. (C)) 2004. All rights are reserved by the author, including that of publication. Permission is given for re-posting as long as nothing in this post is changed, the author's name is included, this disclaimer is included, and no charge is assessed to read the story. Permission for posting on storiesonline.net, alt.sex.stories.moderated and asstr-mirror.org is explicitly granted. This story, the people portrayed are fictional. Any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental. . WARNING: This story contains material with explicit and sexual content that some may find offensive and may be illegal in some regions. You must STOP reading if: you are under the 'legal' age; you are offended by stories mentioning sex in graphic detail and 'vulgar' language; if this type of material is illegal in your place of residence; You must READ the story if: you are curious; have nothing better to do at the present time; and most of all read the story if it is you choice. ************************************************************* Prologue It started in India and spread with the speed of air travel. According to the World Health Organization and the Center for Disease Control it was only an unexpected strain of influenza. Normally each year influenza will kill one person in ten-thousand of those infected. Infection rates average 20% of an exposed population. The India strain of Influenza-A was much more contagious. Infection rates were as high as 80%. But don't worry the CDC assured. Death rates were much lower, only one in ten-million. You might get very sick for a week or so, but you would get over it. For two months the Indian Flu raged unchecked. Entire countries would become infected in a couple of days, stretching medical resources to the limits and in some cases beyond. A very bad time. Then gradually the disease burned itself out. The world breathed a sigh of relief and vaccine manufacturers began the process of adding the India Strain to the next years flu vaccine. Then the Virus mutated. And the World died. Chapter One Now: The body of what had once been a man, although now it was hard to tell just what he was, so covered with blood, so battered and torn. Around the body lay other bodies equally battered. They were just things now, no longer human, as they waited to decay to the dust from which they were born. Among the remains scurried nature's cleanup team, rats and roaches, spiders and centipedes, digging out their due with fangs and pincers. The smaller scavengers crawled in and out of the nasal passages, eyeless sockets, and open mouths of the dead; greedily carrying loads larger than themselves. The rats, the mice, the lizards feasted on the outer flesh. Lines of ants marched carrying their cargo of flesh and then came swiftly back for more. Yet these vermin left one corpse alone. From time to time a rat would approach and sniff the body, its black nose twitching rapidly, seeking the scent of decay. But it would leave, seeing that this one was no quiet ready. One rat, perhaps hungrier or more adventurous, crawled atop the motionless body. It stopped by the bloodied head and looked at it for a moment unsure where to start. Then it reached out with sharp teeth snapped shut on the prone body's lower lip. "Fuck!" the recipient of the kiss croaked through dry and cracked lips. He lifted his right hand, slammed it down on his lip. The rat voiced an indignant squeal and jumped away. It landed five away and quickly made its way to the other bodies, where the food did not fight back. The nearly dead man opened his eyes just a slit and nearly screamed as the sunlight hit eyes that had been closed for days. "Shit. Shit." the body groaned over and over. Memory flooded in like with a wave of debris. He didn't want to know. Didn't want to think back to those last few months, last few days when all was lost. He didn't want to remember that everyone he knew was dead. He didn't want to remember that he was dying. He tried to sit up and collapsed back. His arms and legs felt rubbery. He could only jerk around without any real strength. He was used to being strong. Now like this, easy prey for anything that came along, he knew the end was near. Please, let it be near. "Shit!" He screamed out the word with all the energy his dry throat could muster, but only a whisper emerged. "Oh, God." Whether God was interested in this particular brand on human misery, who could say. But nothing happened. Only the sounds of the scavengers feeding and the stench of death answered him. He could feel them crawling on him. He kicked his legs and heard a scurrying. He remembered the dead and tried to shut off his emotions. He waited to fall back down into the black pit from which he had been rudely awakened. But the pain of his body kept him awake, torturing him into full consciousness. With each passing second the memories, the faces of those he had known and loved loomed larger and clearer. "Jules," another whisper. "Jules," a plea for love untimely lost. Why wasn't he dead? He wanted it. Yearned for it. He breathed a sigh of infinite weariness and let himself fall back, giving up his feeble attempts to rise. He would just lie there and wait for the creatures to finish with the others. Then it would be his turn. He would be gone soon. Please, God, let it be soon. The sooner, the better. His memory was suddenly filled with images. Snapshots of his past shooting through him like a movie. They say that your entire life flashes before you as your soul leaves your body behind. He went with his memories as he waited for death's embrace. ==+= Memories: He remembered the first time with her. Her name was Jualisa Wanner. Jules. You called her 'Jualisa' at your own peril. They had been dating for about two months, when she said she would cook dinner for them. They first met at the hospital. She was a newly arrived Pediatric resident fresh from med school. He was just finishing up an Infectious Disease Fellowship and had accepted a position as assistant department chairman. From the first meeting each knew that something important had happened. Something had clicked. Each kept it to themselves for several weeks, afraid that if they voiced their feelings the promise of their heart would vanish. Finally she asked him out. Dinner and a movie. The rest, as they say, was 'happily after'. Or it should have been. By their third date she was doing the cooking. Having decided that he was not going to put 'the move' on her, she decided they had waited long enough. Her apartment was a small addition on the rear of an old house. It had its own private entrance and parking area. A small living room, a combo kitchenette/dining area, bath and bedroom. She had only lived there since moving into town a few weeks before. The furniture was used but still in good shape. Clean. Neat. Without being overly so. The meal had been a simple one. Spaghetti, salad, bread. When he arrived the smell of the spaghetti had immediately kicked his appetite in high-gear. Now, afterwards, he knew that it had been no store bought sauce. The taste alone screamed 'made from scratch'. He had helped with the cleanup. Drying and putting away the plates and such as she washed. Conversation had been easy and casual. Finally the moment was there as she folded the towel and put it on the rack. Glancing around the kitchenette, she flipped the light switch. Only the soft glow from a single lamp in the living room lit the apartment. "Well, I guess I'll be getting along," he said. "Thanks for the meal and the wonderful evening. Next time, I'll do the cooking." She laughed and shook her head. "James, I'm afraid I can't let you leave just yet." She walked to the door to slide the lock into place. She turned, suddenly serious. "I know how I feel about you and I've tried to show you." He nodded, unsure what to say. Should he tell her that he thought about her every minute of the day. Should he say that the time they were together was the only time he felt... complete. Should he tell her that away from her he was lost and floundering in a sea of loneliness. Tell her that there had been women in his life before her, but none like her. He had been afraid to voice those feelings. "I've never felt this way," she said as she backed against the door. "Oh, I've had boyfriends before, some very nice ones. But no one has done this to me before. When you're not with me..." "I love you," he said. Simply. The words came easy. Now he waited. With flushed face, she hugged herself as those words washed over her. She closed her eyes. "Say it again." "I love you. Jules, I..." She held up a hand to stop him. Her legs were weak. If she had not been leaning against the door, she felt that she would be in a heap at his feet. She opened her eyes and smiled. Her smile became wider as she walked toward him. He gathered her into his arms, one hand holding her head on his shoulder. Her arms went around his neck as her body molded to fit into his. "Say it again." "I love you," he whispered and lightly kissed her neck. Her eyes were moist and shining as she looked up at him, bringing her lips close to hers. First tentatively, then urgently. She opened her mouth slowly and invitingly, her tongue reaching to lightly lick his lips and beyond. She could taste a hint of their dinner and more than a hint of promised heat. His lips moved warmly and damply on hers, sucking and tugging them as she moved her head from side to side. Her firm body moved eagerly in his arms as he held her, feeling the hot flesh beneath her blouse and skirt. He moved his hands up and down her back, caressing the slender curves. He felt a tremor move through her and she moaned. She held him tighter, pushing her breasts into his chest and her groin into his. He moved his hands slowly down her back to her ass, cupping and squeezing. Reluctantly she pulled her lips away with a damp sound and wiggled out of his arms. With a hand over his heart, she said, "Again?" Taking both hands he cupped her face and looking into her eyes, "I..." "...love you, James," she whispered. She let her hand trace its way down his body. Chest. Stomach. A gentle squeeze upon reaching his hard cock. Reaching a decision she said, "Follow me." Struggling to get her blouse off she lead him a few steps to the bed. He was right behind her. At last, in the semi-darkness, she turned. Her firm breasts stood out from her chest in mounds of delight. From her lovely face down to her tiny waist and full hips, a vision of delight. She pushed the bedcovers to the foot of the bed and laid back, letting him feast his eyes on her. The triangle of hair between her legs was just a shade darker that the hair on her head. Inviting. Promising. Beads of moisture outlined the pink opening. As his eyes memorized every feature, he pushed his pants down. His cock rebounded from the strain and like a divining rod pointed toward her. Now she feasted on the vision before her. She sat up on the side of the bed as he took a step closer. Tentatively she reached out, wrapped her hand around him. The coolness of her touch sent a chill through him. The heat of him begged her to grip tighter. With her thumb she spread the leaking moisture over his cockhead. Her tongue tasted the spice of his center. "Mmmmm," she hummed. Her mouth opened wide. As his cock brushed her lips, she looked up into his eyes and lovingly closed her lips tight. The sensation on her tongue as his cock was sucked deeper into her mouth brought from another "Mmmmm" from her and an "Oh, God!" from him. She let his cock slide almost out of her mouth, pushed her tongue into the center of his cock and flicked it back and forth. A pang of joy shot through him and made every muscle in his body quiver as she took his cock deep into her warm, welcoming mouth. He cupped her face between his hands and moved his hips forward. She shook off the urge to gag as it touched the back of her throat. With an inpatient shrug she swallowed repeatedly. The sensation of her throat muscles at work was almost more that he could stand. He wanted to pump his cock into her. Hard! He groaned as she pressed his cock between her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Slowly he pulled his hips back until only the head of his cock was between her lips. The shaft, damp and shining with her saliva, was stroked by her hand as she sucked and tongued the head. He threw his head back as she once again engulfed him, her head undulating back and forth. Saliva dripped from her mouth as she savored his taste. He could feel the pressure for release build. Sensing this she put one hand on his ass. Her fingernails bit into him as she let his cock slide from her mouth. Cupping his balls with her other hand she turned her head sideways and licked at his cock and balls, smearing saliva along the side of her face as she pressed her lips and face to him. Her tongue slid far out as she lick at him, moaning softly, then she released him and wiggled back onto the bed, her body flushed and trembling. "God... I love you so much... I need you in me... in me... now." ===++== Now: He wanted to stay with the memory, but it faded to black. He joined the blackness and thought that there should be a bright light to lead him home. End Chapter One ****************************************** With A Whimper by Oldmudrat Chapter 2: February, 2016 My great-grandfather, on my mother's side of the family, was a strange man. Daniel William Pitt was a strange man. Well, not really strange. Maybe peculiar would be a more apt description. He was 104 years old when he died and had lived on the same plot of land for sixty of those years. He did not believe in modern conveniences with the exception of radio and television. The only reason he had electricity in his house was for those two 'damn fool boxes', as he used to call them. Only later did he add a phone and computer, at my urging. Going to college I missed our talks and with the phone and email we could keep in touch. Shortly after his wife died in childbirth, he bought up almost 600 acres of land on the east side of the Tennessee River where the river briefly visits Mississippi. He built his house on a steep limestone cliff that dropped one-hundred-ten feet to the river. For ten miles either side of his house there was no place that a boat could make landfall. The only road in from the state highway was ten miles of dusty, rutted red clay or ten miles of gumbo mud depending on the season. A car would never make the trip. A four-wheel drive vehicle was the only chance, no matter the season. It helped keep visitors to a minimum, which suited great-grandpa just fine. On those 600 acres were stands of timber untouched by chainsaw for over fifty years. Steep hills with swift flowing streams in the valleys. Swamps that were the home to alligators and more snakes that you could shake a stick at. And a shallow vein of coal that no one knew about except him. On that tall riverside bluff he built himself a log cabin. Not one of those simple cabins, but a large rambling structure. Which was pretty strange in itself, because great-grandpa Daniel lived alone. Most of the time. His only trips off his land was twice yearly trips into the nearest town, Iuka, Mississippi, to restock supplies that he could not obtain any other way. Those trips were short... get the supplies and get out of town. Fast. Do not get the impression that great-grandpa Daniel had not see the world. He was a veteran of WW2. As a Marine he hit the beaches at Tarawa, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa. He was still in the Marines, having been promoted to Master Sergeant, when he fought his way from the Chosin Reservoir in the Korean War. After that little 'police action', he got out of the Marines and started looking for a place out of the line of fire. Great-grandpa Daniel was firmly convinced that the world was going to hell in a handbasket and it would all be over very soon. He held that conviction for fifty years. It turned out he was right. Maybe great-grandpa Daniel was not so strange after all. I never understood why he took up with me. I was nine-years-old when I first saw the Old Man. My father was his grandson. The two of them never really got along. But once a year dad would load up the family mom, me, my older brother Daniel, and my older sister Willimenia and visit the Old Man for a week. Great-grandpa Daniel never refused those visits. He usually found things to do on other parts of his property whenever we were there. I mean my dad and mom were not very subtle about the main reason for their visits. As the Old Man's only living relatives they stood to inherit his 'fortune'. The land itself was worth several million dollars by that time. Brother Daniel and sister Willimenia were also obvious in their attempt to suck up to the Old Man. Me? Maybe I was too young to bother. I spent the weekly visits exploring the surround woodlands. That's how I happened to come upon great-grandpa fishing at a creek one afternoon. There was a fishing pole stuck butt-first in the muddy bank and a line floated lazily on the water. But great-grandpa was sound asleep, a open can of beer at his side. I sat there until he woke up and asked me if I knew how to fish. I guess that how our friendship started. That and I did not give a shit about his money. For a nine-year-old, who thought he was probably adopted I mean how could I have the same genes as the rest of my family, they were all assholes discovering a grandfather was the bestest thing in the world. The best days of my life were spend on the river and in the wood with him. Once I got my driving license my visits were pretty much when the whim took me. He was always glad to see me and had something new to show or tell me. It was great-grandpa Daniel who payed for my college education. My asshole of a father figured two years at a technical school would be enough education to get me a job. But I wanted more and the Old Man knew that. So he financed an education at the University of Tennessee and later medical school at the University of Mississippi. I had a job, sometimes two, all through my training, but the Old Man always sent along a little something extra every couple of weeks. He came off his property and traveled two hundred miles, the most he had traveled in many years, to see me receive my Doctor of Medicine degree. After residency training I started practicing medicine at a large hospital only an hours drive from him and made frequent visits. I brought Jules to meet him. As we left that time, he whispered to me, "You've got a good, James. Treat her right. You hear me!?" I could only say, "I know and I will." And then the Super Flu struck. His isolation proved no protection. He stopped answering the phone and did not reply to the frantic emails I sent him. I assume he was dead, but I was too occupied trying to save lives and failing to go find out. Now there were no more lives to save. Now I was going home. =+ All these memories came back to me as I stood on the side of the highway looking back at the city where I had lived for the past four years. An empty city, except for the dead. A thick pall of smoke hung over the western suburbs. Fire would spread unchecked now. There were no firemen to combat it. The stench is hard to describe. How can you tell someone how the decomposing bodies of almost sixty-thousand people smell? You cannot. It has to be experienced. With a last look back, I climbed into the Ford F-250 four-wheel drive pickup that I had 'liberated' off the dealer's lot and started the drive home. End Chapter 2 ********************************************************* ********************************************************* With a Whimper By Oldmudrat Copyright 2005 Chapter 3 With a last look back, I climbed into the Ford F-250 four-wheel drive pickup that I had 'liberated' off the dealer's lot and started the drive home. My name is James Thomas Greer. Thirty-five years old. Six feet tall. One-hundred-and-eighty pounds. The soft life I had been living the last several years had added those extra twenty pounds. I figured I lost about ten of them within the last month. Black hair that I wore cut short, because long hair is a nuisance in the operating room. Pale blue eyes. I am... was a doctor. A failed doctor, because everyone I treated in the last six months died. While I never got the slightest sniffle. I watched my colleagues sicken with the Indian Flu and was unable to do anything to save them. Only ease their suffering a tiny bit. If I had the courage I would have blown my brains out with the Glock 9mm that rested in the belt holster. But I was a coward. So I lived with the nightmares and visions. Now, I turned the pickup truck onto the northbound Natchez Trace Parkway and headed for the only home I really called my own. My great-grandfather's farm on the Tennessee River. A ninety minute trip, that I had made many times ignoring the speed limit and cruising at seventy miles per hour. This time I was in no hurry and kept the speed down to about fifty letting the hum of the tires on the pavement and the static from the radio sing to me while my mind wondered what awaited me. What would I do now? Were there others alive? Would I meet anyone or were the survivors too separated to get together? I never considered that I might be the only survivor. Surely there were others lucky enough to have lived. I saw one survivor for sure in the city as I was loading the pickup with what supplies I thought I would need. He, I could easily tell he was a male even from the distance, was just coming out of a store a couple of blocks from me when I pulled up gun shop. I yelled out and waved my hands over my head trying to get his attention. He raised the rifle he was carrying and fire three shots in my direction, all aimed high. Then he got into a small SUV and drove off. I know when I'm not wanted, so I went into the gun shop only to find that it had already been mostly looted. IF I met others, I only hoped they would be a bit more friendly. ---------------------------------------- It was late afternoon when I drove down the main street of Iuka, only ten miles from the farm. This had been the county seat, population five thousand. I had to weave among cars and trucks that haphazardly blocked the street. All the store windows had been broken and the stores looked looted. The big chain grocery store was only a smoking ruin. I pulled into the QuickMark, where I usually got gas when I was in town. Turned of the truck's engine and after making sure the Glock had a round chambered and the short-barreled .357 was stuck in by belt under my jacket, I got out. I could see that the store had already been looted. The large glass front was shattered. Stepping inside the store, the racks of foods, drinks, snacks, and all the other products that the store owner kept neatly arranged were turned over and very little of the original stock was left. The lights were still on, so at least this little town still had electricity. "Hank!" I called for the owner. He and I had gotten fairly friendly over the years that I had visited my great-grandfather Daniel. "Hank! Anybody here?" Nobody here. I searched through what little the looters had left. It wasn't much. And what there was had been opened in the aisles and trashed. I walked over behind the counter thinking maybe they missed a pack of cigarettes or a couple of cigars. Yeah, yeah, smoking is bad for your health. Maybe it would kill me. I could only hope. It was then that I saw the body. Covered in dried blood and bruises. Clothes torn off, only a ripped blouse covered her. Her blond hair now tinted red with dried blood. I had a hard time recognizing her. It was Susan, Hank's daughter. I thought she was dead, until I notice a slight rise and fall of her chest. "Susan!" I quickly kneeled beside her in the blood and trash. She had a strong carotid pulse. Prying her eyes open showed that her pupils were equal, so the possibility of brain damage was slight. I ran my hands over her body checking for other injuries. Yeah, I noticed that she still had a nice figure. I'm a man after all. Susan was only three years older than myself. No broken bones that I could tell. She was bleeding slowly from her vagina and it did not take a professional to tell that she had been vaginally and anally raped. Probably by more than one guy. Susan had been a strong woman and knew how to take care of herself. "Awwww," Susan moaned as I tried to move her. Her eyes opened slowly, not really focusing. Probably only seeing a blurred image leaning over her. "NOOOOO!!!" she screamed and weakly tried to fight me off. "NOOOOO!!!!!" "Susan," I said gently grabbing her head and forcing her to look at me. "Susan, it's o.k. now. It's over. It's James. James. I'm here. You're safe. Look at me, Susan. Look at me." Her eyes passed over me and looked beyond searching for her attackers. Finally she seemed to focus on my face. "James?" she whispered.. "Yes. James. It's all over. You're safe. You're alive. Hurt, but alive." She passed out. Mercifully she stayed that way as I picked her up and loaded her in the truck. Taking her to the farm was the only thing I could think of. I had just closed the passenger door when I heard footsteps coming from around the corner of the building. "Don't move," a voice said. "I've got a twelve-gauge on ya. It'll make a awful big hole." "I'm not moving," I said. "Good. Now turn around. Slowly." I turned. Slowly. A greasy-haired, bearded man stood about twenty feet away at the corner of the building. I got the impression that I knew him but the beard and scrawny, almost wasted look of him confused me. "Well. Well. Well," he said taking a couple of steps closer. "If it ain't the famous doctor. Come running back home have ya." His eyes were rummy. Faced covered with scabs and I could see where his hair had fallen out in patches. "Ya late, Doc. Ain't nobody here needs ya now. There's just me and as you can see I'm doing fine and dandy. Might say I the mayor now. Voted myself in. No opposition. Mayor Clyde Mason. And as Mayor I'm ah gonna take that truck. And whatever ya got in it. Town's been picked clean. Yes, suh. Picked clean. Whatcha got in there anyway?" "How are you doing, Clyde? You don't look so good." "I'm alive. That's more than can be said for everyone else. I'm still good enough to blow you away, Boy. Don't make me and I just might let you walk outa town." He brought the shotgun up to his shoulder aimed at my head. "Now! Whatcha got in there. Boy!" I side stepped back to the rear of the truck. "Not much. Some food. Water. Some medicines." By this time I had reached the rear and placed my hand on the tailgate. "Couple cases of Scotch." That made Clyde lick his dry lips. Clyde did like his alcohol, in any brand as long as there was plenty of it. He lowered the shotgun but kept it pointed at my belly as he stepped closer. "Mighty nice of you to bring that here, Doc," Clyde said. "Yes, Sir. Might nice. How much you got?" "Couple cases of Scotch. Dozen cases of beer. Three cases of Jack Daniels Whiskey," I answered. Lying my ass off. "About all I had room for. JD is your drink, isn't it, Clyde? Want to see?" Well, now, that's where Clyde forgot where he was. What's the purpose of carrying a shotgun if you are going to get in close. He should have shot me from twenty feet away instead of getting within arm's reach. "Getting pretty low on stock myself," Clyde said as he approached. The barrel of the shotgun wandering from me to the truck and back. "Open it up. You walk outa here and leave that and everything will be square. Yes, Sir. Open it up." Close enough. I grabbed the barrel of the shotgun with my left hand, pushing it skyward as both barrel let go with a deafening roar. A step forward and with the heel of my right hand I busted Clyde's nose. There was the satisfying feel of bones crunching and a spurt of blood. I continued to push the shotgun up and back. Clyde had to let go or get his finger broke. Besides both of his hands went to his busted nose as he hollered. A swift kick, that would have made any NFL field goal kicker proud, to his balls; and Clyde had a new place to cradle in his hands. Standing there clutching the family jewels, blood pouring down his face, and voicing a shrill whine, Clyde had too many things demanding his attention to spare any for me. Another kick to the inside of his right knee pushed it in a direction it was never designed to go. The bone popped and Clyde collapsed. I had the Glock out, pointing at his head, ready to pull the trigger. But I couldn't do it. I just could not do it. So I kicked him in the head to shut him up. "Got to get over that," I said to myself. "Pull the trigger on the bastards when I get the chance or it could be me who gets shot." ...To Be Continued End Chapter 3 ********************************************************** ********************************************************** -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+