index


Message-ID: <28613asstr$980694603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Leviticus" <leviticus1@uswest.net>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain;
	charset="iso-8859-1"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} Watchers of the Compound   part 1    (Light BDSM)
Date: Sun, 28 Jan 2001 10:10:03 -0500
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

Watchers of the Compound  part 1



Many eyes watched the community; but in the dark of night, eyes were of
little use to this group.  Instead, sensitive noses scoured the air for
every tidbit of information.  They smelled wood smoke, food slowly being
cooked, newly chopped wood, hot clay and hotter metals, and the unique scent
of the most destructive of Earth's creatures.

There was a little dissent among the pack, as these scents became known to
all.  Most of the time, such smells were to be avoided; discovery meant
death.  Yet, the pack elders were not as alarmed as the youngsters were, for
they knew these scents well.  This particular community was known to them,
and if played right, was not a danger.

The young ones did not agree, there HAD to be another way.  Why take the
chance?

Arguments flew back and forth as the pack tried to decide what to do.
Never, in the younger members' memory at least, had the pack taken such a
risk; was this the only option?

It was their leader that ended the discussion.  He was not the oldest but he
was the biggest and the strongest.  He was also one of the few who had been
this way before. He also knew that in the end they had no choice, recent
events having forced them once again to abandon their solitary ways.

He made his views known and settled the dispute.  They would wait and watch;
and if all was as remembered, then they would move, the pack's survival
depended on it.

Above them watched another pair of eyes, another nose.  The solitary watcher
shifted his attention between the group below and the community by the
river.  He had heard the stories, but was too young to know the truth behind
them and he was curious.

He shifted slightly in the snow, constantly aware of the long cut along his
side, a parting gift from the leader when he left the group, and settled in
for a long wait.

Below him, aware of the loner and cursing his existence, the rest of the
group huddled together.  Except for a solitary lookout, the watchers
prepared their own vigil.



---***---


There is no landscape in the world quieter than one covered in snow.  Snow
has a way of muffling things that nothing else in nature can duplicate.  You
can stand outside and almost hear the silence, even in the middle of a busy
city that had just gotten its first six inches.

What sounds you can hear, seem farther away than they are.  Snow blowers,
snowplows, all appear to be working streets away rather than just down the
block.  In the wilderness it's the same, except that instead of snow blowers
there are the sounds of nature herself, animals foraging for food under the
white blanket, or water fighting its way downstream before it gets covered
by an icy crust.

In the mountains though, it's a little different.  Everything seems quieter,
yet not.  Sounds from miles away seem magnified, clearer than they ought to
be despite the distance.  Maybe it's because so much of the surrounding
noise has been muffled by the snow, but in the rocky valleys between the
great mountains, sound carries a long way.

The next morning, it was therefore not a surprise to the members of the
community known simply as the Compound that someone from the town below was
coming to see them.

The whine of the engine could be heard echoing off the valley walls and some
who worked outside could even tell who was coming.  To them, the sound of
this motor was as individual and as well known as the forest itself.

A runner carried word of the approaching visitor inside, and soon a large
man wrapped in winter furs emerged from one of the huge, half buried
buildings that housed the community.  He walked slowly toward the big south
gate, which stood wide open, allowing passage through the tall log wall that
circled the Compound, and he waited.

Soon the noise of the motor got louder, and over a ridge appeared a
snowmobile.  The driver was smart, he wasn't trying to set any speed
records, and he covered the remaining distance carefully and safely.  The
vehicle pulled up close to the gate but did not enter.  On his first trip up
here a few years before, the driver made the mistake of driving through the
gate; it had not been well received.  He was welcome to walk through at any
time, one of few outsiders accorded that privilege, but his machine was to
stay outside.

Now stopped, the driver shut off the offending motor and began to remove his
helmet.  The silence of the winter wilderness returned, and others working
outside could turn their attention back to their tasks.

Sheriff Kinkade of Carson County, Colorado, pulled his helmet off and got
off his machine.  His head had been encased in the muffling helmet, but even
he could tell how much quieter it was with the engine shut off.  He felt a
little guilty at having to come up here, disturbing these good people with
his noise pollution, but he needed to make the trip.  He could have sent one
of his deputies up, but they, like most of the rest of the townsfolk, were
not that enamored of the community living in the Compound.  He doubted that
any respect would have been shown.  Besides, it gave him a chance to see his
good friend, Paul Anderson.

Paul Anderson, Guardian of the Compound, a role that translated into
something like a combination Mayor and Sheriff, happened to be the big man
who had come out to meet this visitor.  Right now, he was walking toward
Kinkade, and when the men met, they shook hands.

"It's good to see you," said Paul, his voice low and deep.

"Good to see you too, Paul," replied Kinkade.

"Come on in, we'll get something warm inside you; it's too cold to stand out
here visiting right now," Paul said, and he turned to walk back through the
gate.

Kinkade left his helmet on the snowmobile and followed.  He wasn't cold in
his one-piece snowsuit, but it was a long ride and he needed to sit for a
while on something that wasn't vibrating.  He also needed to use the head,
and once inside, excused himself temporarily for that purpose.

After a few minutes of using the Compound's rather unique plumbing, he came
out, and the two men went to the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was a community center for the Compound.  Now that the
weather had grown cold, all the community meals were eaten in here, so it
had to be big enough to seat at the same time the over five hundred members
who lived here, and it was certainly that.  It also housed the only kitchen
in the Compound; a huge area in itself, separated from the rest of the hall
by a row of tables and a row of immense stone hearths capable of baking
bread, roasting pigs and cooking pretty much anything else that you could
think of.  Beyond the hearths were the food prep areas, and the storerooms
where all the foodstuffs lay.

Kinkade was always impressed by the place when he visited, although even he
rarely made it inside.  He knew that the whole building with its high
ceiling and huge skylights had been built fifty years ago with no modern
tools.  It was a credit to its builders that it showed no sign of falling
down.

Paul led him to a table, and took off his own hat and fur jacket.  He would
have removed all his furs at the entryway, but he figured that he would need
them again soon when Kinkade left.

The two men sat down, and like a waitress, one of the women who was working
the kitchen at this moment came to ask them if they needed anything.  Paul
ordered two mugs of hot coffee, and noticed with a smile that the Sheriff
avoided looking at her.  Paul knew that his friend from town was never
really comfortable with the normal dress code of the women that worked the
kitchen, for their usual attire was a simple loincloth tucked under a rope
about their waist.  It provided basic covering for their lower regions for
sanitary reasons, and that was all.  Nudity was not a taboo here in the
Compound, and long ago, the women found out that they were a lot more
comfortable working around the hot hearths with the minimum of clothing
possible; plus it was a lot easier to clean themselves instead of their
clothes when doing messy jobs.

Paul asked after Kinkade's family, and the Sheriff did likewise for Paul,
and the two men chatted about family life until their coffees were served.

"So," said Paul, once they were alone again, "what brings you all the way up
here?"

"It's not official," Kinkade replied, sipping at the harsh brew and wishing
for some sugar, "but I thought it was important."

"Not official?  Now I AM intrigued."

"It concerns Rhianna Anderson."

Paul blinked.  "What's the matter?"

Kinkade looked down at his mug, fired here in the Compound he assumed.  "I
got a call this morning from a guy in the New York office of the FBI.  Owen
Johnson.  I don't know if you remember him, but he was the agent that came
up with Rhianna and your brother two years ago for the Weller case."

"I remember him," said Paul, and he also remembered Weller, a man now doing
time for the murders of several young women from the Compound.  He still
dreamt about them sometimes, the citizens he couldn't protect.  That Weller
had lost the use of his legs due to a couple of well placed shots, fired
from Rhianna's gun by his brother, only partially satisfied Paul's strong
sense of justice.

"Agent Johnson had a message for Rhianna, and asked if I could pass it along
for him.  He knows that you and your people like to keep communication with
the outside world to a minimum, but he felt this was important."

"And is it?" Paul asked him.

"I just drove all the way up here to give it to her.  I could have waited
until I had another excuse for coming up," Kinkade replied.

Paul understood the importance.  "What is the message, or is it private?"

Kinkade thought for a moment, and then told him.

Paul frowned, then he stood up and waved toward the nearby kitchen area.
"Catherine!" he called out.  "Catherine, come over here a minute!"

A young woman working at a food prep table padded over, and again Kinkade
averted his eyes.  Yet, the image of the bright young soul, the same
apparent age as his own kids, stuck in his head, and he chuckled silently at
his own discomfort.

"Catherine," said Paul once the teenager arrived, "go to the school and
fetch Rhianna, will you?  I think she's there with a class right now.  If
not, track her down and have her come here; it's important."

"Yes, Sir," said young Catherine, and she ran back to the storerooms for her
dress.  In warmer weather, she would have gone as she was without a further
thought, but in the winter, the public areas of the Compound's huge
buildings were a little too cool to walk around in without at least one
layer of clothing on.

"Do you want some more coffee while we wait?" Paul asked his friend.

"No, that's fine, thanks," said Kinkade.

"Okay.  Then while we wait for my sister-in-law, let's talk about something
else.  How is young Kale's probation going?"

"Not bad, but the kid is still holding back.  I wish he would tell us who
else helped him take all those photographs...."


---***---


Rhianna Anderson, formerly Rhianna Summer of the FBI before she got married,
was not at the school.  She was instead in her own home, doing some
cleaning.  She was working on the fireplace in the single room apartment she
shared with her husband, Matthew.

Rhianna was crouched inside the brick fireplace itself, scrubbing at the top
of the flue in an attempt to remove a few years worth of soot and grime.
She was covered in dust and dirt, stuck to her skin with her own sweat, and
looked a mess.  The only good part was that she wasn't going to ruin any of
her clothes doing this job, for she wasn't wearing any.

She had decided that for a job this messy, it would be a lot easier just
cleaning herself up afterward.  Besides, her husband usually preferred her
to be completely nude when at home anyway, something she had come to adjust
to doing for him.  She was no longer bothered by the casual nudity in the
Compound, but she didn't like being completely nude in front of people
unless it couldn't be avoided.  While on her last case for the FBI, her
pubic hair had been permanently removed against her will, and her lack of
covering was not really accepted by the community.  They appreciated that
Rhianna was discreet about it, but when some of the teenage girls of the
Compound, Catherine being one of them, decided to copy the older woman's
style, there was hell to pay.  The girls all had to grow theirs back.  So
Rhianna kept her nudity private; undressing in public only in the bathhouse
or when swimming during the summer.

At home, she was perfectly comfortable being nude; nude that is except for
the wide leather bands around her wrists, bands that were sewn shut so she
could not slip them off.  The bands were the Compound's equivalent of
wedding rings, and both husband and wife wore a band on each wrist, the
bands identically carved with a unique design for that couple alone.

The bands also had a more practical purpose too, but that wasn't needed at
the moment.

Rhianna heard someone knocking at the door and called out for them to come
in.  She didn't want to squeeze out of the fireplace alcove unless she had
to.

"Rhianna?" said Catherine, not spotting the soot-covered woman for a moment.

"Over here!" Rhianna called out.  "Hi, Catherine.  What's up?"

"Paul wants to see you," said the teenager, stepping into the apartment.
"He's waiting with that Sheriff from town in the Great Hall."

"Oh, just wonderful!" grumbled Rhianna.  "Did he say what he wanted?"

"No, sorry.  He just said to come get you."

"Look," said Rhianna, peering between her knees at the teenager, "as you can
see, I'm pretty involved here, and I don't want to walk around the Compound
until I get cleaned up.  Go tell Paul that if he wants to see me, he can
come here."

"Sure, Rhianna," said Catherine, admiring how Rhianna took command and
assumed that the men would come to her.  Catherine had been brought up with
the idea that women normally did as men told them to, as long as they were
told to do things that sounded reasonable and not dangerous.  Rhianna seemed
a little wild to many of the Compound's citizens, and she garnered some
respect from Catherine's generation because some of the time Rhianna got
what she wanted, the men bending to HER will.

Catherine also knew what it was like to clean a very messy fireplace.

She left to pass on the message, and Rhianna carefully extracted herself
from the tight space she had put herself in.  She padded across the warm
floor of her apartment and found a towel to wipe herself down with.  Her
skin would still be stained by the soot until she had a bath, but at least
she would look a bit more presentable.

By the time Paul and the Sheriff arrived, Rhianna had pulled on a loincloth
and had tied a piece of cloth around her chest, covering her breasts.  She
knew that Sheriff Kinkade found the casual nudity here a little off putting,
and to be honest, Rhianna wasn't that comfortable being naked in front of
the man anyway.  It was one thing to be nude among the men of the Compound;
men who were so used to the female nudity around them that they thought
nothing of it.  But it was another thing entirely to be nude in front of
someone from town, especially Sheriff Kinkade.  She respected the lawman,
and as a former FBI agent, she felt it was particularly inappropriate to be
nude in front of a fellow law enforcement officer.

Of course there was the off chance that Kinkade had seen her naked already.
She had been told about the stash of photos of her and the other women of
the Compound; a stash kept by several of the high school boys in town, taken
secretly during the warm summer months when most of the community thought
nothing of walking all over this entire mountain nude.

The stash had been confiscated by Kinkade, and most of the boys punished,
but there had also been an Internet site to be closed down.

For all Rhianna knew, there were electronic copies of those pictures still
in existence all over the world, providing images for the masturbatory
fantasies of geeks the world over.

Not exactly the way Rhianna would have wished to become famous.

But there was nothing Rhianna could do about that, so she cleaned herself
up, dressed, and waited for her visitors.



---***---



This was Kinkade's first visit to the residential section of the Compound,
and as he followed Paul Anderson through the central hallways that ran
through all the buildings, he had to admire what they had built here.
Everything except for the barns and livestock pens was built partially
underground to help insulate them from the cold.  The huts were huge, and
set out in an "H" pattern.  From what he could tell, the central bar was the
Great Hall and the bath house, while the two lower legs were both
residential areas.  The upper legs were where the construction shops were.
It was quite amazing.

They stopped at a door, and Paul knocked.

"Come in!" they heard from inside, so Paul opened the door.

Kinkade was glad to see that Rhianna was dressed, but the normally beautiful
woman was filthy.

"Excuse the mess," she said, pointing at herself and the area around the
fireplace, "You caught me in the middle of some cleaning."

"That's okay; I can see why you didn't want to come to us," said Paul.

"Glad you approve my reasons!" Rhianna said to him, hands on her hips.

Paul chuckled.  He and Rhianna often sparred over the position of women in
the community.  Women here did not hold as dominant a role as they did in
the outside world, but they weren't slaves either.  A closer comparison
could be made to women of Victorian times, when men were most definitely the
masters of their households and the favored sex in society.

For the most part, he and Rhianna argued in good humor, but there had been
times when her frustration had been for real.

"So, what's up?  Is there a problem you need my help with?" Rhianna asked
the men.  She had never forgotten that she used to be FBI, and to tell the
truth, there were times when she missed the work.  Living at the Compound
was fine, but it didn't often give her opportunities to use her brain.

Paul's smile left him, and he gestured to Kinkade.

"Er..." said the Sheriff, "ma'am.  I got a call from your former office this
morning, from Agent Owen Johnson."

"Owen?"  Rhianna had fond memories of her last FBI partner, but hearing from
him now disturbed her.  "What happened?"

"Agent Johnson related to me a call he got from your brother Geoff.
Apparently there is a family matter in your home that he feels you need to
know about."

"What?" asked Rhianna softly, fearing the worst.

"Your father, he was diagnosed with lung cancer just a short time ago.  I
was asked to tell you that it doesn't look good for him.  I'm sorry."
Kinkade hated passing on bad news, but it was a part of his job, like it or
not.  He stood silently while the woman absorbed his message.

"Was there anything else?" she eventually asked, her expression withdrawn
and composed.

"No, sorry.  That's all that Agent Johnson gave me."

"Thank you," said Rhianna, turning away slightly.

Kinkade looked over at Paul, who nodded toward the door.  As the Sheriff
left the apartment, Paul walked over to Rhianna.

"You going to be okay?" he asked her; he could see that her eyes were filled
with tears, although she wasn't crying.

"Sir," she said, "I'd like...no, I NEED to call them."  She looked up into
her brother-in-law's eyes.  "Please?"

Paul sighed.  He knew she wanted to use the only phone in the Compound, a
cell phone kept in the clinic that was only to be used in emergencies.  He
had never granted its use for anything else before, but he could see that
Rhianna was in real pain over this news despite her attempt to hold it in.

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly.  "I'm going to escort the Sheriff out of
camp, then I'll take you to Gabe's, and we'll use his phone, okay?"

Rhianna nodded.  "Thank you."

"Wait here for me.  Gabe won't let you use it without my say-so."

"I know.  I'll...wash up first or something."

Paul started to leave, but Rhianna stopped him.  "Paul!  Could you stop by
the woodshop and collect Matthew on your way back?"

Paul nodded, and left the room.

Rhianna went and sat in the chair, something she sometimes did when alone.
Women were not normally allowed to use chairs in the Compound, except in the
Great Hall while eating at the tables.  She put her face in her hands, and
thought about her father.

The two of them had hardly been close.  Rhianna had been the most
adventurous of her siblings, and the only one to leave town to strike out on
her own.  She saw her family in Maine as often as she could, but as the
years went by, those visits grew farther and farther apart.

She last saw her father almost two years ago, shortly after the case that
first introduced her to the Compound.  She had spent Christmas with her
family, and had never gone back.

And now her father was dying!

Rhianna got up and padded over to the water jug and washbowl, hoping that
when she called that she would find out it was all a mistake, a message
taken down wrong.

Somehow, she doubted it.



---***---



"She took it well," Kinkade said to his friend as they made their way to the
nearest building exit.

"You think so?" Paul asked him.  "She's a strong woman, and not given to
showing her deeper emotions.  I expect she's more affected than you would
think."

"Perhaps," said the Sheriff.  "Are you going to..."

Not looking where he was going, Kinkade walked right into a young woman
carrying a pile of folded clothes.

The woman almost lost her load, but managed to keep her balance.

"I'm sorry, miss!" said Kinkade, arms out as if to catch anything that might
fall.

"That's okay," said the woman, examining her pile to see if anything was
slipping.  Then her smiling face looked over at who had run into her.  Her
smile faded and she froze.

Paul stepped between them.  "Shawna, don't dawdle," he said calmly.

"Er...yes, Sir.  I'd better be going," said Shawna Michaels.  She edged her
way past the two men and continued along the passageway.

Kinkade watched the retreating figure, almost naked in just a loincloth,
with a frown on his face.  "Have I met her before?  She looks familiar to
me," he said.

"No," Paul said in a very definite way, "you've never met her, and she
doesn't look familiar to you."

Kinkade was still frowning, but when he looked at Paul Anderson, he felt he
had caught on.

"Whoever that was," said the Sheriff, "she looked happy enough.  A fine
example of any one of your people.  You take care of your people and make
them feel...secure, don't you?"

"That's right," Paul said, inwardly relieved that Kinkade wasn't going to
bring into the open an unspoken agreement that they had.  "If there is one
thing a girl like that feels right now, it's...secure.  You won't find her
going anywhere."

Kinkade nodded, an unspoken agreement confirmed, and they moved on.



---***---



Shawna's heart didn't start beating again until she rounded a corner and the
men were out of sight.  She stopped and leaned against a wall, hugging the
warm laundry she carried to her bare chest.

She had just come from the indoor laundry room, where the community's
clothes were cleaned during the winter months, and hadn't expected to bump
into the police.  She had been shocked to see his dark blue snowsuit with
his police insignia plastered all over it, and she almost panicked, thinking
that Paul was turning her over after all.

Shawna Michaels had a good reason for avoiding the police.  A few months
earlier, Shawna had been involved in a bank robbery on the other side of the
mountains, and had crash-landed close by while trying to escape by plane.
Her lover and partner in the robbery had died on impact, but she had
survived to find the Compound, and was taken in by the good people here to
treat both her injuries and a strong drug and alcohol addiction.  How she
had come there soon was discovered, but the fact that she had been forced
into the robbery by her lover convinced the community that she was not a bad
person.  So, after Shawna expressed her desire to stay, she was allowed to
do so.  The community sense of law and order would not let her go completely
unpunished, though.  In return for their protection from discovery by the
police, Shawna agreed to certain restrictions and punishments.  Her first
month had meant many hours in the stocks, a public form of punishment here.
She was also told that she would not be allowed to leave the Compound
unescorted, nor leave the mountain itself for two years.

As prisons went, this place was fine for Shawna; and as time went on, she
thought less and less about leaving at all!

Still, running into the law when you are practically naked did shock the
system a little.  The only reason she wasn't in her dress was because the
laundry area was very humid, and she had to go right back after delivering
the clothes she carried.  It had taken her a while to stop thinking about
her nudity when out in public, but she had come to terms with it, and even
found it more comfortable than being dressed a lot of the time.

With a sigh at her narrow escape, she picked herself up and continued on her
way.



---***---



A little later, Paul Anderson, his brother Matthew, and Dr. Gabe Miller IV
waited in the clinic's waiting room for Rhianna to finish her call.  The
clinic was the one exception to the philosophy of rejected technology that
the Compound practiced.  While elsewhere things were done in a style more
suited to centuries past, the clinic managed to keep up with the times in a
rustic sort of way.  The community founders were smart enough to realize
that while Mankind's industry would probably destroy them, Mankind's
medicine was still capable of saving lives.  No philosophy was more
important than a person's health.  So Gabe was able to practice with modern
tools and drugs.  But that wasn't all.  Over the seventy-year history of the
Compound, a large collection of natural mountain remedies had been put
together as well, and Gabe used these methods whenever he could, as long as
the patient's life wasn't at stake.

It made for an interesting practice.

One of the pieces of technology only found here in the clinic was a cell
phone used to call the nearby Ranger station for emergency airlifts in case
of injuries too large for Gabe to handle.  It was never used for personal
calls, and Gabe had been surprised when Paul asked him to allow Rhianna to
use it.  But once Paul explained why, Gabe consented, and now the men waited
for Rhianna to finish.

"Did you ever meet him?" Gabe asked Matthew.  Rhianna was back in the
storeroom where the phone was kept, so the men could speak freely.

"No.  We didn't go up that way, not even after her last case.  I did tell
her that she should, but instead she just talked to her brother by phone."
Matthew shrugged.  "I would have liked to have met her family, but she
doesn't talk about them much."  His and Paul's eyes met for a moment, both
men knowing a greater truth about family secrets.

"I wonder how her mother is taking the news?" Gabe said aloud.

"Her mother is already gone," Matthew replied.  "Died when Rhianna was a
teenager."

"What from?"

Matthew shook his head.  "I can't recall."

Gabe nodded slowly.  He now knew why Rhianna was having such a strong
reaction to the news; her only surviving parent near death.

Rhianna chose that moment to enter the room, and Matthew went to her, taking
her in his arms.  "You okay?" he asked her.  He could see her eyes were red;
she had been crying.

"I...yes...I guess."  Rhianna said.

"You talked to your brother then?"

"No, Geoff wasn't there, but his wife May was.  She didn't have much more to
tell me, except that the doctors only give Dad a few months.  The cancer was
detected way too late to do much, and what treatments are available, Dad is
refusing to take."

"I'm sorry, Pet," said Matthew, and the other men added their sympathies
too.

Rhianna glanced at Paul and Gabe for a second before focusing on her husband
again.  "Matthew, I want to go to Maine.  I have to go see him before
he's...gone.  Can I go?"

"Of course you can, and I'm coming with you.  I wanted you to visit your
family before we came here; it's important you see them."

"No, Matt, I want to go alone.  You stay here."

"Pet."  Matthew took her chin in one hand and held her face still.
"Rhianna, I'm your husband and you are the most precious thing in the world
to me.  I won't let you go alone, because while now you might think you
don't need my support, later you will wish you had it.  I'm going to be
there for you, like it or not.  Agreed?"

A little reluctantly, Rhianna nodded.

"Besides," said Matthew with a small smile, "I've always wanted to meet your
family."

Rhianna sighed, thinking about how that meeting might go.

Matthew turned to his brother.  "It IS alright that we go, isn't it?"

"It's fine, Matthew.  A good idea," said Paul.

"Okay.  Then we'll leave right now," said Matthew Anderson.

Rhianna faked a smile and took his hand.




End of Part 1.



Catch up on all my stories at http://www.writingsofleviticus.cjb.net
If you're having problems contacting me, try leviticusthebard@hotmail.com

-- 
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>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+