Path: not-for-mail
From: ochiba@earthlink.net
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.bondage
Subject: Cody: Wave
Date: Sat, 08 Sep 2007 13:21:08 -0700
Organization: http://groups.google.com
Lines: 81
Message-ID: <1189282868.883955.92830@y42g2000hsy.googlegroups.com>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 4.234.66.234
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1"
X-Trace: posting.google.com 1189282869 25766 127.0.0.1 (8 Sep 2007 20:21:09 GMT)
X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 8 Sep 2007 20:21:09 +0000 (UTC)
Cc: Xmas, 2005
User-Agent: G2/1.0
X-HTTP-UserAgent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows; U; Windows NT 5.1; en-US; rv:1.4) Gecko/20030624 Netscape/7.1 (ax),gzip(gfe),gzip(gfe)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: y42g2000hsy.googlegroups.com; posting-host=4.234.66.234; posting-account=ps2QrAMAAAA6_jCuRt2JEIpn5Otqf_w0
===================
The Wave (i.e. Xmas 2005)
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved.
We were on the veranda when the wave hit. I was giving Mr. Herman a
blowjob and I heard him say, "What's that?" "Wo wha?" I said with my
mouth full, and the next instant, he disappeared.
Actually, I didn't notice he was gone because I was being smashed
through the sliding glass door, across the living room, into the edge
of a metal table, thrown against a mirrored wall in the hallway, hosed
down the hall, through the kitchen, across the stove, with Miyuki
still tied to it, forced through the locked front door, against the
iron balcony railing, over the side to the car park three stories
down, smashing the windshield of the Lincoln town car we had rented,
impaled on the hood ornament which broke off in my cunt after ripping
open my belly, down the gravel driveway to the street where a military
troop carrier being pushed by the wave rolled over me, and after that
I sort of got lost.
When I woke up, I was in the zoo under a dead camel, with nothing on
but my black stockings, suspender belt, and high heeled shoes and
choker. And my hair was a frigging mess.
I never saw Mr. Herman again. Which was a bummer because he had the
tickets to get home. Miyuki was hanging in a tree with different
parts of the stove hanging off her, and one arm ripped off. Her ankle-
length black hair hung down, swaying in the breeze. Mr. Herman had
picked her up in a bar just after we got there, three days before. A
Japanese exchange student, she was studying particle physics at the
local polytechnic. She was nine. Mr. Herman was my math teacher.
We'd only been dating a few weeks when he asked me if I wanted to go
to southeast Asia over Christmas break. He had one of those timeshare
deals. Naturally, I said yes, even though he had a wife and three
kids older than me. I wondered what I was going to tell them,
especially since he had said he was attending a teachers seminar in
Chicago.
He was very in to young girls like Miyuki. Actually, I was surprised
when he first asked me out as I was at least two years older than the
kids he normally hit on. But then I realized he was using me as a
chick magnet, to get at the preteen girls in my homeroom and their
friends. He liked to watch Miyuki and me making love. She was
already fully developed. Girls in that part of the world learn
early. She knew every trick in the book. I didn't like what he did
with her after that, although I wasn't surprised. He already had a
rep back at school. But since he was paying the bills, I didn't say
anything. Her screams were awful as he fucked her on medium high
heat.
In between screwing Miyuki, we spent a lot of time on the veranda.
The four-story condo was right on the beach. The view of the placid
Indian Ocean spread out before us was magnificent. It was beguilingly
restful, away from the strains and hurlyburly of the high paced
Florida academic scene we were both a part of. I left a description
of Mr. Herman with the local police. Even if he was bloated and
mangled, they would be able to identify him because he would be
missing a certain member that had been almost choking me when I came
to in the zoo. I guess I had bitten down pretty hard when the wave
hit. Later I felt bad I hadn't kept it so his family would have at
least something to bury.
Getting home turned out to be not a problem. I found a cellphone in
a dead guy's pocket and called the U.S. embassy where my dad used to
be ambassador. The helicopter picked me up at three and flew me to
the airport in the capital where an aide met me with a change of
clothes, mortifyingly tacky but what can you expect from Republicans,
and put me on the first plane for Tokyo. Sometimes it's nice to have
clout, although it meant my parents would now know I wasn't spending
the holidays at Bible camp.
There were other survivors on the plane. They didn't look so hot,
although no one was wearing vomit green peddlepushers that made me
look like I'd been dumped through a time warp from the 1950s. By now
the full extent of the disaster was becoming known. I was one of the
lucky ones. It certainly gave me a feeling of respect for the power
of nature, which I'm going to remember the next time before I throw
away a candy wrapper or chewing gum carelessly instead of putting it
in the proper receptacle.