Message-ID: <23097asstr$952387803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: michaeld38@aol.communism (MichaelD38)
X-Original-Message-ID: <20000306134909.02728.00005259@nso-fi.aol.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Eye of the Bad Girls {MichaelD}(Mf, mf, magic, nc?)
Lines: 681
Date: Mon, 6 Mar 2000 19:10:03 -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
X-Archived-At: <URL:https://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/23097>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-admin@asstr-mirror.org>
X-Story-Submission: <admin@asstr-mirror.org>
X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, english, newsman
IMPORTANT LEGAL INFORMATION
If you have received this work in your e-mail box and do not know why,
it is because your Internet service provider is forwarding posts from
Usenet newsgroups to your account. It has *NOT* been e-mailed to you
by the author. You must contact your ISP for help.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is
unintentional and strictly coincidental. This work contains explicit
descriptions of sexual activity, and anyone offended by such things
should read no further. If reception of this work is illegal due to
your age or other repressive local regulations, liability for
downloading it is your problem, not mine. This work is intended solely
for the quiet and private enjoyment of adults, and any other use is a
violation of the copyright.
This work is Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com and is protected by
United States and other international copyright law. Reposting and
archiving is permitted, except where a fee of any sort is required or
earned for access, provided this disclaimer and note remain attached to
the story. All other rights, specifically rights of commercial use,
are reserved. Commercial use here is defined to include posting on
membership web sites, banner-funded web sites, and those protected by
fee-based age validation methods (such as Adultcheck and Adultsights).
However, exception is specifically made for web sites (such as
DejaNews) that provide archiving and access to all Usenet posts in a
particular group without editing or selection for content. No
modifications may be made to this story (except those necessary for
normal newsgroup dissemination) without express permission from the
author. Any questions regarding use of this work can be directed to
the address above. Failure to contact the author prior to use is
presumptive evidence of bad faith and may expose you to significant
criminal and civil liability.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Inspiration can come from odd places. Not long ago, I reposted two old
stories of mine, and wanting to save bandwidth, spotlighted them in a
single post to ASSD. Thinking I was cute, I combined the titles of the
two stories into one for the message header, calling it "The Eye of the
Bad Girls." This earned me a response I had not expected.
Shon responded with a lament that I had misled him, making him think I
was spotlighting some erotica-noir tale of "shady store owners, cursed
body parts, wicked deeds and maybe even a rolling boulder" instead of a
self-indulgent repost. As soon as I read this, I knew I would be
unable to rest until I wrote just such a story. This thing was the
result. There are no boulders in here, but I think it's within the
spirit of his lament nonetheless.
Write me, or not, as it pleases you, but if you write me with your
thoughts, I promise I'll write back with mine.
You can find my other stories in the following archives:
www.storiesonline.net (complete but not always up)
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/BitBard/www/forray/michaeld/ (incomplete, but more reliable)
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www (all the work of my alter ego)
THE EYE OF THE BAD GIRLS
Copyright 2000 by MichaelD38@aol.com
I.
"Come on, don't be a wuss."
Katrina's voice grated against her resistance. One of the other girls
poked her in the arm.
"What are you afraid of?" Rhonda teased. "You don't believe that stuff,
do you?"
Michelle struggled not to cry as the other girls laughed at her. The
six of them stood outside the fortuneteller's tent at the county fair.
All of the other girls had already gone inside, but Michelle had been
trying to avoid it. She had hung at the rear of the pack until Katrina
emerged and pointed directly at her: "Your turn!"
Rhonda pushed her toward the tent, which seemed to tower over her, even
though it was nothing but painted canvas over a wooden frame, not even
eight feet tall probably.
"Wuss!" Rhonda cried, "Michelle is a wuss!"
"Wuss! Wuss! Wuss!" the other girls began chanting, and Michelle
fought her vibrating jaw to keep from crying. Katrina and Rhonda
grabbed her arms tightly and shoved her through the entrance to the
tent. The rough canvas scratched at her face, and her hands went up to
protect herself as she stumbled inside.
Michelle closed her eyes tightly, feeling her heart thudding in her
chest. Crazed images of years past spun through her head. Her father
had once taken her into a place like this when she was only seven, and
the cackling, wrinkled old woman had terrified her to her core. She
had nightmares about the woman for months afterward, and still did
occasionally, even nine years later. She liked to think she was grown-
up and mature, but something about fortunetellers still struck primal
terror into her soul. She stood there shaking, waiting for the world
to end.
But nothing happened.
Very slowly, she opened her eyes and looked around. The tent was dark,
lit only by a couple of concealed lights. In the middle of the tent
was a low table draped with a heavy red velvet cloth, and behind that
sat a fat, middle-aged woman in a cheap cobbled-together gypsy costume.
She smiled, beckoning for Michelle to approach.
"Come, come. Sit. Don't be afraid."
Michelle quavered for a moment, wanting to bolt out of the tent, but
she knew that her friends would simply shove her back in again.
"I'm not going to bite you. Come, sit down."
She took a step toward the woman, then another. The woman again
beckoned toward the chair before her. Michelle sat down slowly. She
noticed a little "Fortunes: $5" sign on the table and dutifully dug a
five out of her purse. The bill disappeared into the woman's fist.
"What brings you to my home, girl? What fortunes do you need told,
what wishes granted?"
"I don't know," she managed.
"Surely there must be something. Tell me about yourself. How old are
you?"
"Sixteen."
"Sixteen, and so frightened of an old woman." She chuckled, though
Michelle began to realize this was little more than an act. She tried
to imagine the woman in a polyester pantsuit, which she thought might
be her normal attire, and the image in her head allowed her to relax a
little.
"You are in high school, no? What grade?"
"Tenth."
"Do you have a boyfriend?"
"No."
The woman snorted in disbelief.
"A pretty girl like you, and no boyfriend." She cocked her head,
appraising Michelle for a moment. "Well, you are not making much of
what you have there. I suppose it's no surprise the boys haven't
noticed you. Perhaps you need a spell or two to help?"
"I don't know."
"Come, tell me, there must be some desire you want granted?"
Michelle thought for a moment, bitterness filling her heart. What the
hell, she thought, it's not like this could make it any worse.
"I want Jeremy Waters to know I exist."
The woman smiled broadly.
"And who is he? A boy you know?"
Michelle nodded.
"He's in my grade. But he's about a hundred times more popular than I
am. I say 'Hi' to him in the hall, and he doesn't even look at me."
The woman chuckled.
"And you want him to ask you to the movies? Something like that?"
Michelle closed her eyes, feeling weak and pathetic.
"I'd settle for just having him notice me once in a while."
"Well, you will need some help there. Some guidance from the
supernatural. Here."
She reached under the table and dug around for a few moments.
Michelle's fear had almost entirely evaporated by this point, and she
waited for the woman to come up with some cheap carnival souvenir that
she would claim was a magic charm. What a waste of five bucks, she
muttered to herself.
But the woman's hand emerged a few moments later clutching a rough
circle of smoky quartz, a little larger than a quarter. A gold chain
had been attached to it, and the woman now hung the chain from her
outstretched thumbs.
"Put this over your neck."
Michelle recoiled, suddenly frightened again. The circle of quartz
winked at her in the dim light of the tent. She saw some kind of star-
like refraction inside it.
"What is it?"
"A very old charm for helping timid young girls reach their potential.
It is called the 'Eye of the Bad Girl.'"
Michelle looked up at the woman, realizing now that she had misjudged
her. This was not some fat Shriner's wife helping out at the carnival.
Somehow she looked older and worldlier than Michelle had first thought.
The costume that had once seemed tawdry and laughable now looked much
richer and heavier.
The woman's eyes swelled, flickering with sly amusement. Again she
held out the charm. The noise from the fair had faded away, and
Michelle could hear nothing but her rapid breathing.
"Put it on!" the woman commanded. Michelle jerked forward, bending her
neck down. The woman dropped the necklace over her head, and the chunk
of quartz bounced against her chest.
"Slip it inside your shirt. It must be against your body at all
times."
Michelle quickly lifted the charm and dropped it through the neckhole
of her T-shirt. It settled between her breasts, seeming to throb with
inner energy. Then she looked up at the woman, who was now smiling
broadly.
"There. I guarantee you that this boy will notice you now." She
laughed. "Him and every man you let catch your eye!"
Michelle stumbled to her feet, backing away fearfully. She burst out
of the tent in terror, where she found her friends waiting. As soon as
they got a good look at her, they all burst into cruel laughter.
"Michelle is wuss!" Rhonda cried, and the girls began their chant anew.
"Wuss! Wuss! Wuss!"
Michelle turned and ran as fast as her feet would take her, fleeing her
friends and the fair. She reached the edge of the fairgrounds and kept
going, running further, running into the woods as twigs scratched her
face and roots caught at her feet, until she finally collapsed in
tearful exhaustion.
* * *
II.
Michelle rose the next morning feeling like something was wrong. She
slipped out of bed and staggered into her bathroom, rubbing her eyes.
She paused to regard her image in the mirror above her sink, then
scowled.
This was not going to do. God, what had she been thinking?
She climbed into the shower and turned on the water. When it was hot
enough, she stepped under the spray. She washed herself from head to
foot, giving herself a nice rub in the process. She didn't want to get
herself off just yet, though she thought of it; she just wanted to warm
up a little.
She took her razor from the shower caddy and commenced shaving her
legs. When she was done, she soaped up her pubic hair and began
shaving that as well. It took her several long minutes to get it all
off, but eventually she had herself smooth as a baby's bottom. She had
also gotten quite turned on in the process, so she finally gave in to
her hormones and resumed masturbating.
She rubbed her clit briskly at first, then slipped a finger slowly
inside her heated sex. But she hit some barrier immediately. What the
hell? It felt like . . . oh . . . all right, well, she *was* a virgin,
so that explained it, but this could be fixed easily. That was
definitely number one on today's list.
Sparing her hymen for now, Michelle resumed rubbing her soapy clit.
Her legs began to shake as she neared orgasm, and she reached up with
her other hand to pinch her nipples. She bumped the pendant between
her breasts as she did, feeling it throbbing against her chest,
throbbing in time with her incipient come. The climax pulsed through
her, and she reveled in the sweet ecstasy spinning through her guts for
as long as she could. Then she let herself cool down and shut off the
water.
The first order of business was her hair. This little-girl-next-door-
look was definitely out. Could she cut it? Maybe. Nothing big time,
but she could at least give herself some bangs, something low across
her eyes to give her a more sultry look. She found some scissors in
her room and spent a few minutes giving herself a Betty Page cut. Her
hair wasn't quite dark enough, but she figured she could get it dyed
black this afternoon. Maybe she should just skip math and go do it, so
people could see it today.
Once she had her hair in better shape, she began layering on the
eyeliner. Getting her eyes dark and wicked enough took about ten
passes with the eye pencil. Doing her mascara right took another five
minutes, but after that all she really needed was the lipstick.
God, what was this shit? She didn't have anything nearly fucking red
enough. She dug around her makeup drawer in frustration for about
thirty seconds. Fuck this. She jerked the whole drawer out of the
cabinet and dumped its contents into the trash. She would have to
replace all of it. Maybe she could boost some stuff at the mall after
she got her hair done.
She emerged from her bathroom and began looking for something to wear.
Again she was ready to throw it all in the trash. She found a black
skirt in the back that might do, except it was too long. She got the
scissors again and hacked off about eight inches so it was short
enough. Then she found a white blouse and tied it up under her tits,
rolling the fabric up until she had her midriff fully exposed. She'd
have to get some more clothes--this planned trip to the mall was
turning into an epic--but this would do for today.
Listening carefully for her mother, she stepped across the hall into
her parents' bedroom. She searched through her mother's makeup drawer
and soon discovered a more appropriate shade of lipstick, which she
slashed across her lips until she felt scary enough.
She went back to her room and dug through her jewelry to finish up her
look. Christ, more things she was going to have to steal today. But
she was able to put together a decent ensemble after a few minutes.
Time for school. She didn't fucking care about learning anything, but
Jeremy Waters was there, and boy was he going to get an eyeful today.
Not wanting to risk a confrontation with her mother, she slipped out
the back door and headed up the street to the bus stop.
Katrina and Rhonda were there waiting, and they regarded Michelle in
confusion as she approached, almost as if they didn't recognize her.
Then Katrina's eyebrows shot up her forehead.
"*Michelle?*"
"What?" she snarled. "What the fuck are you looking at, bitch?"
Katrina's face contorted in shock, and she glanced at Rhonda. Both of
them tried to stifle a giggle.
"God, Michelle," Rhonda said. "PMS much?"
"You look like a refugee from 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer,'" Katrina
said.
"Better than looking like a refugee from the Pic-n-Sav discount bin,"
Michelle shot back.
Katrina's jaw dropped. She looked again toward Rhonda in disbelief,
then backed away, holding up her hand.
"Fine. Have your little anti-social fit. Just have it away from me."
Michelle turned away from them, fuming. Fuck those bitches. She
didn't need them for friends, not once she got done with her plans for
today.
When the bus came, she climbed aboard, ignoring the stares she got from
the other students. She went straight to the back and stared out the
window. Katrina and Rhonda continued to glance at her and whisper to
each other until they got to school.
Michelle stalked into the main entrance of her high school, shoving
aside a few freshmen who were too slow to get out of her way. As she
walked down the hallway toward her locker, she felt her braless breasts
bouncing her blouse and the breeze on her newly shaven pussy. The
stares and outright drools she got from the boys she passed turned her
on, and she thought about ducking into the library for a quick jerk-
off. But that would just drain her energies from her planned encounter
with Jeremy--on whom she planned to bestow her virginity as soon as she
found him--so she continued her hunt, giving one boy after another a
pointed, sultry stare.
She had paused at the bottom of the main stairs to look for Jeremy when
someone grabbed her arm. She turned to see Mr. Mallory, the vice
principal, staring at her in disbelief.
"Miss Hayden? I think we need to have a chat about the school dress
code."
She shot him a sneer.
"Fuck off. I'm busy."
Mr. Mallory's eyes swelled, then he jerked Michelle toward his office.
She followed along with him, though she tried to get her arm free. He
didn't let her go until they were inside and he had shut the door
behind him.
"Did we get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"
Michelle backed up to the edge of his desk, leering at him. She licked
her lips slowly and lifted a thigh up onto the corner of the desk. She
watched Mr. Mallory's eyes dart down as her skirt worked its way up her
leg. When his eyebrows shot up, she knew he could see her naked pussy.
His face flushed, and he looked back up her. She smiled back at him,
toying playfully with the gold chain around her neck, letting the
pendant brush against her cleavage.
"I bet someone didn't get laid this week," she said. "Hmm?"
Mallory struggled for response.
"Must be tough for you, huh? Having all this jailbait around you at
work and having to go home to some fat cow who won't fuck you."
Michelle stood again, walking slowly up to him. Mallory was gasping
for breath by now, face bright red. She reached out and grabbed his
crotch.
"How long has it been since she sucked your cock? Has she ever done
it? I bet she hasn't."
Not waiting for an answer, Michelle dropped to her knees in front of
him. He began to shake as she unzipped his fly and dug around for his
dick. When she pulled it out, he was already getting hard.
"Ooo . . . this is turning you on, huh?"
She bent forward, taking him deeply in her mouth. His hands came
together in her hair as he stifled a cry. He erected in an instant,
and Michelle bobbed over him expertly, sucking and licking the head or
forcing most of him into her throat. He gasped again as she bottomed
out, burying her nose in his pubes.
A few deep throat sucks like that were enough to bring him to the edge.
His legs started to shake, and Michelle withdrew, concentrating on the
head, bobbing as fast as he could go. Then his come was spurting
uncontrollably into her mouth. She sucked it all up, though she didn't
swallow it.
Mr. Mallory staggered back from her, not zipping up his fly. He
reached for a chair behind him and sat down heavily. Michelle got to
her feet, leering at him triumphantly, then turned to his desk. She
found his coffee cup and spat his come into it. The sour odor of semen
rapidly filled the air around her.
"Cya."
She left his office and went looking for Jeremy.
* * *
III.
The bell for the next class had already rung by the time Michelle
emerged from the administration wing, and the halls were now empty of
students. She had algebra first period, but sitting and listening to
lame blather about quadratic equations was about the last thing she
wanted to do. She ducked into the nearest girls' bathroom and hid
inside a stall.
She dug through her purse looking for her cigarettes, not finding
anything. She realized after a minute or so that she didn't smoke, at
least not before today. Something odd about that tickled the back of
her brain, but the thought disappeared before she could get a grip on
it.
Unconsciously, she reached up and began fingering the pendant between
her breasts. She felt it throb, and a sympathetic throb coursed
through her body. She felt suddenly wet, and her right hand drifted
between her legs. She felt her shaved labia, still tender from her
attentions with the razor that morning. Her middle finger slipped
inside her. There it was again. How could she still be a virgin when
she must have fucked dozens and dozens of boys by now? God, she was
sixteen. She should have lost it years ago.
She thought of all the things she could have been doing and massaged
her clit slowly. Another measure of hot fluid emerged from her body,
and she used it to moisten her fingers. She leaned back against the
wall, rubbing herself, cursing Mr. Mallory for interrupting her. She
could have been fucking Jeremy by now if he hadn't stopped her.
She shuddered quietly in orgasm, images of Jeremy spinning through her
head.
* * *
The bell marking the end of first period jerked her back to reality.
She realized that she had been masturbating for nearly an hour, lost in
one climax after another, yet she was as horny as ever.
Where was Jeremy? She cleaned herself up as quickly as possible and
left the bathroom. Jeremy's locker was on the second floor, near her
English class--she had staked it out more than once before--so she
headed straight there to intercept him.
She got there in less than a minute. He wasn't there yet. She leaned
against the wall nearby and waited.
"Michelle?"
Behind her, Mrs. Baxter, her English teacher, stood in the doorway of
the classroom with a shocked look on her face. Michelle had liked her
once--the feeling was lost in a fog of inconsistent and confusing
memories--but now she felt nothing but loathing. She shot the woman a
glare and went back to waiting for Jeremy.
Mrs. Baxter appeared to waver between saying something else and going
back into her room, but then Michelle saw Jeremy approaching down the
hallway. Her sex pulsed, aching and sore from nearly an hour of
masturbation, but she could think of nothing but getting Jeremy to rip
her cherry in two.
She licked her lips to moisten them as he reached her locker.
"Hi, Jeremy."
He glanced at her, eyes swelling slightly.
"Uh--"
She leered, licking her lips again slowly.
"You don't recognize me, do you?"
"Uh . . . no."
"But I know you . . . and I bet I know what you like to do."
Jeremy's eyes goggled. His jaw dropped slowly as she continued to
stare at him pointedly. She let her gaze drop slowly to his crotch.
"Is that a hot dog in your pocket . . . or are you just staring at my
tits?"
Coherent speech still eluded him, and Michelle reached out to toy with
a button on his shirt.
"Do you know where the supply closet is, by the girls' bathroom on the
first floor?"
"Uh . . . uh . . . yeah."
"If you still wanna stare at my tits, meet me there in five minutes."
She gave him one last leer and went off down the hall. She ignored the
incredulous group of girls who had been watching the scene. Stuck-up
bitches, she thought. Just because she wasn't as popular as they were
didn't mean she couldn't get a guy like Jeremy.
She went straight to the supply closet, not even slowing down. At
first the door seemed locked, but then the pendant between her breasts
pulsed once, and it opened for her.
Inside, the odor of cleaning supplies assaulted her nostrils. Row upon
row of soap and paper towels lined the walls, but in the center of the
little room was a narrow table. She cleared it off and sat down on the
edge, waiting for her lover. She untied the knot in her blouse but
left it on, leaving it place to cover her breasts.
A few minutes later, the knob rattled. The door opened slowly.
"Uh . . . hello?"
"In here, Jeremy."
He stepped inside, still in shock. If it were possible, his eyes
swelled even more when he got a sight of her waiting for him. He shut
the door rapidly.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the girl who's about to fuck you, Jeremy."
He remained rooted to the floor, jaw agape.
"What's the matter?" she said, giggling, "Do I have to draw you a
picture?"
He gasped for breath.
"Is this a joke?"
She sat up straight and opened her blouse, sticking breasts out at him.
His eyes went straight to them and looked as if they were about to pop
out of his head.
"Does this look like a joke?"
He took one step toward her, then another. Then he was within reach,
and she grabbed at the waistband of his jeans, pulling him against her.
She spread her legs, bracing her thighs against his hips.
The action left the pendant on her chest pressed between her flesh and
his. The contact seemed to tear Jeremy suddenly free from his
paralysis. As Michelle began unzipping his fly, he groped at her
breasts, trying to kiss her. She giggled, biting at his tongue.
Then she had his dick in her hands, already hard, and began stroking
it. She wanted to suck him, except she knew he would probably come
after just a few seconds. So she simply shoved his jeans down, pulling
him closer, trying to get him into position.
"Oh, God," he gasped.
He thrust up awkwardly at her, tearing through her hymen. The pain
made her claw at his buttocks, but a moment later she was convulsing in
orgasm. Jeremy grabbed at her hips, trying to control his movements.
He humped at her like a dog lost in the act of copulation.
Light flooded into the supply closet as someone opened the door from
outside. Jeremy was too consumed with the sex act to notice, but
Michelle looked over his shoulder to see who was interrupting them.
When she did, she laughed triumphantly, just as Jeremy cried out in
release and his come spurted wetly into her body.
It was Ashley Dubose, the head of the j.v. cheerleading squad and
Jeremy's supposed girlfriend. Her pretty face, framed by an
immaculately coifed head of blonde hair, contorted in shock. Her hands
shot to her mouth, then she ran away, sobbing. Michelle laughed again
as she felt the last of Jeremy's orgasmic spasms inside her.
* * *
IV.
Ashley ran blindly, unable to drive the horrible scene from her head.
Jeremy, her boyfriend, her one and only, who had only just last weekend
finally told her he loved her, had been screwing Michelle Hayden.
Timid, shy, invisible Michelle Hayden! Ashley didn't think Jeremy even
*knew* her.
Faith Johnson had run up to her breathlessly just moments before,
telling her how Michelle, morphed into some slut-from-hell, had been
hanging all over Jeremy at his locker. Then Rachel Carson had told her
she had seen Jeremy going into the supply closet. Ashley had stood
frozen outside the door for nearly a minute before working up the guts
to open it. And then she had seen--
No! It was impossible! *She* was supposed to be sleeping with Jeremy.
*She* was the one who had decided, that morning after Jeremy had
declared his love for her, that she finally wanted to have sex with
him. And now--
She ran on, off the school grounds, into the woods, trying to drive
these horrors from her mind. She ran clumsily, convulsed with sobs,
wracked with despair. This could not have happened! It couldn't!
Ashley finally exhausted herself, collapsing against a tree. She
sobbed inconsolably into her hands, feeling as if her life had just
ended.
* * *
When the tears dried up, Ashley realized that she had run completely
through the woods and now sat at the edge of the county fairgrounds.
Nothing was open yet; it was too early, but nearby she saw a brightly
colored canvas tent. Next to it was a sign: "Fortunes Told, Wishes
Granted, Lost Loves Reunited."
Ashley got to her feet, walking blankly toward the tent. She looked
around as she reached it. A few carnies wandered around gathering
trash, but no one was near.
She lifted the flap of the tent and peered inside. There she saw an
old woman sitting on the ground behind a low, velvet-draped table. The
woman's eyes met hers, and she beckoned Ashley into the tent.
"Come in, come in. What brings you here so full of despair?"
Ashley lurched inside and dropped to the floor in front of the table.
The old woman regarded her with an enigmatic smile on her face.
"What can I do for you, child?"
Ashley took a slow, ragged breath.
"I want my boyfriend back."
The smile broadened. The woman reached under her table.
"I have just the thing."
* * *
THE END
Michael
~Story Archives~
www.storiesonline.net
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/BitBard/www/forray/michaeld/
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Richard_Bissell/www
--
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: <admin@asstr-mirror.org> |
| FAQ: <https://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-admin@asstr-mirror.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <https://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<https://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+