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God Bless America (cons, satire) 
by Spoonbender (Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk)
Date: Dec 29, 1998 2




************************************************
(c) 1998 Spoonbender.  A short story of an adult nature.  Not to be read by minors.  
If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read.  Contains 
allusions to naughty, erotic goings on.  Can be freely distributed as long as it is not 
changed, including this heading.  If it is to be archived on a fee paying archive then 
please email me first for permission.  Note that the characterisations are mine.  I do 
not like people stealing them for inclusion in their own efforts. Please email me 
with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc.  Don't 
flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style.  

I do hope you like satire.
************************************************* 

It was precisely 11:00 pm and the whole nation went quiet as Wendy opened the 
book.

"Delores melted into Michael's strong arms and their lips meshed like they had 
been designed for each other. As indeed they both believed they had..."

In a biker bar in Southern California a boisterous Hell's Angel was felled with a 
single blow of the barman's Louisville Slugger. The rest of the gang gratefully 
turned back to the TV as their comrade subsided in  a welter of gore on the filthy 
floor.

".......Michael's power overwhelmed her as his tongue fenced with hers. She could 
feel his heart pounding in his chest as his passion for her soared like a bird. She 
threw her arms around him and pulled him tighter onto the yearning warmth of her 
breasts......"

The two teenaged car thieves couldn't believe their luck as they barrelled along at 
well over 100 hundred miles per hour. Normally this stretch of freeway in South 
Carolina was notorious for its highway patrols. Indeed whole townships were built 
on the prosecution of moving traffic violations. Now the roads were empty. So no-
one saw their passing as the Trans-am skidded on the loose gravel and smashed 
headlong into the tree.

Wendy was now licking her lips until they shone like gloss. Her breath started to 
assume its trademark catch and her face blushed prettily under the studio lights.

The drug addict smashed through the doors of the all-night liquor store only to be 
shot by an irate shopper who was peering, crook-necked, at the store owner's tiny 
portable TV. Then he went back to the TV. After all, there was no point in calling 
the police for at least half an hour.

"....Michael heaved her bodily from the floor, their lips never losing their contact, 
as he carried her, effortlessly, towards the bedroom..."

The irate wife screamed at her husband informing him that he thought more about 
that TV than he did about her. She then, for emphasis, threw a large brass ashtray 
through the screen. He got off with a community service order. The judge called it 
justifiable homicide.

".....His lips closed gently over her nipple which surged strongly as his tongue drew 
complex patterns over its surface. Dolores moaned luxuriantly..."

Wendy was now flushed and her eyes were bright and sparkling under the harsh 
studio lights. A thin sheen of perspiration mottled her brow as she continued to 
breathlessly recite the prose.

"....Michael's fingers drummed  gently on her torso as his hand moved across the 
soft expanse of her lower belly. Then his fingers started to ascend her love mount, 
catching briefly in her tangle of wild hair, until at last it sought her ultimate 
prize..."

Bookings had never been better at the sleazy backwater Motel. The less than 
salubrious owner grudgingly admitted his wife was right to subscribe to the 
channel, but he still thought his WANK TO WENDY - FREE IN ALL ROOMS, 
sign was the key to their new found success.

".....The sweet shock as his fingers touched her love button caused her to arch her 
back in exquisite agony. Then it moved on to explore her gaping wetness..."

"Come on, guys," shouted the precinct captain. "Ain't you guys got any hookers to 
bust?"

One of the vice squad detectives looked up briefly from the screen. "Naw, Captain, 
the streets are empty."

"The hell you say," spluttered the Captain. He then plumped his ample buttocks on 
the corner of the desk as he peered at the screen. Enthralled.

Wendy was now breathing heavily and occasionally a soft moan interjected between 
her husky recitations.

'Slim' Sam grunted happily as his 'top girl' engulfed him in her expert mouth. 
Despite his feelings of overwhelming lust he couldn't help but smile happily as he 
thought of all of his girls being thus gainfully employed. At premium rates too. 
Even sixty year old Mathilda had her toothless gums mashing around the prick of a 
teenage football Jock. Life was good. God bless America, God bless Wendy.

"....Her legs opened as he shifted his weight across her body. He humped himself 
over her, teasing her with the plumhead of his prick as he stroked it gently up and 
down her velvet slit. She pushed her hips upwards to try and engulf him as her 
inner desperation forced itself upon her conciousness. He smiled as her lust flew 
like an eagle, then he relented and slipped forcefully into her warm succulence..."

The firebomb exploded shortly after eleven and quickly engulfed the TV repair 
store. The fire brigade might have saved it if they had been there earlier. The Fire 
Chief was heard to comment about the fact that the culprit probably had an 
unrepaired TV and so there was just cause.

Wendy was now bouncing on her seat, her eyes closing and her fingers had 
problems holding onto the book as her lust evidently took hold. Heroically she 
carried on trying to read.

".....His hard insistence..ahhhh....pounded into her delicate body 
like....a..a..a..piston.....uhhhh...."

"It's coming through on the wire that the King of some Middle Eastern country has 
been assassinated. Given the instability in the region it could lead to all out war. 
Shall we cut in on The Story?"

The News executive, collar open, tie awry looked wild-eyed at his ambitious 
assistant. "Are you fucking mad?" he blurted, as his eyes strayed back to the screen.

"...Oh god...oh god...Give it to me....harder..yes, yes, YES....That's so fucking 
good.." 

Advertisers across the country ground their teeth in frustration at not being 
allocated a ten second slot before, or better still after, the Wendy slot. They'd tried a 
commercial break during the story once but gave it up after the mob attacked the 
studio. RJR Nabisco won the battle in the end. The slot cost more than the national 
debt of a moderately wealthy nation, but it was deemed to be worth it. After all, 
what was better than a post-Wendy smoke?

By now Wendy was thrashing around on her chair, hair flailing as she screamed 
her way through the foothills of her impending orgasm. All pretence at story telling 
was now gone as she writhed sinuously as her libido took over the control of her 
whole body.

"Mr President, the British Prime Minister is on the hotline. He wants to discuss the 
middle east."

"Don't the goddammed Limeys get Wendy?" he asked in incredulity before gasping 
in lust as Hillary sucked hard at his burgeoning prick. 'I wonder what David Starr 
will make of this?' he thought as he unleashed himself into her furiously sucking 
maw.

Her screaming became a long drawn out wail as her orgasm hit her head on.

Fifty million cocks spurted in sympathy.

Her body was rigid for long seconds as the more compus mentis members of her 
audience held their breath in sympathy.

A seventy-eight year old man's heart gave out with the strain. His wife, sitting at 
his side, never even noticed.

Finally she slumped down on the seat, drained.

The camera drew back to take in the chintzy Victorian style furniture and the 
blazing log fire as the plummy voice of the continuity announcer smoothly 
announced the highlights of the following evening, before the inevitable word from 
the sponsors.

The scene cut to a cigarette packet and a happily exhausted couple in bed together 
as the studio hands clapped and cheered.

In the control room the technician keyed the mike button.

"You ready for withdrawal yet, Wendy?"

"Hmmmm. Oh yeah. Wait a sec, hey?" she whispered. She appeared to compose 
herself for several seconds before saying, "Ok do it but slowly, huh? I'm a bit sore 
down there."

"I'm not surprised," Muttered the technician as he slowly moved the slider that 
controlled the large vibrator that was thrust deeply inside the storyteller.

"The show's certainly got better since we fitted her with the breast fondlers," The 
producer mouthed to his assistant who in turn was idly wondering if she could get 
the props department to make her a set.

Traffic started to move on the Freeway again.

And John Logie Baird spun in his grave.

**********************************************************

Happy new year and all that from theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk