            Fred Flintbone and the French Tickler 
                             by 
                       Kenny N Gamera

In the bondage workshop, everyone sat in a wide circle. 
Mistress Monica sat at the front, like King Arthur at the 
round table, but whereas Arthur would have sat on a throne, 
she sat on her husband. The students sat at simple wooden 
school desks that might have been ordered from a Sears 
catalog sometime during the Depression. The desks were way 
too small and even more way too uncomfortable for their 
adult bodies; Fred could understand why the instructor 
would have chosen her husband instead. 

 Fred let his mind wander away from the discussion topic to 
where he was no longer aware of what it was. So, while 
missing the finer points of binding paraplegics with 
chains, he concentrated on the finer points of the French 
Tickler. She sat across the circle from him, next to a 
large breasted brunette with a bad case of makeup induced 
acne. 

 He studied her brown eyes through the thick lenses of her 
plastic framed glasses. Her braided, brown hair fell down 
her left shoulder to a point just passed the bottom of her 
modest bust, which was hidden by the loose peasant blouse 
she wore. Her embellishment-free face wore the expression 
of a trance as she followed the discussion. Fred was 
reminded less of a fashion model and more of a librarian, 
but... 

 Crack! 

 He cried out in pain as the lash tickled his cheek. His 
hand went to the red mark on his cheek, even as the pain of 
the blow registered on his lust addled brain. Fred also 
looked up at the instructor who now stood in front of her 
human chair with a black bullwhip unfurled. 

 "Awake now, Mr. Flintbone," Mistress Monica asked in the 
_mean_ voice. 

 "Yes, ma'am," answered Fred in the _very_ frightened 
voice. 

 "Do you have a clue as to what we were discussing, Mr. 
Flintbone?" 

 "Uh," he looked at the whip, still ready in her hand. He 
thought it best to tell the truth rather than try to 
bullshit himself into anymore trouble than he had already 
done himself into. "No, ma'am." 

 Mistress Monica looked up to the ceiling and let out a 
protracted sigh. He blushed at the thought of the hell he 
had just gotten himself into. That and the look of pride on 
acne girl's face as she stuck her cleavage just a little 
further on display. Oh, and the gentle chuckles and giggles 
of the rest of the workshop. And the fact, that he just put 
the third sentence fragment in a row in his internal 
dialog. 

 He made a heavy internal sigh. 

 "Well," she finally announced, "if you could be so kind, I 
would like you to write a short scene tonight involving who 
you were thinking about and also involving yesterday's 
discussion on safewords." She glared at him. "You can 
pleasure us with a reading of it tomorrow." 

 Sadist, thought Fred. 

 After the workshop was dismissed for the next series of 
sessions, Fred walked quietly to the room holding the 
discussion group on teen sex. A few steps ahead of him, 
French Tickler went in the same direction. He stopped at 
the vending machines to get a cup decaffeinated at same 
time she stopped for a diet cola. 

 He watched her from the corner of his eye as she fought to 
feed a worn out buck into the dollar acceptor. Her plain 
brown skirt reached down to her ankles, which only left her 
Birkenstocks and unstockinged feet exposed. Part of his 
mind tried to imagine the mysteries beneath her loose 
clothing as the rest debated offering her a fresh bill. 

 Just as he resolved to do so, she got her money flat 
enough for the machine to accept it. He heard the clunk of 
the can dropping into the hole as the last drops of his 
coffee were pissed into the paper cup. He sipped at the 
vile fluid as she walked away. He gave himself a mental 
kick to his mental ass. 

 Damn, he thought as he entered his room. I'm acting like a 
creepy teen-age kid not a thirty-five year old man. 

 Chester the Molester arrived late with a skinny girl in 
tow. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a Big Johnson 
Daycare tee-shirt. She had a pair of tight, daisy-duke 
cutoffs and a smaller duplicate of the older man's shirt. 
Her shirt did little more than attempt to display her 
developing treasures. His failed entirely at hiding a large 
spare tire. 

 The girl grinned a silly, young girl grin that showed off 
both her orthodonture and the piece of gum that churned 
around her teeth. She quietly took a seat while Chester 
began writing at the chalk board. 

 Fred copied down the words "Reality of sex with young 
teens" as Chester wrote them and quickly became bored. He 
began to watch the other attendees, all of whom wore 
stained raincoats. He sighed and wondered why he didn't 
take the bestiality workshop instead. Then, he let his mind 
wander to his assignment for Bondage. 

 "Mr. Flintbone," asked Chester, breaking him back to 
reality with a partial flashback to the previous hour. The 
rest of the group had their hands up like they were 
competing in an Arnold Horshack look-a-like contest. "Could 
you come up here, please?" 

 This was not going to be good, thought Fred. 

 He went to the spot that Chester indicated with his hand 
and sat in the chair. The girl watched her feet swing back 
and forth as she sat in a chair across from him. The gum 
continued to bravely face its torture as the world viewed 
the spectacle through her open mouth. The crowd of 
overcoats watched with looks of dejection. 

 "Now my daughter, Cindy, will demonstrate one of the many 
dangers of sex with a thirteen-year-old girl." 

 When Chester announced her name, Cindy got up and went 
over to Fred. As her jaws continued to work over the gum, 
she got to her knees and undid his zipper. She reached in 
to his pants and pulled out a mostly hard cock, despite his 
case of nerves and morality,. 

 In short order, she developed rhythm of 'chomp-chomp, 
lick, chomp, swallow, release, chomp-chomp, lick.' It was 
about as sexy as a pair of Granny's undies. Still, Fred's 
dick responded to her somewhat talented mouth. When she 
reached full stiffness, Cindy lowered her mouth all the way 
down his modest shaft. She easily reached to his ball sack. 
Her tongue snaked out of her mouth and rubbed over his 
nuts. 

 Deep throat done, she lifted her head up quickly. 

 Fred screamed out in pain for the second time that day as 
a batch of his crotch hairs parted company with his body. 
Cindy looked up at him with a tinny, hairy grin. Fred 
reached down to his balls and felt around. A glance to his 
pubes confirmed the presence of a sticky wad of gum.

 He made it back to his desk without slipping on everyone's 
mess. Cindy had offered to finish him, but Fred had thought 
with his organ safely wilted that it best to retreat while 
he was still ahead or at least had one. He carefully 
ignored the rest of lecture as he wondered why he had ever 
signed up for the "World Famous Erotic Writers Academy of 
Earlham College." 

 It seemed like a good idea at the time, he reminded 
himself. 

 The free period before dinner was spent separating his 
shorts, his nuts, and the gum from each other with the help 
of a borrowed pair of scissors. Through the process, he 
meditated on the assignment he had to write. He worried if 
he should confess his fantasy about French Tickler and 
embarrass her in front of everyone. Otherwise, he could 
write something vile involving acne girl. 

 He was stuck at an impasse he could not break through. 
That, and a case of writers block. Oh, and a case of teen 
induced blue balls. And, the fact, he kept thinking in 
sentence fragments. 

 When he returned the scissors, his friend, the 
unfortunately named Master Bater, invited Fred to join him 
for dinner. "You look like you need a chance to relax for 
awhile." 

 "Thanks, Bater," answered Fred. "I can't tell you how much 
I have enjoyed eating dorm food after all these years." 

 "Yep, makes you appreciate banquet chicken." 

"Or, airline food." 

 They laughed and continued the game of naming inedible 
institutional meals as they went through the cafeteria 
line. Their meals were surprisingly good. They discussed 
their day and the events of the academy as they ate. Master 
Bater shook his head in sympathy to Fred's many travails. 

 "That Mistress Monica is a bitch," he agreed. "She had 
that husband of hers fuck me up the ass during my 
submission workshop." 

 "It's been just three days. I don't know if I can take 
another three and a half weeks." 

 "Well, did you really expect a month of fun and continuous 
sex?" 

 Fred sighed again, but out loud this time. "Yes, I think I 
did. Still, I would liked a chance to do stuff that 
actually had something to do with writing. All they seem to 
be doing right now is torturing us, Bater." 

 "You know, Fred. Its like they're trying to chase us 
away," Bater added as they took their empty trays to the 
drop off line. "Well, no matter what the problem, beer is 
always the answer. A bunch of us are going to a bar 
tonight; you want to join us?" 

 Fred shook his head. " I've got that writing assignment to 
do. We came here to write, and I want to get something out 
of this besides minor injuries." 

 They parted at the dorm's lobby. Bater joined a group of 
frustrated writers to discuss the evening's pub crawl. Fred 
went up to his floor in the elevator, a luxury he did not 
enjoy when he was in college a little more than a decade 
before. It stopped almost immediately after beginning its 
ascent. 

 The door opened, and in walked the French Tickler. She was 
now dressed in a baggy fisherman's sweater but still had on 
the long brown shirt that she had worn earlier. She reached 
out to push the button for her floor. Her finger, however, 
stopped short. She looked at Fred and smiled. 

 "I see that we are heading to the same floor," she 
proclaimed in a husky voice that lacked the pronounced high 
pitch that many women develop. 

 Fred felt that he was blushing slightly. He wrote it off 
as his imagination. At least, that was his hope. 

 He failed to stammer as he answered, "Lucky you, saves you 
a button to push." 

 The door closed itself, and the elevator returned to its 
upward trek. They stood in silence for a moment spent 
staring at the seam of the elevator door. They went up 
another flight. 

 "So," the Tickler broke the pause still watching the door, 
"are you going to the bar with everyone?" 

 "No, I've got that writing assignment." Fred glanced at 
the floor indicator above them. 

 "Yeah, that's right." 

 They quietly watched the door for another floor. The 
elevator stopped, and together, they got out. They walked 
side by side down the old worn carpet. 

 "I'm going," announced the Tickler out of nowhere. 

 Fred looked at her. Her eyes appeared much large through 
the distortion of her lenses "I'm surprised. You're not old 
enough yet are you?" 

 She smiled at him, which accentuated her slight (but cute) 
overbite. "I'll be twenty-three in a month. After this 
summer, I'll be starting my Master's degree at Cal State. 
In English." 

 "Oh!" Fred immediately mentally kicked himself again. To 
save face, he added, "You look a lot younger." 

 "Yeah, it's a pain sometimes." 

 They stopped in front of Fred's door. She grinned at him 
as he unlocked the door. He grinned back as he struggled to 
insert the key while not looking at the lock and her 
simultaneously. 

 "Guess I'll see you later." she said as the door opened. 

 "Yeah, later." 

 "Bye." 

 "Yeah, bye." 

 He went into his room. She started back down the hall. He 
closed his door. 

 Damn, what a fuckin' dork, he thought as he finished 
pushing the door shut. 

 He continued to think that at himself for the next three 
hours. In addition, he stared at his laptop and the blank 
window of MS Word it displayed on its screen. He hummed the 
original Star Trek theme when the screen saver flipped 
itself on. He opened the window to clear the stuffy air 
trapped in the room. He stared at his lap top some more. 

 His writer's block was finally broken by a knock on his 
door. 

 Thankful for an interruption to his thoughts or lack 
thereof, Fred got up and went to the door. There was 
another knock just before he opened it. French Tickler 
stood just outside. She leaned against the door jam, her 
large purse on the opposite side. Her round face was 
slightly flushed. 

 "Good evening," she said. "How goes the writing?" 

 "Not good." 

 Fred stepped away from the door to give Tickler room to 
enter. She slid past him and took a seat on the bed while 
Fred closed the door. 

 "Why aren't you still out with everyone else?" 

 She shrugged her shoulders. "I got bored watching Scar 
Face shove her tits in all the guys' faces," she said as 
Fred returned to his spot at the desk. "Besides, I was 
wondering how you were doing." 

 "Well, if I were using a typewriter, you'd be looking at 
blank paper." 

 "I'm surprised. I thought you'd be done by now." 

 "Why's that?" 

 "I've read just about everything you've posted on the 
net." She smiled at him. "You're one of my favourites. I 
got excited when I realized that I was going to meet you in 
person. I have to admit, though, you're not all what I 
expected." 

 "Sorry to disappoint," apologized Fred. 

 "I'm not disappointed. I had this image of a fat guy 
dressed in leopard skin." They laughed. "I'm glad that you 
turned out to be a very handsome man." 

 "Thank you," Fred replied with a real blush. "I think 
you're pretty, too." 

 They looked into each other's eyes. Fred got up from his 
seat and sat down next to her. She licked her lips and 
turned her gaze to his. His hand lifted her chin, its 
weakness adding a softness to her pretty face. Their lips 
met in a gentle kiss. 

 "My name is Jordan," she told him when they had parted. 

 "Pleased to meet you, Jordan. I'm Fred," whispered Fred as 
he pulled her down on his bed with his falling body. 

 Their lips resumed the kiss but with the passion their 
first had lacked. His tongue easily parted its way into her 
mouth. Hers greeted it warmly while their arms wrapped 
tightly around each other. 

 Locked side by side in an embrace, they kissed forever 
without breathing until at last dire need force their 
mouths apart. Jordan twisted and pushed, forcing Fred on 
his back. She rolled on top of his body and covered his 
mouth with his. This time her tongue took to the offensive 
and entered his oral cavity. He sucked onto it for another 
long time as she felt the inside of his mouth. 

 When satisfied with her explorations, she pulled her head 
away and sat up. She gazed down at Fred, who watched her in 
worship. In a single motion, the sweater came off her body. 
She wore no bra, and the cool night air in the room made 
her nipples stand up like thimbles from her small rounded 
tittie mounds.

 She began to undo the buttons to Fred's shirt. As she did 
so, she ground her crotch into his groin. Jordan pushed the 
shirt out of the way before she lowered herself back to his 
body. Bare chest against bare chest, they again kissed for 
a short while. 

 "I want you, Jordan." 

"I want you, too. But, I know it sounds silly, but I'm 
saving myself for marriage." She smiled down at him, then 
gave him a peck on the nose with her pouty, naturally red 
lips. "You'll have to fuck me in the ass." 

 Jordan got off from him and stepped away from the bed. She 
stepped from her skirt and sandals. Fred noted again that 
she was no fashion model, but she was all woman. Her legs 
tapered down from her wide hips to her shapely if thick 
ankles. Freckles dotted her pale skin. He admired her high 
rounded ass a she lowered he panties to the floor. 

 Fred removed his clothing and got a condom from the drawer 
of the little night stand next to the bed. He slipped it 
down on his cock in one motion, pinching a couple of hairs 
in the process Wordlessly, Jordan produced a tube of 
lubricant from her purse and squeezed a bit of the lube 
into a palm. With that hand, she began to masturbate his 
cock with a few gentle motions as the other played with his 
balls. 

 She let go after being satisfied that the lube had been 
spread evenly along the full six inch length. Again, she 
crawled on the bed and assumed the doggie position. Fred 
picked up the tube and put a dab on his finger. Carefully, 
he worked it around and into her anus, first with one 
finger and then with two. Before very long, she pushed back 
against his fingers. 

 "Enough, you bastard. I want you in me. Fuck my ass." 

 He got behind her and kneeled before her ass. With both 
hands, he parted her butt cheeks to expose her asshole. 
Jordan took his slippery cock in her hand and guided to her 
waiting hole. Fred pushed against the muscle, and after a 
short fight, it surrendered to his cock head. 

 He paused as she adjusted to him, and he adjusted to her. 
She got impatient, though, and thrust back against him 
forcing a few inches in her body before stalling. Fred 
retreated to where he had started and then advanced again 
into her rectum. He stopped when she let out a gasp. 

 "No! Keep going, you bastard. Fuck my butt!" she ordered. 

 Fred began to rhythmically pump his hips, driving his 
swollen dick into the young woman beneath him. He went 
slowly, forcefully keeping the girl from pushing against 
him faster and harder than his was ready. At last, he felt 
his balls knock against her pussy. She moaned out and using 
the hand she had used to guide his dong, started to diddle 
her clit. 

 "Please, oh please, fuck me. Fuck me, Fred. Oh God, fuck 
me now," Jordan cried out. 

 "Yes," Fred answered through clenched jaws. He pulled 
back, and then with a powerful thrust of his hips, he 
slammed against her ass. She screamed out as his cock drove 
itself deep into her body. Her fingers rubbed against his 
nut sac as she busily played with her love button. He felt 
her fingertips brush against the bulging center vein of his 
cock as he withdrew for another thrust. 

 He began to fuck her butt rapidly in response to her need 
and the demands of her sympathetic motion. He started 
slowly, but soon, he had given in to his lust. With all his 
force, he pounded mercilessly against his new lover. 
Finally, Jordan was driven from her hands and knees to 
laying flat on her belly. 

 With each advance of his dick into her ass, Jordan would 
moan or cry out or squeal in pleasure. Never before could 
Fred recall having such a vocal lover in bed. It excited 
him beyond his expectations, and as he felt her anal 
sphincter squeeze violently around his dick as she entered 
orgasm, he began to spasm in his own release. He shot spurt 
after spurt of his jism into her intestines, which added to 
the ease of his final penetration. 

 "I feel you coming in me, you bastard. Fill me up with 
your cum," she shouted to him as he at last spent himself 
in her. 

 His dick wilted in her ass as they laid there in the peace 
after the storm of their passion. At last, it fell from her 
nether hole and a bit of his seed seeped out. Jordan turned 
her head. Fred reached down, and again they kissed. 

 "You better start writing that scene for Mistress Monica." 

 "Fuck, Mistress Monica." 

 French Tickler, Jordan, smiled. "I wonder if that could be 
arranged." 
