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The
Pawtawnee Chronicles
by
W.T. Zumm
Pawtawnee
(pop 2096, located on the shore of Lake Michigan, Wisconsin, USA)
is undergoing changes: a cathouse, Messalina Saph's Kitty-Kat
Lounge, has sprung up in town: this is an ongoing chronicle
of alterations wrought in the personalities of the residents as
a consequence: oppression and Puritanism persist, to be sure,
but no longer hold absolute sway...
Episodes:
Chronicle
No. 1
Appearance and disposition of Messalina
Saph, businesswoman. "Sir,
feel free to reach up and masturbate the slut: that's what she's
paid for!"
Chronicle No. 2
Reverend Themsley discovers the wilder
side of pleasure. "Give
me pink love-flowers, slippery flesh-petals, moist bushes! Permit
me, please, to water those bushes! -- to part wide the petals,
thrust deep with tongue, lap up all the nectar!"
Chronicle
No. 3
Judge
Naughton begs to differ with the stern pronouncements of his wife.
"Oh, shit! I don't believe it! My death-in-life fun-hating
prude bitch of a wife's on the butcher's front steps! Quick, Chastity,
get down! -- crouch in the ditch, my life depends on it!"
_______________
Bio: W.T.
Zumm hails from a small town in Wisconsin, located on the shore
of Lake Michigan. "Rather similar to the Pawtawnwee of my
column," he laughingly admits. "And no, we were never
treated to the fine circumstance of a Chicago Madame setting up
shop and considerably altering the inclinations of some of our
residents -- as a town not too far away was fortunate enough to
experience -- but there were many surreptitious, beneath the veneer,
goings-on which flatly contradict the common conception, by non
small town residents, that little out of the ordinary occurs in
such places. Yes, the human spirit will out! The primal urgings
common to all of us will not, in all cases, permit itself to be
forced into the background at all times by the assorted morals
and codes of manners steadily promoted by the church, chamber
of commerce, and town newspaper. Civilization is an attempt to
keep nature at bay, but nature is the source of our body temperature
and blood flow; small town public opinion is an attempt to see
to it people lead lives unlikely to attract attention, but whispered
gossip is secretly thankful for those who've strayed far enough
from the norm to provide some engaging entertainment. And it's,
quite simply, impossible for all individuals to resist supposing
they're the ones who are entitled to 'get away with it'; just
as it's impossible for others, urged on by a trifle too much accumulated
desire, to avoid becoming resentful of and bored with the community
spirit variety of behavior; and, well, sex is a fact of life --
and sex wears many costumes, encompasses many subcategories which
steadfastly avoid open admission -- and, hey, a beautiful woman
is a beautiful woman, regardless of whether she's married to the
mayor -- and, sad to say, those united in the common cause of
town stability and prosperity may not be inordinately fond of
each other personally and, before they're half aware of it, scores
are craving to be settled. In short, people can't help but have
an uneasy relationship with contentment; despite themselves, they've
generally got to do a few -- or great many -- things during the
course of their lives which they dare not tell to many others
or any other or even to themselves. Small towns are not exempt
from human nature. And so, without further prelude, I shall provide
an example of socially discouraged behavior from my town:
"Half
the kids in grade school knew that the wife of the most successful
builder in town routinely stripped and stimulated herself before
the large picture window in the living room on the first floor
in the back of her house at approximately eight o'clock while
her husband remained at work. She was fond of wearing rather conservative
dresses of mid-calf length and it was immensely absorbing to watch
her raise them to her stomach, above her breasts, up over her
head, and cast them aside; the contrast between the staid image
such dresses presented and the black lace panties, garters, and
brassieres underneath was quite striking and heightened the impact
of her nakedness far more than if all her clothes had been of
a risqué nature. Of course, that was nothing compared to the ripe
voluptuousness of her body; I never tired of watching her sultry
curves emerge from the frumpiness in which they'd been intentionally
concealed; a variety of stunned awe would overcome me -- which
I don't mind admitting, being as I was in but the fourth grade.
The smooth glistening white of her complexion, ample breasts,
dark patch of fur between her firm symmetrical thighs: such was
the stuff my daydreams were made of for the good part of a year.
And when she undid the tight bun of her hair, shook her head until
that long cascading mane of curling darkness splashed over her
shoulders!
"Yes,
indeed, we received quite an education -- such as how brassieres,
panties, garters, and stockings are unfastened, slipped off, rolled
down -- such as how a pair of firm round laughing breasts sit
on a woman's chest once the brassiere is removed, their slight
dip downwards, engaging bounce in time to vigorous strides across
the floor -- or how those same breasts flatten against a woman's
chest when she stretches out full length on a couch and arches
her back -- or how a woman goes about stimulating herself, the
finger ticklings and probes; and the aspect her features assume
when she's approaching climax -- the rhythmic tightening and relaxation
of her stomach, closed eyes, open mouth -- the breathing that's
forceful enough to discern visually, convulsive tautness -- and
then writhing, gasping; her arms suddenly fall limp at her sides,
spread thighs suddenly close; she lies blissfully absent for a
spell: yes, indeed, an invaluable education! -- extremely pertinent,
life-altering, information for children of grade school age!
"One
night a man in his early twenties, relatively new in town, who
worked as a substitute teacher, house painter, and charter fishing
assistant was chatting with our adopted schoolmistress on the
couch we knew so well. We assumed she'd summoned him indoors to
discuss some fine point pertaining to the paint he was applying
to the house. Perhaps she had; in addition, she obviously hinted
at another variety of service he could provide. He stood rather
abruptly, seized one of her wrists, and yanked her upright in
a manner that didn't seem to be kind; but she was laughing, playfully
slapping at his waist. They circled to the rear of the couch;
he suddenly grabbed her by the nape of her neck with one hand,
bent her forwards over the back of the couch, pulled her dress
up to her shoulders, removed her stockings and panties, and crouched
nearly out of view behind the couch while continuing to hold her
in place. When he stood upright again he had a shoe in his free
hand, with which he commenced to spank her rather fiercely; he
appeared to be yelling; she was writhing, grasping the couch cushions
with convulsive hands, tearing at the fabric with her nails, all
the while displaying a face that appeared to be wavering between
exultation and abjection. His arm continued to flail; far from
lessening the force of the blows, he seemed to increase them;
from our hiding place in the shrubbery, we could see the twin
white globes of her beautiful buttocks changing color.
"We
were none too pleased to see our beloved educator being treated
thus; we were tempted to race to the window, rap on it, and yell
in an attempt to get the man to stop. We were dissuaded from intervention,
however, on account of the audible cries of pleasure which were
soon absolutely bursting from her lips: "More! More!"
she was yelling amidst deep throaty wails of delight, "Harder,
my champion! Harder! Beat your bitch!" Well, I must admit
we were divided as to how to feel about our Goddess reveling in
such treatment. A couple kids appeared to be under the influence
of authentic revulsion and horror; others were blatantly amused;
I, if I remember correctly, was utterly fascinated: a spanking
produce so much overwhelming pleasure, how could that be? But
our teacher's pleasure was beyond dispute; and how lovely she
was when twisting against and clawing at the couch and exhorting
her partner to hit harder! How heavenly the look of rapturous
absence which overcame her face shortly after the spanking commenced!
Certainly she was far happier with her new partner than when stimulating
herself alone, with only her hand for company! Yes, I remember
very distinctly thinking I must be gazing upon the most beautiful
woman in the world and that she had the most magnificent look
in her eyes that it's possible for any woman to have: my admiration
was redoubled. And how I envied that man!"
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