Litsters In History.
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Le Jacquelope
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You're right about that.RobDownSouth said:
RobDownSouth
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SilvaTungDevil: Atlanta Georgia, 1938
"Back of the bus, nigger!" the sweaty porcine man poked the slumbering Negro giant with a rolled up newspaper.
The black man awoke with a start. He narrowed his eyes, and stumbled drowsily to his feet. The bus lurched away from the curb as he meandered down the center aisle of the bus. He spotted an empty seat next to a nattily dressed black boy of about 9 years and plopped down next to him.
"Mister, can I ask you a question?" the little black boy said, his eyes bright. "Huh? Why certainly, young man" replied the man. "No disrespect sir, but you are much bigger than that white man up there...why'd you let him take your seat?" the black child asked. "You mean nobody ever explained the White Folk's Secret to you?" said the hulking black giant, a twinkle in his eye.
"Secret? What sort of secret?" said the boy. "Hmmmm...I guess you are old enough to know" said the black man, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What's your name, son?" "Martin King, sir" said the boy, extending his hand automatically. The black giant shook his hand gravelly. "I'm SilvaTungDevil, pleased to meet you young sir".
"Well, Master King," the thickly muscled black man continued, "Its no secret I could've whupped that nasty man up there. I got a knife here that'd puncture that ole white man till he looked like Swiss cheese!"
King giggled at the mental picture. "Trouble is, violence don't solve anything, and I'll tell you why" SilvaTungDevil lowered his voice and leaned towards the boy. "It's because white folk are full of acid!" "Acid?" yelped a wide eyed King. "Shhhh, yes, boy, you heard me right, acid" growled the black behemoth. "If I'd have stuck him, he'd have leaked acid all over this here bus and people likely be falling out the holes in the floor he'd make!"
"That's unbelievable" said an incredulous King. "It's the truth!" swore SilvaTungDevil. "You know why white folk have there own separate hospitals, and ain't no coloreds allowed? It's because white folk need to soak in acid baths to get better. You ever heard of black folk in the same Army unit as white folk? No sir, you haven't, and there's a reason for that...white man gets shot with a bullet, he's gonna leak that acid all over the place....won't hurt other white folk, but it'll burn up black people!"
King stare mutely at the giant black man. "I'm...I'm glad you told me that" stammered King. "There's a kid who lives 3 blocks over, a white kid named Ishmael, who's always teasing me about how inferior black people are. He makes me so mad I just want to stick him...but I can't do that now, can I? He'd just leak that nasty acid all over me!"
"That's right, little Mr. King, he'd likely do that" the ebony warrior nodded his head gravely. "But why are white folk angry at black folk most of the time?" asked King. "Well, mostly because their acid in their bodies took their black faces and bleached them white" said SilvaTungDevil.
King thought about that for a moment. "That makes sense" he said. "But is there anything white folk can do about all that acid?"
"Well, yes...: the black giant began, looking around. "White man thinks he can control that acid by having sex with black women...but what he don't realize is it works the other way too!" he winked. He whispered"White women keep that acid low by having sex with black men! Works out well for everyone!"
"Wow! I never knew that!" exclaimed King. "uh oh...here's my bus stop. Thank you so much for all that information, sir!" SilvaTungDevil smiled and waved goodbye as the boy got off the bus.
King bounded up the front walkway to his house, being careful not to slam the door on his way in.
"Ah, you're home from school son!" said King's father, smiling. "What did you learn today?"
"Oh I learned LOTS of stuff!" said the younger King. "I learned that violence against white folk won't work, that people can't help the color of their skin, and the more black folk and white folk love each other, the better off we'll be!"
My boy really has a good heart, thought the elder King approvingly.
"Back of the bus, nigger!" the sweaty porcine man poked the slumbering Negro giant with a rolled up newspaper.
The black man awoke with a start. He narrowed his eyes, and stumbled drowsily to his feet. The bus lurched away from the curb as he meandered down the center aisle of the bus. He spotted an empty seat next to a nattily dressed black boy of about 9 years and plopped down next to him.
"Mister, can I ask you a question?" the little black boy said, his eyes bright. "Huh? Why certainly, young man" replied the man. "No disrespect sir, but you are much bigger than that white man up there...why'd you let him take your seat?" the black child asked. "You mean nobody ever explained the White Folk's Secret to you?" said the hulking black giant, a twinkle in his eye.
"Secret? What sort of secret?" said the boy. "Hmmmm...I guess you are old enough to know" said the black man, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "What's your name, son?" "Martin King, sir" said the boy, extending his hand automatically. The black giant shook his hand gravelly. "I'm SilvaTungDevil, pleased to meet you young sir".
"Well, Master King," the thickly muscled black man continued, "Its no secret I could've whupped that nasty man up there. I got a knife here that'd puncture that ole white man till he looked like Swiss cheese!"
King giggled at the mental picture. "Trouble is, violence don't solve anything, and I'll tell you why" SilvaTungDevil lowered his voice and leaned towards the boy. "It's because white folk are full of acid!" "Acid?" yelped a wide eyed King. "Shhhh, yes, boy, you heard me right, acid" growled the black behemoth. "If I'd have stuck him, he'd have leaked acid all over this here bus and people likely be falling out the holes in the floor he'd make!"
"That's unbelievable" said an incredulous King. "It's the truth!" swore SilvaTungDevil. "You know why white folk have there own separate hospitals, and ain't no coloreds allowed? It's because white folk need to soak in acid baths to get better. You ever heard of black folk in the same Army unit as white folk? No sir, you haven't, and there's a reason for that...white man gets shot with a bullet, he's gonna leak that acid all over the place....won't hurt other white folk, but it'll burn up black people!"
King stare mutely at the giant black man. "I'm...I'm glad you told me that" stammered King. "There's a kid who lives 3 blocks over, a white kid named Ishmael, who's always teasing me about how inferior black people are. He makes me so mad I just want to stick him...but I can't do that now, can I? He'd just leak that nasty acid all over me!"
"That's right, little Mr. King, he'd likely do that" the ebony warrior nodded his head gravely. "But why are white folk angry at black folk most of the time?" asked King. "Well, mostly because their acid in their bodies took their black faces and bleached them white" said SilvaTungDevil.
King thought about that for a moment. "That makes sense" he said. "But is there anything white folk can do about all that acid?"
"Well, yes...: the black giant began, looking around. "White man thinks he can control that acid by having sex with black women...but what he don't realize is it works the other way too!" he winked. He whispered"White women keep that acid low by having sex with black men! Works out well for everyone!"
"Wow! I never knew that!" exclaimed King. "uh oh...here's my bus stop. Thank you so much for all that information, sir!" SilvaTungDevil smiled and waved goodbye as the boy got off the bus.
King bounded up the front walkway to his house, being careful not to slam the door on his way in.
"Ah, you're home from school son!" said King's father, smiling. "What did you learn today?"
"Oh I learned LOTS of stuff!" said the younger King. "I learned that violence against white folk won't work, that people can't help the color of their skin, and the more black folk and white folk love each other, the better off we'll be!"
My boy really has a good heart, thought the elder King approvingly.
Lady Christabel
Editzilla™/ThesauruSnark
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Yes! 'Tis good. *nods*
See, you do have more material in your head and I'll do whatever it takes to get it out of there!
See, you do have more material in your head and I'll do whatever it takes to get it out of there!
RobDownSouth
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Peachykeen: Memphis, Tennessee 1955
"Aunt Peachy, can ah ask you a question?" the toussled hair blonde asked.
"Certainly, Jerry. What's on the mind of my favorite American nephew?" smiled his flaxen haired aunt. Her British accent was particularly noticeable. While she sat primly on the edge of the sofa, there was a noticeable tremor in the back of her skirt.
Jerry blushed and stammered, trying to find the right words. Peachykeen smiled. "Ah...let me guess. You want to ask me about my curious medical condition?" Jerry turned scarlet and nodded.
"Right" began Aunt Peachy. "My bum has been wiggling like this constantly for just about 11 solid years now..." "Eleven YEARS?" interrupted Jerry. "Yes, eleven years" said Peachy. "Jerry, you're too young to remember most of the horrors of World War II. When His Majesty's government needed female volunteers for a Most Secret project, I was all too happy to volunteer".
"Is that like a top secret thing? Wow! Were you like a secret agent?" Jerry exclaimed. His Aunt just laughed. "Hardly, nephew, hardly!" she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Jerry, do you know what a vibrator is?" Jerry grinned " Ah surely do, Aunt Peachy! That's one of those motorized dildo things with batteries!"
Peachy nodded. "Indeed they are, Jerry. And while it seems they've been around for a long time, they were only invented in the war a few years back. You see, most able-bodied British men were off fighting the Nazis in Europe. This made for a lot of very frustrated women in the U.K. Sure, there were dildos available here and there, but they just didn't come close to satisfying the cravings of English womanhood. Whilst you Yanks were working on the Manhattan project, the British government had its own clandestine crash research programme going on, to create the perfect vibrator.
"You mean to tell me vibrators were invented by the British government?" said an incredulout Jerry. Peachy nodded and continued. "My role in the project was small but important. I was a field tester. Every week they'd give me a new model to try and pleasure myself with. Some were smaller prototypes. Some gave nasty electric shocks" She winced at the memory. "It took quite a number of tries to get it just perfect." She hesitated just a moment, took a deep breath, and continued. "It was June 6, 1944...D-Day, coincidentally enough, when I was wounded in action. I'd been given a monstrous 14 incher to test. It worked...all too well as it turned out." She shut her eyes for a moment. "'Good' doesn't begin to describe the feeling. That monstrosity gave me an orgasm that scientists later estimated was approximately 56.2 on a scale of one to ten."
Jerry's eyes bulged. "Wow! That's incredible!" he said.
"Incredible is quite right" affirmed Aunt Peachykeen. "After two solid days of nothing but orgasms...I believe the final tally was 232..the batteries finally gave out. The medics rushed me to the hospital but it was too late. My nether regions were permanently damaged from the abuse they took...hence, my ass has been quivering non-stop for the past eleven years."
"Thats awful!" cried Jerry.
"Oh, now, its not as bad as all that" said Aunt Peachy, soothingly. "The British government has recognized my sacrifice. I was named a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire and was introduced to Mr. Peachy as consolation. His fourteen inches are quite enjoyable.." now it was her turn to blush. "...even if he's never been quite able to match the vibrations I once experienced."
"But enough of war stories...I need to go shopping and you, favorite nephew, need to practice your piano lessons" Peachy said with a mock sterness. Jerry nodded and stood up. As he began to walk towards the living room where the family piano was, the telephone rang. "I'll get it...it's probably my girlfriend" yelped Jerry, diving for the phone.
"Hello? Yeah you can come on over, baby, there's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on!" grinned Jerry into the phone receiver.
"Jerry Lee Lewis, you'll never amount to anything if you keep neglecting your piano playing!" cried an exasperated Peachykeen.
"Aunt Peachy, can ah ask you a question?" the toussled hair blonde asked.
"Certainly, Jerry. What's on the mind of my favorite American nephew?" smiled his flaxen haired aunt. Her British accent was particularly noticeable. While she sat primly on the edge of the sofa, there was a noticeable tremor in the back of her skirt.
Jerry blushed and stammered, trying to find the right words. Peachykeen smiled. "Ah...let me guess. You want to ask me about my curious medical condition?" Jerry turned scarlet and nodded.
"Right" began Aunt Peachy. "My bum has been wiggling like this constantly for just about 11 solid years now..." "Eleven YEARS?" interrupted Jerry. "Yes, eleven years" said Peachy. "Jerry, you're too young to remember most of the horrors of World War II. When His Majesty's government needed female volunteers for a Most Secret project, I was all too happy to volunteer".
"Is that like a top secret thing? Wow! Were you like a secret agent?" Jerry exclaimed. His Aunt just laughed. "Hardly, nephew, hardly!" she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Jerry, do you know what a vibrator is?" Jerry grinned " Ah surely do, Aunt Peachy! That's one of those motorized dildo things with batteries!"
Peachy nodded. "Indeed they are, Jerry. And while it seems they've been around for a long time, they were only invented in the war a few years back. You see, most able-bodied British men were off fighting the Nazis in Europe. This made for a lot of very frustrated women in the U.K. Sure, there were dildos available here and there, but they just didn't come close to satisfying the cravings of English womanhood. Whilst you Yanks were working on the Manhattan project, the British government had its own clandestine crash research programme going on, to create the perfect vibrator.
"You mean to tell me vibrators were invented by the British government?" said an incredulout Jerry. Peachy nodded and continued. "My role in the project was small but important. I was a field tester. Every week they'd give me a new model to try and pleasure myself with. Some were smaller prototypes. Some gave nasty electric shocks" She winced at the memory. "It took quite a number of tries to get it just perfect." She hesitated just a moment, took a deep breath, and continued. "It was June 6, 1944...D-Day, coincidentally enough, when I was wounded in action. I'd been given a monstrous 14 incher to test. It worked...all too well as it turned out." She shut her eyes for a moment. "'Good' doesn't begin to describe the feeling. That monstrosity gave me an orgasm that scientists later estimated was approximately 56.2 on a scale of one to ten."
Jerry's eyes bulged. "Wow! That's incredible!" he said.
"Incredible is quite right" affirmed Aunt Peachykeen. "After two solid days of nothing but orgasms...I believe the final tally was 232..the batteries finally gave out. The medics rushed me to the hospital but it was too late. My nether regions were permanently damaged from the abuse they took...hence, my ass has been quivering non-stop for the past eleven years."
"Thats awful!" cried Jerry.
"Oh, now, its not as bad as all that" said Aunt Peachy, soothingly. "The British government has recognized my sacrifice. I was named a Dame Commander of the Order of the British Empire and was introduced to Mr. Peachy as consolation. His fourteen inches are quite enjoyable.." now it was her turn to blush. "...even if he's never been quite able to match the vibrations I once experienced."
"But enough of war stories...I need to go shopping and you, favorite nephew, need to practice your piano lessons" Peachy said with a mock sterness. Jerry nodded and stood up. As he began to walk towards the living room where the family piano was, the telephone rang. "I'll get it...it's probably my girlfriend" yelped Jerry, diving for the phone.
"Hello? Yeah you can come on over, baby, there's a whole lotta shakin' goin' on!" grinned Jerry into the phone receiver.
"Jerry Lee Lewis, you'll never amount to anything if you keep neglecting your piano playing!" cried an exasperated Peachykeen.
Last edited:
DreamWeaver
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Western romance called Cheyenne
I had to bump this thread, it fell to far back.
Cheyenne, she of the amazing butt, has made an appearance in, of all places, a Western romance called Cheyenne. The name refers not to the native American trible or the city, but to patient1s' character. Cheyenne is the runaway wife of a ruthless rancher. She runs off with the rancher's money and hides it when she runs.
The rancher hires several bounty hunters to track down his errant wife, unknown to one another. One of them, the good-looking, heroic hunky one, captures patient1s, and she spends a goodly portion of the movie following him around with her wrists tied in front of her with a leather thong.
Soon there's a romantic chemistry developing between hunky captor and hot captive, and when they bed down for the night, patient1s makes a move on her captor, with her hands still bound with leather thongs. Her lips are unbound, and ungagged, and they're all over the guy's face, and in pretty short order he releases her bonds (being an idiot) and they're naked and getting all sweaty on one another.
Later, patient1s gets up and we're treated to a gorgeous shot of Cheyenne kneeling kajira-style by the fireplace. And it's that presumably accidental resemblance that made me realize that Cheyenne is, of all things, in a western.
Not the best, but its good enought to bump the thread back up.
Edited to add;
Yes, I know I will catch hell from Cheyenne.
I had to bump this thread, it fell to far back.
Cheyenne, she of the amazing butt, has made an appearance in, of all places, a Western romance called Cheyenne. The name refers not to the native American trible or the city, but to patient1s' character. Cheyenne is the runaway wife of a ruthless rancher. She runs off with the rancher's money and hides it when she runs.
The rancher hires several bounty hunters to track down his errant wife, unknown to one another. One of them, the good-looking, heroic hunky one, captures patient1s, and she spends a goodly portion of the movie following him around with her wrists tied in front of her with a leather thong.
Soon there's a romantic chemistry developing between hunky captor and hot captive, and when they bed down for the night, patient1s makes a move on her captor, with her hands still bound with leather thongs. Her lips are unbound, and ungagged, and they're all over the guy's face, and in pretty short order he releases her bonds (being an idiot) and they're naked and getting all sweaty on one another.
Later, patient1s gets up and we're treated to a gorgeous shot of Cheyenne kneeling kajira-style by the fireplace. And it's that presumably accidental resemblance that made me realize that Cheyenne is, of all things, in a western.
Not the best, but its good enought to bump the thread back up.
Edited to add;
Yes, I know I will catch hell from Cheyenne.
Last edited:
sterlingclay
The Brown Hey-Zues
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Kickass shorts.
Maybe there's a place for me in history. Probably something involving dumb luck, for I am the Golden Child.
Maybe there's a place for me in history. Probably something involving dumb luck, for I am the Golden Child.
Cheyenne
Ms. Smarty Pantsless
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Re: Western romance called Cheyenne
That was such poor quality compared to the others in this thread that it doesn't even deserve giving you hell for it. Damn, it could have been written by a Nascar truck driver it was so bad.
Don't quite your day job, dreamWeaver. Assuming you have one.
DreamWeaver said:I had to bump this thread, it fell to far back.
Cheyenne, she of the amazing butt, has made an appearance in, of all places, a Western romance called Cheyenne. The name refers not to the native American trible or the city, but to patient1s' character. Cheyenne is the runaway wife of a ruthless rancher. She runs off with the rancher's money and hides it when she runs.
The rancher hires several bounty hunters to track down his errant wife, unknown to one another. One of them, the good-looking, heroic hunky one, captures patient1s, and she spends a goodly portion of the movie following him around with her wrists tied in front of her with a leather thong.
Soon there's a romantic chemistry developing between hunky captor and hot captive, and when they bed down for the night, patient1s makes a move on her captor, with her hands still bound with leather thongs. Her lips are unbound, and ungagged, and they're all over the guy's face, and in pretty short order he releases her bonds (being an idiot) and they're naked and getting all sweaty on one another.
Later, patient1s gets up and we're treated to a gorgeous shot of Cheyenne kneeling kajira-style by the fireplace. And it's that presumably accidental resemblance that made me realize that Cheyenne is, of all things, in a western.
Not the best, but its good enought to bump the thread back up.
Edited to add;
Yes, I know I will catch hell from Cheyenne.
That was such poor quality compared to the others in this thread that it doesn't even deserve giving you hell for it. Damn, it could have been written by a Nascar truck driver it was so bad.
Don't quite your day job, dreamWeaver. Assuming you have one.
DreamWeaver
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Re: Re: Western romance called Cheyenne
What do you expect for spending only 5 minutes on the story Cheyenne??
And I even said it wasn't good
What do you expect for spending only 5 minutes on the story Cheyenne??
And I even said it wasn't good
RobDownSouth
BoycotDivestSanctio
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Miles: Oswiecim, Poland 1943
The little girl was terrified.
"What's the matter, little girl?" smiled a kindly man.
"They took my mother away...I want my mommy!" the girl cried.
"Now, now, your mother is simply going to work...and you will be going to school. You want to grow up smart, right?" said the middle aged man. "Besides, you will see her soon enough...soon enough..." His voice trailed off.
Miles turned to address a large group of children.
"If I could have your attention please!" he began, somewhat sternly. "I am, ummm, Professor Miles, headmaster of the, err, local school here. You've all been carefully selected to attend the very special school for Jews here. Your parents will be so proud of you!"
"But don't people hate Jews here? I thought they brought Jews here to be killed...that's what my aunt Ruthva says!!" said a visibly distraught boy.
"Nonsense!" replied an irritated Miles. "I am a Jew, too, you see," he pointed to the gold Star of David stitched onto the sleeve of his jacket. "I've been here for years, and nothing bad has happened to me!" His chest puffed up proudly.
Another boy still looked dubious. "Well, what subjects did they bring us here to learn?" Miles looked sternly at the boy. "We will be, ah, learning about various things..health, um...population control, et cetera. Some of you will even learn a trade!" Miles continued, his voice gaining confidence. "For example, who'd like to learn how to make bricks? You see those smokestacks over there? Those ovens could fire up over 3000, er, bricks per DAY!" He smiled.
"Now then, if you children would be so kind as to hold your questions, we'll get you showered properly after your long train trip here and then I will see you in class" Miles turned and indicated that the children should follow him to a large low ceilinged building in the shadow of the kiln smokestacks. The group of children followed obediently behind him.
Miles opened the heavy steel door to the shower area. "In you go, children. Boys shower to the right, girls shower to the left. No dawdling, now!" He smiled.
"Herr Professor? Why are there locks on the doors to the showers?" a voice in the rear of the line asked.
"Locks on the doors? Why, to keep the guards here from peeking in on you while you shower!" replied Miles.
The innocent girl thought about that for a moment, then nodded her head "That does make sense..."
"Of course it does, little one. Now off to the showers you go!" said Miles, cheerily.
"Professor Miles...one last question if you don't mind? Where exactly are we, anyway? I couldn't read the signs on the train trip to here!" said a bright little boy.
"Why, we're in Galacia, in western Poland. Near the town of Oswiecim" said Miles.
"What a funny name for a town!" giggled the small Jewish boy.
Miles motioned the last remaining boy into the large shower area. As he closed the door to the children's shower area, he said "Ah, that's right...you're from Germany. I believe in Germany the pronounciation is called, hmm, "Auschwitz" ".
The little girl was terrified.
"What's the matter, little girl?" smiled a kindly man.
"They took my mother away...I want my mommy!" the girl cried.
"Now, now, your mother is simply going to work...and you will be going to school. You want to grow up smart, right?" said the middle aged man. "Besides, you will see her soon enough...soon enough..." His voice trailed off.
Miles turned to address a large group of children.
"If I could have your attention please!" he began, somewhat sternly. "I am, ummm, Professor Miles, headmaster of the, err, local school here. You've all been carefully selected to attend the very special school for Jews here. Your parents will be so proud of you!"
"But don't people hate Jews here? I thought they brought Jews here to be killed...that's what my aunt Ruthva says!!" said a visibly distraught boy.
"Nonsense!" replied an irritated Miles. "I am a Jew, too, you see," he pointed to the gold Star of David stitched onto the sleeve of his jacket. "I've been here for years, and nothing bad has happened to me!" His chest puffed up proudly.
Another boy still looked dubious. "Well, what subjects did they bring us here to learn?" Miles looked sternly at the boy. "We will be, ah, learning about various things..health, um...population control, et cetera. Some of you will even learn a trade!" Miles continued, his voice gaining confidence. "For example, who'd like to learn how to make bricks? You see those smokestacks over there? Those ovens could fire up over 3000, er, bricks per DAY!" He smiled.
"Now then, if you children would be so kind as to hold your questions, we'll get you showered properly after your long train trip here and then I will see you in class" Miles turned and indicated that the children should follow him to a large low ceilinged building in the shadow of the kiln smokestacks. The group of children followed obediently behind him.
Miles opened the heavy steel door to the shower area. "In you go, children. Boys shower to the right, girls shower to the left. No dawdling, now!" He smiled.
"Herr Professor? Why are there locks on the doors to the showers?" a voice in the rear of the line asked.
"Locks on the doors? Why, to keep the guards here from peeking in on you while you shower!" replied Miles.
The innocent girl thought about that for a moment, then nodded her head "That does make sense..."
"Of course it does, little one. Now off to the showers you go!" said Miles, cheerily.
"Professor Miles...one last question if you don't mind? Where exactly are we, anyway? I couldn't read the signs on the train trip to here!" said a bright little boy.
"Why, we're in Galacia, in western Poland. Near the town of Oswiecim" said Miles.
"What a funny name for a town!" giggled the small Jewish boy.
Miles motioned the last remaining boy into the large shower area. As he closed the door to the children's shower area, he said "Ah, that's right...you're from Germany. I believe in Germany the pronounciation is called, hmm, "Auschwitz" ".
Paendragon
AmPic and SRP Moderator
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*chuckles*
Good stuff.
Good stuff.
christophe
back by popular demand
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good thread....definitely an A for originality
Paendragon
AmPic and SRP Moderator
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For anyone who hasn't read it.
busybody..
Literotica Guru
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This thread deserves a BUMP daily, in the hope it never dies.
There are a lot of very talented writers here....
More more, please.
There are a lot of very talented writers here....
More more, please.
Byron In Exile
Frederick Fucking Chopin
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All of my alts are special.bad_girl23 said:
None are denied.
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