Article 11545 of alt.sex.cthulhu:
From: chfrost@aol.com (CHFrost)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.cthulhu
Subject: Story: The Thang - Part 4
Date: 3 Feb 1997 01:14:37 GMT

<Will it never end> he thinks...or better yet...Walking Tall & Carrying A
Big Stick!

DISCLAIMER!  Avoid reading this story.
The Surgeon General has determined
that reading the following story may
result in injury, premature ejaculation,
and in some cases death. But, since
no one really cares about all that just
read on -- if you dare!

Just don't say you weren't warned.


  "A mind is a terrible thing not to waste."

                               Cthulhu



THE THANG


Chapter 4

   Bob groaned as orgasm after orgasm tore through him in rapid fire
succession.  They really
couldn't best be described as "orgasms."  Unless you were to include the
fact that, as huge
bursts of cum erupted from him like Mount St. Helens exploding, it felt
like his insides melted
into a liquid fire, dissolved, and were drained out of the end of the
thang's grotesquely swollen
cockhead.  He finally got enough strength back, and struggled to his feet
as the thang spat
out the last of its huge store of paranormally charged, deamon seed. 
Regaining a measure
of control, he cringed as he beheld the oozing, cum dripping horror that
the strip club had
become.  He shuddered, close to madness, as he saw that the thang still
projected out from
his loins like a small artillery piece.  Possessed with a mind of its own,
its weight carried him
toward the front door in crazed circles.  Pulled along by the thang, like
a dog on a long leash,
Bob cleared the door and saw a Hispanic-looking guy hold up a Crucifix and
dive behind a car
for cover.  Bob caught the thrashing cockhead between his hands as he was
yanked into
the dark night, turning the thang like a rudder before him.

   He was sure that in the long history of Bourbon Street there had been
many strange and
unusual sights to behold.  He doubted, though, that any of those sights
had caused such a
commotion: paniced shouts, laughter, screams, terrified shrieks, fainting
from some of the
woman.  The thang's head could've fit in a cobat helmet, its
twenty-two-inch length throbbing
with wickedly menacing intent and power, seeking to stab at and impale the
pussies of any
of the French Quarter revelers unfortunate enough to be within reach.  It
was all Bob could do
to keep it under the little bit of control he had left.  People ran to and
fro, parting like the water
of the red sea as he struggled his way toward his hotel.  A red-eyed drunk
saluted him as he
neared, keeling over to the ground as he saw the cyclopean thang in Bob's
hands.  A carriage
horse reared up with a loud snort, pawing the air, its own equipment puny
in comparison to
the thang.

   Shouts, whistles, and screams echoed through Bourbon Street.  Two tall,
big-boned women
in glittery dresses yelled, "Glory be!"  and  "Lord, I'm having a heart
attack!"  Bob was briefly
puzzled as the thang twisted away from them, then realized why; they were
men dressed up
as women.  At least my thang's not gay, he thought, feeling a small degree
of consolation.

   A peculiar group of people, wearing white makeup and greased back hair,
began to run after
him down the street.  When they opened their mouths, bearing fangs, he at
once recognized
them as a gang of lesbian vampire sluts.  They'd like nothing better than
to sink their sharp
teeth into my blood engorged thang and drink their fill, Bob thought
painfully as he quickly
picked up his pace, trying to alluded them.  But, three of them finally
caught up to him as he
took a wrong turn down a dead end alley.

   The lesbian vampire sluts advanced on him, hissing as they made their
point(s) clear, and
he knew that all of his problems would soon be over if they got hold of
him.  Now, Bob liked a
good sucking off like the next guy, but this was serious.  If they sink
those sharp fangs and
talons into my thang I'll be a goner for sure, he thought.  There was only
one way to handle
these bitches, and that was to give them what they wanted.

   He let out a bellow of rage as he released his hold on the thang.  At
the same tim---------adD5571B21BBA
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vGs3w/8AhLe/C+48I6h4J8YfCfwzqfjTUL her full lips forming a silent cry of
"O."  The pleasure from the thang that Bob
began to experience was unbearable; it slid slowly in and out of her for a
long time, bringing
her again and again to the gasping edge of the abyss.  Then, with a loud
and helpless groan,
Bob let go, his thang came deep in her womb again, shooting hot streams of
spunk into her
warmly accepting cunt.  With a long "Ahhhh!", Ginger came again.  The jizz
began spraying
out of her cunt as he gushed out gallons, everything his hurklean balls
could muster.  Like a
river, vitally charged spermazoa swam with her feminine juices into the
dank, garbage strewn
gutter, making their way into the depths of the sewer.  They would
eventually come together
with other things to create their primordial offspring -- the first love
child of a bold new age!

   "Thank, Miss Fallon!"  she gasped.

   "What'd you say?"  Bob asked her.  "You know Miss Fallon, too?"

   "Huh?  Oh, yeah.  Sure, I know her.  Why do you think I'm still alive?"
she said, her loud
wicked laughter filling the dark night.  As if to make her point, her cock
stuffed pussy wrapped
around his thang in a painfully tight embrace and began milking the giant
organ to the root.
Her labial lips stretched longer and longer, till two fleshy pseudopods
extended out, wrapping
themselves around Bob's waist.  They pressed into him, caressing his ass,
and pulling his butt
even harder into her as he stroked his thang in and out of her vice-like
depths.

   "Of all the seedy streets, places, and people, we just happened to
meet," he laughed.  The
thang grew even harder as both of their living thangs meshed like the
gears of a well oiled clock,
wildly fucking into each other with a speed and force that would have
killed lesser beings.
Their violent thrusting motions became a blur on the damp, brick street.

   Bob already had visions of an X-rated club act that would make them
both rich.  He saw a
headline -- "Erotic Horrors Invade The City."  And, "Come, See The
Penisaur Wrestle The
Octopussy!"   Yes, it would make them rich, and once they were rich
nothing could stop them
from their real mission -- to recreate the world in their own image.

   Yes, the world might become a bit more cum splattered.  Sure, some
people would die in
the process.  But, it was the least they could do to free the pitiful
mortals from their delusions;
the masquerade of "civilized" behavior.  They could then be their true
selves, the thangs told
each other.  Weird, wet gurgling sputters of dark laughter echoed out from
their thrashing loins,
flying into the foggy night like dark leathery wings.