From: chfrost@aol.com (CHFrost)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.cthulhu
Subject: GUT SPAM I
Date: 12 Jan 1997 03:52:14 GMT


**ORIGINAL STORY NAME: The Horror of Spam
**ORINALLY FROM: bs904@FreeNet.Carleton.CA (Andrew Nellis)
**ORIGINAL DATE: 8 Jan 1997 12:41:32 GMT



**Please note:

**This story contains explicit sexual content.  If you're a minor or
**offended by such things, you shouldn't be in alt.sex.cthulhu anyway, but I
**include this warning to forestall any nasty e-mail.

**It should be obvious what inspired this story.  Comments, brickbats,
**accolades, and cold hard cash all gratefully accepted.  Positive feedback
**makes it more likely that I shall contibute again.

**All references to people living or dead are entirely intentional.

**And now, on with our story...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
~~~~>ToMe TrAnSMoGRiFicaTiOIn>~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~>ImPrOVeMenT SaME>~~~~
~~~>1.11.97>~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~VoRlaNce


                      GUTTERAL HORROR OF SPAM
                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bob Goan picked up the pearl-handled letter opener and slit open the
statement from the phone company with practiced grace.  His nervous eyes
danced across the paper as he unfolded it, absently tapping an elegantly
manicured fingernail against his teeth.  When the whole sheet had been
read, he went through it a second time, for he was nothing if not a
methodical man.  His eyes came to rest finally on the figure at the very
bottom representing the total income from his sex line operation.  He
allowed himself a very slight, superior smile.

He slid a slim ledger from a pigeonhole on his antique accountant's desk and
made a number of entries.  The desk, like the room in which he sat, was very
large, old, expensive, and slightly crass, as if it had been decorated by
someone with the intention of demonstrating a cultured taste that the
decorator had seen but did not understand.  With its heavy velvet curtains,
walnut book cases, and a large fieldstone fireplace, the room had more the
feel of a den than an office.  The only jarring note to the image was the
very modern computer, sleek and antiseptic white, perched on a corner of the
desk at which he sat.

As he replaced the ledger in his desk, Robert "call-me-Bob" Goan glanced at
the monitor, a wry smile twisting his bloodless slash of a mouth.  He
appreciated the irony that while it was computers which were ultimately the
source of his growing fortune, he neither liked nor trusted them, and kept
all his records using pen and paper.

Sighing, he flipped on his terminal.  He didn't like them, but they were a
necessary evil and evil was his business.  It had been a long day and he
wanted to leave, but he knew he had better check his e-mail before he did so.
He connected to his account and as he had feared, a message popped up in
the window:

     You have 1 new pieces of mail.

He clicked on the e-mail icon, and frowned when he saw the address the mail
was from.  He didn't know either the sender or the host address, which was
very strange.  He paid very well to keep his real e-mail address secret. 
He read the message.

> To:      bgoan@secret.com
> From:    c_chaos@rlyeh.net
> Subject: Your unwanted presence.
>
> Keep your endless sex line spamvertising off of alt.sex.cthulhu or you
> will be sorry.  You have been warned.  Ia Cthulhu.
>
> The Crawling Chaos.

Bob felt a brief moment of fear that lifted the fine hairs on the back of
his neck, but forgot it in the anger that washed over him an instant later.
"Fucking son-of-a-bitch!" he exclaimed.  How had this, this jerkoff, this
common computer geek acquired his real e-mail address?  Bob didn't
understand how these things worked, but he paid a number of renegade
programmers a fair-sized chunk of money to insure that his sex lines
remained able to bombard every newsgroup on the Usenet with impunity.  He
pushed the buzzer on his desk.

The door to his office opened, and his secretary, Laura, entered, starched
skirts swishing against her pretty legs.  As usual, his eyes focused directly
onto her breasts, not too large, but shaped the way he liked them, with just
the faintest hint of nipple showing through the prim white blouse.  It was
always to his eternal amazement that she had actually been the best candidate
for the job - though he'd have hired her just for being capable of breathing.

"You buzzed, Mr. Goan," said Laura, sternly.  She had held the job for three
months now, and was getting tired of being alternately pawed and ogled by
the old perv.  She had a BS in computer science, majoring in business
administration - and a huge debtload.  He was a pig, she thought, but he
paid well.

"Erm, yes," he said, addressing her breasts.  "There's some sort of
problem with my account.  I want you to call those people we've hired, whatever
their fucking names are-"

"Spamail Solutions," said Laura, jotting a note into her steno book.

"Right.  Get them on the phone and tell them that someone has managed to get 
ahold of my private e-mail address.  They assured me that that would not
happen.  I want something done about it before the morning alt hierarchy
barrage tomorrow or tell them they can find another sap to take their
fucking business to."

Goan got up from his desk and pulled on his coat while Laura made a last note
in her book.  She was justing flipping the book closed when she felt him step
behind her and cup her breasts in his hands.

She wriggled out of his grasp and spun around, her hands on her hips, and
her face flushed with both anger and embarassment.  "Mister Goan!  If you
don't mind, I'll thank you to keep your hands to yourself.  I've told you
this before."

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he leered.  "Alright, alright," he said,
waving his arms helplessly.  "Have it your way.  I'm just being affectionate,
you know that.  No need to go all feminist on me.  Don't fancy a drink, do
you?  Maybe we can have dinner, then we'll go back to my place and-"

"No.  Mister Goan.  Good Evening," she said firmly, propelling him out the
door with a hand in his back.

Grumbling to himself, Bob Goan left his office and climbed into his Lincoln
Continental.  He peered at himself in the rear view mirror.  Okay, he
thought, maybe I'm on the downward side of sixty, but I don't look a day over
fifty.  Well, fifty-five, anyway.  My hair might be a little grey around the
edges, but that's, er, distinguished.  Maybe some Grecian Formula, he thought
for a moment.  No, I'm damned handsome as I am, he preened.  No sense in
letting some frigid cunt who's probably a lesbian get to me.  He enjoyed a
brief fantasy involving Laura, her putative twin sister, and a bottle of
Wesson oil before he shook his head and started the car.

The next morning, Goan arrived at the office early.  The elevators in the
building were not even running yet, and he had to get the security guard to
use his passcard to activate one.  Sometimes Goan liked to come in really
early so that he could watch from his terminal while what was known around
the office as the Morning Barrage went off.  It gave him a feeling of power
to watch as his system posted messages to thousands and thousands of Usenet
newsgroups.  His company masqueraded as more then twenty others, all of them
promoting his sex lines.  Sometimes he would arrange for certain newsgroups
to be utterly snowed under in advertising, thirty or forty messages in a row.
This he reserved for groups that offended his personal sensibilites, like
alt.sex.femdom.

He would sit before his terminal with the air of a monarch surveying his
kingdom, gloating at the helpless rage of the users in the various newsgroups
as they tried to carry on their pointless conversations through a solid wall
of his advertising.  He was whistling happily with anticipation when he
arrived in his office at last.

On his desk was a note from Laura telling him to call Spamail.  He checked
his Rolex and realized that those unbathed simians he employed as programmers
were not likely to have rolled out of whatever soiled mattresses they were
using as beds yet.  He put the note aside for later.

Logging into his account, he was pleased to see that he had no additional
mail, and he checked on the process that would launch a fusillade of his
advertising at the unsuspecting Internet.  Less than ten minutes until it
triggered.  Unconsciously, his eyes were drawn to the note on his desk.

Maybe, he thought, I should remove alt.sex.cthulhu from the list of groups
to be targeted this morning.  Just for this morning.  I mean, he reasoned,
it's probably nothing, but if this guy got his e-mail address, maybe he could
get his real address.  There were all kinds of weirdos and nuts on the
Internet, Goan knew, because after all, he made his living from them.  He
glanced at the countdown timer.  Less than two minutes to launch.

He remained undecided even as the timer reached zero and the processes began
firing off like a broadside of cannons, lagging the entire eastern seaboard
of the United States to a crawl for nearly twenty minutes.  Ah well, he
told himself, no one ever got hurt on account of a little advertising. It's
the American way.  Anyone who doesn't like it is probably a pinko anyway.
He leaned back in his chair and began brainstorming on new twists for his
sex lines.

His reveries were interrupted by the chiming tone of the ringing telephone.
He waited a few rings, but it was still early and evidently Laura had not
arrived yet.  "Bob here," he said brusquely after picking up the receiver.

"Mister Goan, this is Ajay from Spamail."

Goan was a little surprised, considering the time.  "Yes, Ajay, what can I do
for you?  I sure as hell hope you've checked into that fucking problem I told
Laura to tell you about!"

"What kind of sick shit are you into now, man," said Ajay, obvious distaste
in his voice.

Goan's greying eyebrows lifted.  "For one thing, I don't like the tone of
your goddam voice, young man.  What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The web site.  You know, that Hotpix thing.  I don't know if we can do
business any more, man.  Like, that's some sick shit, y'know?  Like, I gotta
check with my lawyer to see if we're, like, liable or something."

"Ajay," said Goan, with monumental patience.  "I have no fucking idea what
you're talking about.  If you'd pull your head out of your ass once in a
while you might remember that we scan those pictures out of men's magazines.
I'm sure there's not a damn thing there you haven't seen a thousand times
before."  Goan suddenly remembered that he was talking to a computer geek,
and felt obligated to add, in the interest of accuracy, "Well, nothing you
haven't seen pictures of a thousand times before, anyway."

There was a brief pause.  "You mean you didn't change all those pictures
this morning?"

"What?  Listen Ajay, I just walked into the office a few minutes ago.  I
couldn't change anything on there anyway.  That's what I hire you for."

There was a much longer pause this time.  "Um, we got a problem then, Mister
Goan.  Maybe you better have a look and call me back.  I took the site
offline this morning, but you can still get in with your superuser password."

"Stupid son-of-a-bitch!" Goan said as he hung up and connected to Hotpix,
his web site.  It was his latest venture, and he was pleased with the modest
profits it was showing.  With the aid of his mass advertising it had become
quite popular.  The title screen was the first thing that tipped him off
that all was not as it should be.  Instead of a large-breasted young minx,
there was a naked, toothless old crone, her mouth a drooling, vacant
obscenity, and her breasts pendulous, wizzened sacks like empty wineskins.
Her gnarled fingers pulled at the folds of her ancient, bone-dry vaginal
lips.

Grimacing distastefully, Goan used his password to access the other pictures
available.  He was horrified.

Every single one was an abomination.  One photo showed a naked child, no more
than seven or eight, being torn apart and devoured by wild pigs while the
child screamed in agony.  Another revealed a man thrusting obscenely into
the mouth of a severed head.  Several showed things he couldn't quite make
out, but which gave him strange shudders.  His fingers were numb as he
paged through them all, eyes glazed, seeing a collage of rape and blood
and death and horror, a collage twisted sexuality.

"Oh My God!" he muttered.  "I could go to prison for this."  His eyes turned
crafty as he realized that some of these pictures would be worth a lot of
money to the right customers, but he quickly judged the risk to outweigh any
possible profits.  Disconnecting, he called Ajay back.

"You saw?"

"I did.  Shut it down, Ajay.  Delete the damn whole site.  I want it gone,
and I mean completely fucking gone.  Like it never existed.  I'll have the
holding company that owns Hotpix closed down, and we'll bury it.  Burn the
records, if we have to.  Thank God the damn thing isn't in my name.  Oh, and
Ajay... thanks for your prudence.  There'll be a little bonus for you with
the next pay packet."

"Thanks, Mister Goan.  If there's nothing else, I'll get to it."

"Oh, yes, there is one thing.  Did you find out anything about that mail I
received yesterday?  You know, the one that came to my private account?"

"Right.  Yeah, I discovered it's a bogus address.  I checked the header, and
sure enough, the real source is blackman@miskatonic.edu, some place up in
Maine I think.  I'll get on it when I'm done with Hotpix."

Goan hung up and rubbed his chin.  Could there be some link between this
"blackman" and Hotpix?  He shook his head ruefully.  Mere grasping after
straws, he thought, and turned back to his monitor.  He blinked at the
message sitting on his screen:

     You have 1 new pieces of mail.

He clicked on the mail icon.

> To:      bgoan@secret.com
> From:    c_chaos@rlyeh.net
> Subject: Your final warning, Mister Goan.
>
> Did you enjoy the pictures?  Stay out of alt.sex.cthulhu.
>
> The Crawling Chaos.

Fear and fury hammered in equal parts in his chest.  How dare this little
techogeek threaten him, Robert Goan, king of the Internet advertisers! How
dare this dick-nosed punk sabotage Hotpix - at the cost of thousands in lost
earnings!

Goan heard the front door of the office open as Laura arrived, and he took
a deep breath.  Slowly he blew out, feeling the tension drain from him, and
he put web page, soboteur, and lost revenue out of his mind as he buckled
down to a good morning's work plotting out new advertising.

By the time he next checked his watch, it was noon, and he found himself
ravenous.  Deciding to treat himself, he took a long, leisurely, three-
martini lunch at the Plaza.  When he arrived back at the office, Laura was
asleep on the waiting room couch, a half-read novel on the floor beside her.

Goan licked his suddenly dry lips as he realized how high her skirt had
risen up while she was sleeping.  He could see a long slash of soft,
feminine thigh.  Creeping over to the door, he eased the lock shut as quietly
as he could.  It made a soft chunking noise despite his best efforts, and he
glanced quickly at Laura.  She was still asleep, lips slightly parted, and
snoring faintly.

He tiptoed over to his secretary and with deft fingers lifted the neckline
of her blouse, leaning over so he could peer inside.  She wore a bra, but
he felt a growing bulge in his trousers nonetheless at the sight of so much
forbidden flesh.  Glancing at her eyes to make sure she was still asleep, he
slid his fingers delicately underneath her skirt and stroked her inner thigh
softly.  She grunted but did not wake up, spreading her legs instinctively
at the touch.

Goan grinned maniacally like a child who has discovered the cookie jar left
full and unguarded.  Between thumb and forefinger damp with perspiration, he
pulled aside the material of her cotton panties, using the fingers of his
other hand to rub the folds of her pubis, now slightly moist.  Laura groaned
loudly, and her eyes shot open.

It took her a second or two to realize what was happening and separate
reality from dream.  Her eyes and the eyes of Bob Goan locked, and he gave
her his wickedest come-hither leer.  A moment later he was curled up on the
floor, trying to get his wind back.  One of Laura's black pumps was on the
other side of the room from the force of the kick she had landed in his
bulging crotch.

"You, you, pig!" she screeched, leaping up from the couch.  Forgetting that
she had lost a shoe, she kicked him in the side with her bare foot, badly
stubbing her toes and making her shout.  "Ow!  Oh, you bastard!  You goddam
slimy son of a bitch!"

She grabbed her purse and her shoe and hobbled out of the office, slamming
the door behind her with enough force to knock a framed Matisse print off
the wall.

This has not been a good day, thought Goan moronically, as he sipped air like
fine wine back into his lungs.

An hour later, he was sitting in his chair, leaning back to avoid pressure
on battered nuts.  He was feeling mean and spiteful.  The throbbing ache in
his loins and side convinced him to lock up and go home early, but before he
did, he was going to make someone else's life miserable too.  Goan logged
into his account and scheduled a bombardment of alt.sex.cthulhu the likes of
which the Usenet had never known.  Every single one of his many faux companies
would fill the newsgroup with such a blizzard of advertising and hype that no
site in its right mind would want to carry it.  I've murdered the whole damn
newgroup, he thought smugly.  Eat that, Mister Fucking Chaos.

The next day was dark and stormy.  The clouds bulged like wounds turned
septic, waiting to burst and spew rotting pus upon the world.  The rain had
a greasy feel to it, somehow unclean.  Lightning flashed and cracked with
rage, wind howling its idiot fury like ten thousand damned and burning souls.

Bob Goan turned on the windshield wipers and hummed pleasantly to some golden
oldies on the radio.



From: chfrost@aol.com (CHFrost)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.cthulhu
Subject: GUT SPAM II
Date: 12 Jan 1997 03:50:38 GMT

Even though he was late getting in, the doors to his office were locked. That
meant that Laura had not been in, he thought glumly, his good spirits
vanishing.  Last night he had hired a prostitute and called her Laura.  It
had brought wondrous relief at a fraction the cost of what he figured it
would cost to woo his damn frigid secretary.  But now the reality hit him
that he might very well have lost a bloody effective steno. "Fucking bitch!"
he breathed aloud into the empty room.  Well, he'd call her later, maybe send
her some flowers.  Women are suckers for flowers, he thought, settling himself
into his chair and switching on his Tiffany desk lamp.  His office had huge
windows, but the sky was as near solid impenetrable black as he had ever seen
it.

He logged into his account and was not surpised to see:

     You have 1 pieces of new mail.

Let's see what you have to say, you sorry asshole, he thought, as he clicked
on the mail icon.

> To:      bgoan@secret.com
> From:    c_chaos@rlyeh.net
> Subject: You were warned. 
>
> begin 644 ia
> M#0H-"B`@("`@("`@("`@("`@(&EA8W1H=6QH=6EA:6%I86EA8W1H=6QH=6-T
> M:'5L:'5F=&%G;FEA#0H@("`@("`@("`@("`@("!C=&AU;&AU:6%C=&AU;&AU
> M87IA=&AO=&AI86%N>6]N97=H;W=E;G0-"B`@("`@("`@("`@("`@('1O=&AE
> M969F;W)T=&]D96-O9&5T:&ES;F5E9'-A;&EF96EA:6%I80T*("`@("`@("`@
> M("`@("`@:6%H87-T=7)C=&AU;&AU<FQY96AH<&QO=F5C<F%F=&MA9&%T:&EA
> M#0H@("`@("`@("`@("`@("!C=&AU;&AU<VAU8FYI9V=U<F%T:&=O871O9F%T
> M:&]U<V%N9'EO=6YG#0H@("`@("`@("`@("`@("!S:&]G9V]T:&EA8W1H=6QH
> <=6-T:'5L:'5C=&AU;&AU8W1H=6QH=6EA#0H-"@H-
> `
> end
>
> The Crawling Chaos.  Ia Cthulhu.

Now what the hell was THAT supposed to mean, he thought, leaning back in his
chair.  Bah, he's crazy, why should anything he writes make sense?

As he sat pondering and staring at the screen, he became aware of someone
watching him.  In some dim, primal recess of his mind, a neuron fired off
a warning, and he felt the pressure of a gaze upon him.  Suppressing a
shiver, he turned his swivel chair slowly.  The light from the lamp fell in
a vague circle around the desk and left the rest of the room in darkness.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated a form on the far side of the room,
and Goan's breath caught in his throat, a strangled gasp of fright squeaking
out.  The form glided forward.

It was Laura.

Goan released his breath in a heave, feeling as if he could either laugh or
cry with relief.

"You scared the shit out of me, girl.  What are you doing here?  I didn't hear
you come in."

Goan looked over at the door and saw that it was still closed.  His eyebrows
drew together in puzzlement.  Laura had the key to the office, of course, but
she never came into his personal sanctum unless she knocked or was summoned.
And she was acting strangely, just standing there and staring at him, as if
he was a particularly uninteresting piece of furniture.

"Well hell, Laura, you never gave me a chance yesterday to explain.  Men have
urges, you know.  I'm sorry if I upset you.  Tell you what, why don't I buy
you lunch today, and then you can have the afternoon off.  What do you say
to that?"

She remained rooted to the spot.  Not even uttering a word.

"Okay.  If a carrot won't work maybe you need to be told what to do," he said
with a smirk.  "Show me your pussy," he commanded, "or your fired!"  His tone
of voice left no room for doubt.  At the moment he was ready to take a risk
that the nubile young lady wouldn't dare say anything about sexual harrassment.

Laura's mouth opened and a pink nib of tongue emerged, running along her
top and then bottom lip with agonizing slowness, leaving them wet and
glistening.

Goan's heart began beating faster when he saw her licking her lips, and a
bulge immediately sprouted in his trousers.

He gave her his best shit-eating grin as his secretary padded towards him, her
bare feet silent on the thick shag carpeting.  She stood in front of him and
began unbuttoning the front of her blouse.  It dropped to the floor.  Her 
skirt followed, puddling around her ankles.  As Goan grew more excited, unable
to believe his good fortune, she calmly stepped out of her panties, standing
directly before him, perfect, silent, naked except for the black lace bra that
held her ripe breasts.

By now Goan's dick had grown into a full blown hard-on, bulging visibly in his
trousers as he rubbed it.  Her cool blue eyes watched him closely.  So keenly
in fact that he had to shake off a weird feeling as if he was trapped - in
some strange X-rated movie.  Climbing onto his desk, she sent weeks of
carefully organized paperwork cascading to the floor.  But Goan didn't give
a rat's ass as he watched her spread her long legs wide apart, and then used
her fingers to part the pink, tender lips of her pussy.  Stunned by the sight
and smell of her uncharacteristic yet overt display of supple femininity,
his mouth watered as exposed his rigid cock.

"I'm gonna fuck ya raw, sweetheart!" he snarled, curling his fingers around
his bloated shaft and pumping himself slowly.  Still not even a single word
came from her mouth, but her lips parted seductively as she gave him an
inscrutible smile.  He had always been proud of the long thick piece of meat
that mother nature had bestowed on him, using both of his hands to move slow
and steadily up and down the impressive length of his erect cock.  The knob
was swollen and ruddy as drops of pre-cum oozed onto its shiney surface.

As if knowing his lustfully thoughts, she lifted her hips up off the desktop,
exposing herself even more lewdly.  She offering herself willingly up to him
as he jerked off.

"My big fucking cock is really turning you on," Goan remarked as his face dove
into her ready pussy.

Her eyes simply fixated on him as his tongue lashed out to swab her
wetness.

His tongue left a wet trail as he moved up her body.  Letting go of his
aroused dick, his hands found the clasp of her bra, wrenched it open, yanked
it off, and threw it over his shoulder.  Upward from her thighs, over her flat
belly, he licked.  He finally took her still quivering nipples into his mouth
and greedily suckled on them as his strong hands kneeded the rounded flesh
of her tits.  Yet, even in the throes of passion, his feverish mind plotted
the most audacious onslaught of spam that the web had ever seen.  "Profits
will soar despite the jealous computer geeks that are trying to ruin me," he
thought.  "The stupid bastards will pay!"

Making a fist, Goan extended the middle finger of his hand and began
thrusting it in and out of his secretary's cunt.  Nasty, wet sounds filled
the room and her pussy became so slippery that he could hardly hold on to
it.

"Oh yeah," he breathed.  She was humping upward into his hand every once in
a while as she watched his finger move in and out of my pussy.  His forehead
beaded with sweat and he stroked his shaft rhythmically as he finger-fucked
the girl.  Feeling particularly nasty, he thought of fucking the girl silly
for a few weeks then firing her anyway.  Teach her to kick Bob Goan in the
nuts!

He continued to fuck his fist, which was nothing but a white blur on his
throbbing dick.

Then for the first time since it all began she finally spoke:  "Shoot your
hot spunk all over my pussy and my hands and my belly and my tits.  Then
fuck me hard and fast!  Empty your balls deep into my pussy!"  Her voice
was different than usual.  Very different.  Powerful, yet full of the same
kind sexual promise used by the girls on those phone sex ads that bombarded
late night TV.  But for some reason it had another type of viceral effect
on him - it made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle.  He shrugged
it quickly off, convinced that he was just letting his imagination run wild
as he continued to assault the girl, fingering her wildly as his cock got
even more excited.

His imagination was hard at work again.  "Uhhh," he breathed as he stroked
his straining cock in his free hand.  The slap-slap sound of flesh mingled
with the sounds coming from his hand churning up his own juice.  He moaned
as his gaze traveled from his blood-engorged cock, up to the wide spread
gash, up to her upthrust hooters, before his lust-gazed eyes flitted back
to his pounding cock again.  The knob looked like it was ready to explode
any moment.

She excitedly spoke again, "Shoot your spunk four times and your body and
soul will be mine, forever!"  He was so worked up that her dire utterance
only seemed to enflame him more.  He found his hips began moving of their
own accord and before he knew it he found it difficult to talk, his words
coming in grunts as his first orgasm over-shadowed him.

"Jesus H. Christ!" he hissed.

With one last healthy pull, Goan aimed his big cock at the widespread,
inviting pussy and began emptying his balls.  The hot spunk hit her hard,
coating her pussy lips, arched up to splatter her breasts, her hands,
and one particularly energetic strand even found its mark in her wide open
mouth.  The erotic sight moved him to an even higher platea of ecstasy, and
he began spraying her belly with a torrent of spunk.  His groans of pleasure
turned to a low roar as he began jerking himself even harder, his puny mind
reeling as he found himself climaxing again, something that had never
happened to him.  A fresh load of cock cream criss-crossed her heaving
breasts.  Struggling to catch his breath, he squeezed the last drops out of
his erect member, wiping them onto her thigh like a used rag.

"Mmmmm... that makes two!" the sensuous voice panted at him.

After it was over, he was still in shock.  His cock was as hard as ever.
In fact, it was actually harder than he had ever felt it before!

Bob Goan had made it his life's work to screw people over, but this was
unlike anything else he had ever experienced, and somehow he was ready for
more.  A strange need for something different and exciting possessed him.
He was clueless as to how his secretary had the power to so successfully
bring out the animal in him, but as a lust more pervasive than he had
ever known seazed him in its iron grip, he found himself ramming his potent
erection as far into her slippery channel as he could.  Driving madly
forward, he jammed the full length of his organ all the way inside her in
a single gut-wrenching stroke.  Savoring only a moment as he was totally
swallowed up by her, his hips began working almost of their own accord.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, his cock pistoned into her cunt
like a runaway locamotive.

Reaching out his hands, he grasped and stroked her breasts, watching as the
nipples sprang to attention, immediately hardening.  Her flesh was cool and
dry, like ancient stone, surprising him.  She smiled darkly, allowing him
to suck desperately on a nipple in like a starving infant, as she switched
off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.  The light from his computer
monitor bathed the room in an eerie glow.  In the distance thunder growled a
deep-throated rumble of menace, the snarl of a hunting jungle cat.  As a
particularly terrible crack of thunder shook the very air, he felt her
pussy begin to intensely milk and suck at his erection, like a greedy mouth
trying to wrench the seed from his loins.  Goan had never felt anything like
it.  His jaw clenched as tight as his eyes as he felt like his guts turn
into a molten mass, then explode from his frantically pounding cock like a
spewing volcano.

"UHHHHHHHH!" he screamed in release.

"That makes three!" the bucking body beneath him announced ominously.

Worn out, and alarmed that his cock refused to deflate, Goan managed to pull
on his trousers and collapsed back into his leather chair.  It was then that
a beep from his computer sounded which was quickly followed by a flashing
message on computer screen:

Ia Cthulhu.

Furious, Goan cursed the hacker that had sent him the message, "That fucking 
computer geek did it again!"  A blitzkrieg of obscenities flew from his mouth,
and he only half felt it when his secretary sank to her knees before him.
Gripping the padded armrests in rage, he continued to stare at the flashing
message, his cock pounding with the surging blood of his ever heartbeat.  He
vaguely felt her tug open his belt and unbutton the top of his trousers. His
zipper was lowered like a drawbridge falling to admit the enemy as he pondered
the e-mail warnings, the strangeness of his secretaries pronouncements and
actions, and lastly the meaning of the flashing message.

Her cool, powdery-dry fingers reached inside his boxer shorts and grabbed
his erect member, now harder and more enraged than he ever would have
believed possible.  In the flickering darkness, he felt her deft fingers
pull his throbbing pecker out of his open pants and her lips descend on him.
Goan felt himself enveloped by her mouth.  It felt to him as if his cock was
now the sum total of all he was.  He moaned, acutely aware that her mouth was
as cool as the rest of her.  Her tongue travelled up and down his shaft with
soft squishing noises that left him somewhat disquieted, yet brought him
nearer and nearer to the precipice of unstoppable release.  Her saliva was
cold and clammy, like something slimy, in stark contrast to his pulsatingly
hot cock.

The phone rang.

Lightning crashed, followed immediately by a roar of thunder that shook the
whole building, and something in the brief instant of charged light triggered
alarm bells of instinctive panic in Bob Goan's mind.  The mouth suckinghis
cock began working furiously to get him to ejaculate and it was close to
succeeding.  He wasn't sure what caused the jolt of fear, perhaps something
in the shadows he had seen, perhaps he was unpleasantly reminded of some of
the murkier images that had been placed on his web site.  It was then that he
saw the flashing letters on the screen appreared to be twisting in impossible
angles.  Not only that, but the colors changed to hues that he had never seen
before, like they somehow had an unnatural life of their own.

The phone rang again.

The mouth on his penis became even more insistant.  To Goan it felt like a
swirling vacuum was forming around his member, forcing his already horribly
aroused cock to distend and swell well beyond its natural limits.  Goan felt
things against his member that could not be identified; were neither teeth nor
lips nor tongue.  Frantic, his arm hit the ringing phone, knocking the receiver
off the hook and as if from very far away, he could hear a tiny voice coming
out from it in the darkness.

"Hello?  Hello?  Mister Goan?  Mister Goan, it's Laura, I've given it some
thought and I think I'm going to have to tender my resignation.  Hello?
Mister Goan?"

Goan's hand clawed desperately for the lamp, knocking the phone off thedesk in
a blind panic to turn on the light.  The noises from the area of his groin had
grown thicker, more viscous sounding, like the slap of raw liver against stone.
What Goan thought was a finger alarmingly wormed itself past the portal of his
clenched tight sphincter, prodding his prostate to unleash his load. Finally,
his fingers found the switch, and light from the lamp shattered the darkness.

Bob Goan's eyes widened into large white circles of absolute horror as he
beheld the thing that was violently sucking his cock in its tenticled maw.
But it was much too late for even stark terror to stop the dire pronouncement
from coming to pass now.  Blood seeped from every pore of his shuddering cock
as the most terrible orgasm of his life wrenched his guts inside out, a flood
of sperm surging out of his once proud manhood for the forth and final time.

On the other end of the line, Laura dropped the phone as she heard a shriek
of gutteral, primal terror, a scream torn from the throat of a soul blown into
the gibbering embrace of madness.  It went on for a long, long time.

                              ~~   ~~   ~~

At a university in the northeast of the United States of America along the
banks of the Miskatonic River, Bosley stopped his mopping as he heard a
sound from the computer lab.  The building was supposed to be closed for
renovations, and he had checked the door to the lab himself not an hour ago
and found it closed and locked.  He thought he heard a dry chuckle, as evil
as anything he had ever heard.

With the ring of keys on his belt, he opened the door to the computer lab.
A tall, dark man wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans was sitting
at one of the computer terminals.  Bosley noticed that the heels on the man's
boots were worn down from much walking.

The man turned his head, his eyes meeting Bosley's.  Bosley peered down twin
tunnels to insanity... and worse.

"Right you are," said Bosley.  "Carry on."

Bosley closed the door and locked it again.  You don't get to be head janitor
for Miskatonic University without knowing that there are some things around
there that you just don't question.  He mopped the sweat from his forehead
and decided to take a long lunch.

In the computer lab, Nyarlathotep turned back to the terminal.  He hit the
Key With No Name Or ASCII Equivalent, and vanished.

--
 +-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ ...........................................
 |  Andrew Nellis              | ."When you see the crowd going one way,   .
 |  bs904@freenet.carleton.ca  | . run like hell in the other direction."  .
 +-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ .................Charles Bukowski..........


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