Blooball vol. 1
>From fln2jes@cabell.vcu.edu Tue May 11 12:48:36 1993
Subject: complete boxed set, to be distributed freely and openly.
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************************ENTREPRENEUR*************vol. 1*****************
the only e-mag worth the time
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The Blueball Entrepreneur, Issue 1
You are in your dorm room late at night, about ready to call it a day. You strip down to your bare nakedness, and curl up to go to sleep. Suddenly, you hear three sharp knocks at your door. Wondering who the hell it is, you jump out of bed and slip into your favorite pair of dickenballs. You slowly open the door to greet your visitor. It is Patricia Ridley, that infamous hoss that you so lusted after back in your Bruton days.
"Oh, " Patricia exclaims, "I'm so sorry for how I was so cruel to you all that time. I only know of one way that I can repay you. Lay down." You obey her every command as you notice that she is only wearing a trenchcoat. She climbs onto the bed where you lay and stands above you, her feet pressed tightly against your hips. As you are about to speak, Patricia takes your breath away by slowly peeling off the trenchcoat. The only thing covering her bare nakedness is a pair of white panties. Her breasts glisten with the moisture in the air, perfect shining orbs. She gazes longingly down at your eyes as she begins gently tracing up and down her hips with her fingers. Slowly, Patricia runs her fingers over the subtle curvature of her stomach, and finally up to her ripe flesh melons. She begins kneading them, letting her head fall gradually back with moans of pleasure.
Patricia falls to her knees as she traces around her nipples with each index finger, bringing her head forward again to look at you. Patricia rests her ample buttocks on your pelvis, and you feel your fully erect manhood pressing against her soft flesh. She lifts her left breast, leaning forward to reward your waiting tongue. The erect pink nipple comes closer and closer to your mouth, for what seems to be an eternity. You can feel the heat of Patricia's breast on your tongue, when suddenly, she disappears! M.C. Fredbiscuits of the Vatican is in Patricia's place, screaming, "CREAM AND SATAN! CREAM AND SATAN!" as M.C. Francois plays a demented keyboard riff in the background, both of them cackling like madmen. You scream in blueball agony as you await the end of this nightmare....
