SSC: The Con

Another erotic story from the FLOGMASTER!

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SSC: The Con

(*****, M/F, Intense, cropping)

A man buys a spanking dummy. (Approximately 488 words. Originally published 2000-08.)

"Come in, sir," greeted the old man with a greedy smile. He parted the curtains of the inner room.

It was poorly lit and claustrophobic in atmosphere. Ancient, intricate tapestries covered the walls. The only furniture was a low-lying table.

The man's eyes immediately went to the table, for projecting from the middle was the lower half of a woman. The naked rump was tilted upward, aiming a fart at the heavens. The man's mouth went dry.

"Amazing," he croaked. "It's so real!"

The old man beamed. He patted the smooth cheeks. "Completely realistic. The skin reacts like real skin. It even jiggles exactly like the genuine article."

"May I?" asked the man breathlessly.

"Be my guest."

The man knelt before the glorious bum. He cupped the left cheek, then caressed the smooth hump.

"It's... it's warm!"

"Yes, sir. There's a heating coil inside. Runs on four D batteries."

"It's marvelous." Awe was in his voice. His hands traversed the buttocks with the glee of a youth. "The shape is stupendous. Perfect, absolutely perfect."

He bent forward, staring. "My God, that's a hair! There are several tiny ones, right near the crack!"

The old man bowed modestly. "Thank you, sir. Each is made by hand, so there are variations. I cannot promise that yours would be identical -- the positions of the hair varies, of course."

"Of course," responded the man as though in trance.

For the next hour, he played with the nude bottom. To his amazement he discovered the mannequin had a "working" asshole and pussy.

"It's even wet in here!" he cried, pulling his hand out. He sniffed. "And it smells like a woman!"

"The perfume is the invention of my daughter," said the old man. "She's studying chemistry at Stanford."


"No," said the old man. "_This_ is remarkable." He held up a long riding crop and tapped the buttocks. He flicked it expertly, a twitch of the wrist. The customer stared open-mouthed as a pink stripe appeard across the bare cheeks. "It fades in a day or two," the old man exlaimed.

"I want one! How much?"

The old man handed him a slip of paper. The man went pale, but nodded.

"That's the down payment. Half up front, the balance on delivery in three weeks."

The man started, but then focused on the glorious buttocks. He took the riding crop and gave the butt a dozen sharp cuts. He whistled at the stripes.

"I'll write you a check," he said, reaching for his pocketbook.

* * * * *

"You can get out now, Chelsea," said the old man. "He's gone."

The buttocks on the table quivered, and slowly a naked woman emerged from the hole in the table. She stretched.

"I don't know which is worse, that table or that crop," she moaned, rubbing her bum.

"You did well," said her father.

"Ass-men are such suckers," giggled the girl.

The End