MISS PRATT’S PUNDIT

 

July 2, 1982

 

The two  girls walked carefully, attempting to avoid the rusty cans and general litter on the grounds of the  Craddock-Childress Greens Mobile Home Village.  The taller girl, a pretty redhead in a bikini carried a boom-box, which was emanating Boy George's sordid screams.

 

The smaller girl had short, ratty hair, and wore thick glasses and lugged a copy of "War and Peace" bouncing against her soggy one-piece swimsuit.

 

 "Goddamn if that YMCA pool is worth hitching to.,” the bespectacled girl muttered. "We could swim in the river if I wasn't afraid we were going to get some kind of biochemical cancer, but with your luck, Serena, you'd probably just get bigger breasts!"

 

Serena laughed and patted her younger friend on the back. "Yours will come, don't worry...just wait. Besides, you're getting out of here soon, right? You're going to start at that Saint Casimir's School in six weeks on your scholarship, right Prattsie?"

 

Serena lit a Marlboro as she was walking. "They might have a pool, you know?"

 

Prattsie grinned at her optimistic friend. "I just wish you were going with me, instead of to hairdressing school." Prattsie said mournfully.

 

Serena smiled, and tried to look nonchalant. They'd been more than "friends" that summer, and the real reason they were both pissed about the condition of the river was because it was lots safer messin' around in the bushes than in the Y shower. But hey. They weren't lezzies, it was just a phase.

 

As they reached a particularly filthy singlewide mobile home with a large  hand-painted sign saying "B.Pratt Home Keepe Owt" in the front yard, Serena's radio did a fizzle.

 

Suddenly  Boy George was gone and instead it was one of those boring talk shows

Before Serena could flip the station, they heard

 

. "...And the Equal Rights Amendment was defeated on June thirtieth when the required 38 state legislatures did not ratify in time. Today I have Tegan O'Kesen, president of Smith College Christians Against Rights Initiatives. SCCARI girls worked with Phyllis Schlafly's Eagle Forum and the Concerned Women of America to defeat the ERA, and Miss O'Kesen is proud of her good work. Miss O'Kesen?"

 

Serena looked bored and Prattsie disgusted as a nasal female voice came on.

 

 "Yes, that's right, Myron. We  SCCARI women worked to shut down the Equal Rights Amendment because women don't need it. Every woman in America has all the rights she needs, and if she isn't enjoying life, it's her attitude! All a woman has to learn is how to be a feminine and obedient wife..."

 

Serena turned the station to "I Want a New Drug" by Huey Lewis and the News, but Prattsie still looked a bit put out.

 

Suddenly there was a sound of ripping and screaming from inside the "B Pratt" trailer. "I'll teach you to hide my Dilaudids, you bitch!" came a man's voice, and then there was a crash. Suddenly the trailer was rocking with a woman's screams and a man's coarse laughter.

 

“Stop, Thurman, you’re killin’ me!!!” Two small children came out of the mobile home, turning their dirty faces to Prattsie, instinctively.

 

 “Kelvin, Colette, go to the Recreation Center for a couple hours.” Prattsie said, sighing. “Here’s a five for the Pac-Man machine, now get on out of here!  Don’t come back ‘til dark. And wash in the sink at the Rec Center, or I’ll beat you both to a pulp!”

 

 The two urchins chortled over their change of fortune and ran off. “And thus go half my Dairy Queen tips” the bespectacled girl moaned.

 

Suddenly there was a slam inside the trailer and a further scream, and a lower denture plate flew out of the door, and Prattsie caught it with a practiced air.

 

Serena looked uncomfortable. Prattsie smiled ruefully. "I gotta go inside and keep Momma from being killed again. Let's go swimming again tomorrow."

 

Serena gave her friend a quick hug and ran down the filth littered path, as her own uncle was probably making advances to her younger sister in THEIR trailer, and it couldn't hurt to get home soon.

 

February 19, 2004 9:43 a.m.

 

"Well it is a problem, Prattsie," said Samuel, embarrassed. "I probably shouldn't have let Kenseth come here without getting fixed first." Samuel leaned down on the stool, looking into the "coffin" a retired telephone booth that was lying on its side. Samuel shook his large black head. "It's the younger generation. Although my father had my brother and I before his operation, I was proud to be snipped in mid puberty."

 

Samuel leaned his bulky arms on the "Coffin" because it was moving around, as its occupant kept bouncing and bucking about. "I am ashamed of Kenseth's attitude. He is my brother's son, but his attitudes are terrible.

 

 His sister is even worse. Can you believe Sibongile refused to be a volcano virgin, Prattsie?" Samuel shook his giant head again, and Miss Pratt thought it resembled a watermelon. "She is a waitress in Madagascar, and has a therapist!"

 

"Secular bitch!" Miss Pratt said with a grin. "These kids, I tell you, Samuel. Worldly little bastards."

 

It was taped together so there were no air holes except for those on the top door, and inside it was Evelyn, covered in sugar water. Miss Pratt poured more sugar water on Evelyn, who closed her eyes and shook herself.

 

Miss Pratt made a face. Evelyn, naked, even with her ugly, wrinkled hands cuffed behind her back, was a hideous sight.

 

"What's the problem, Samuel?" Miss Pratt asked casually. "He's been watching "Sex in the City" and "Entourage" and he wants to get laid before he becomes a eunuch?"

 

Samuel looked to the box of fire ants, and Miss Pratt nodded. Samuel frowned as he opened the box. "These are from Puerto Rico, and they cost a pretty penny." Backing away a bit, he opened the door to the Coffin. "Are you ready for your surprise, Evelyn?"

 

Evelyn looked up through eyes blurry with sugar water. "I don't understand this, I'm all sticky...what sort of--Oh!" She winced and pulled as the fire ants began falling onto her face and began crawling over her body.” No, please Samuel...don't do this to me!"

 

Miss Pratt shook her head. "I can't stand to hear her whining. Did the bait shop send crickets, too? I think I'll listen to some Toni Braxton while you pour those on."

 

Samuel grinned broadly. "You are so easy to torture. Shakespeare said that we despise in others what we perceive in ourselves, and for the decade that I have known you, Prattsie, you have been a greater whiner than poor Evelyn."

 

 Samuel looked down, as the crickets followed the fire ants, onto the struggling, shaking fifty-six year old woman. "They're biting me...please, Noooo!" Samuel shook his head again.

 

"Before I put on the headphones, what do you want to do about Kenseth? Do you think if I got him laid with a hooker perhaps he would be content to go home and get his castration?" Miss Pratt was concerned here. Samuel was not at all close to retirement, but it was always good to have a spare eunuch around.

 

"Kenseth just wants to have his schlong sucked." Samuel said with a smile. "Perhaps you can order in someone, attractive..." Miss Pratt snapped her fingers. "You know, I have a Sarah-Jessica Parker coming in today who is just the one!"

 

Samuel winced. "No, no, Prattsie, I don't think Miss O’Kesen is interested in men." But Miss Pratt had put the earphones on, and, while watching Evelyn's misery, was snapping her fingers to "Breathe Again."

 

February 19, 2004. 1:39 pm

Glynnis couldn't believe that she was looking at Tegan O'Kesen. Of course they both lived in DC, so Glyn knew that there was always a possibility of seeing a television celebrity--she'd once been on the Metro with David Broder, and Walter Mondale used to shop at Giant Food with Glyn's mom. He was very nice.

 

God, the telephone books were heavy. Glyn never would have guessed that she could hold one telephone book in both hands for an hour standing up, much less a heavy book in each hand while standing with her feet in two different chairs.

 

 Glyn's right hand sagged a bit under its book, but Miss Pratt looked quickly at her, while regaling O'Kesen, and Glynnis pulled up her hand.

 

But Tegan O'Kesen was such a bitch! Like most DC residents, Glynnis was a liberal, and everyone thought O'Kesen was a right-wing bimbo.

 

 But God, how she wished she could tell her friends that she'd seen the right-wing bimbo being caned by Miss Pratt! But of course none of Glyn's friends knew that Glynnis, herself saw a domme.

 

Glynnis's right knee was starting to really smart, and she was terrified that the chair under her right foot might go out, and she'd fall. Glyn was forty-eight and didn't think she could be falling down hard.

 

Earlier, Miss Pratt had caned Glynnis viciously because Glyn had been preparing Miss Pratt's lunch and had stepped on the white squares of the black and white kitchen tile floor.

 

 Miss Pratt had ordered Kenseth, the obese black younger guy, to monitor Glyn, who owned four restaurants and was a published cookbook author, in making the meal, but it was hard to concentrate on a good bouillabaisse  while worrying about what tiles to step on.

 

It had been grim. Miss Pratt had waited until Glynnis had served the lunch, and even kindly waited til Glyn had eaten her share out of the dog dish before punishing her.

 

Glynnis had had no idea whether Miss Pratt was upset or not, as Miss Pratt had complimented her on the meal before bringing up the indelicate matter of stepping on white tiles, and then the Tickler came into play, and Glyn had danced and cried for nearly twenty-five minutes.

 

Then, of course after the pain of the thrashing was up, Glynnis had stupidly thought because she'd paid $500 for the privilege of making Miss Pratt's lunch, that now she might be allowed to worship at Miss Pratt's pussy.

 

But no, instead Glyn had to stand on chairs, holding the Yellow Pages and watching Miss Pratt tear apart America's sweetheart conservative...Oh, God.

 

FEBRUARY 19^TH, 1:51 pm.

 

Tegan bit her lip. The Tickler had stung her left buttock deeply. Miss Pratt knew how to scientifically apply the cane. She knew that just under the butt, there was a sensitive spot that could make poor Tay burst into tears just with a light touch.

 

But they were in a “resting period” now. Miss Pratt was sitting comfortably in her LaZ boy armchair, reading aloud, while Tay was trying to avoid having splinters embedded in her tender stomach, from this vile carpenter’s sawhorse.

 

Tay looked over at the poor fat woman who was standing on the chairs, holding the telephone books. That must be in a way, worse than being hung over the goddamned sawhorse. How ghastly her stomach would look with splinters in it.

 

Oh, God. Tay’s nipples were in sorry shape as well. Miss Pratt had purchased little steel things called “Baby Jaws” and they had TEETH. Tiny thumb screwed pinchers attached rather harshly to Tay’s sensitive nipples, made more sensitive after they’d been whacked by the Tickler.

 

Tears were coursing down Tegan’s face as she listened to Miss Pratt’s cheerful voice as she finished the article in “American Virtue” magazine.

 

“…Nationally syndicated columnist Tegan O’Kesan, host of ‘Blondes for the Bible’ and author of  “Trapped in Gomorrah”, “Mascara is my Talisman” and “A Fetus Named Dot” agrees with the President of Family Empowerment Coalition. “

 

Miss Pratt paused, and took a barroom dart out of a bowl on the little table next to her beloved LaZ-Boy. She threw it expertly, and it landed in Tegan’s left thigh. Tay shrieked and jiggled, and the dart fell on the floor, and Miss Pratt laughed, and continued reading from “American Virtue”

 

“…But O’Kesan says gay marriage is more juvenile then sinful. ‘The so-called gays are tired of their party, and now want to play house as if they were the rest of us. It’s a pollution of our values and commitment. Only in Massachusetts, where sodomites like Barney Frank and Gerry Studds have represented the voters could such a travesty of sociologically deficient…”

 

“Stop reading, please Miss Pratt.” Tegan turned to Miss Pratt, and adjusted her self still uncomfortably on the harsh sawhorse. Tay knew that interrupting Miss Pratt would probably earn her more “caresses” from Tickles, Miss Pratt’s fiberglass cane, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more.

 

Miss Pratt threw another dart at Tay’s buttocks, but it embedded itself in her hip, and stayed there, as Tay cried bitterly.

 

“But why, honey?” Miss Pratt asked Tegan innocently. “I’m so proud to have a client who is so full of interesting opinions about the sociological deficiency of we carpet-munchers. And so interested in the way my friends and I live. It’s great that there’s an opinion like yours poking in our business.” Miss Pratt sighed theatrically.

 

“I recall a few months ago, wasn’t it, that a pregnant Idaho woman had a car accident, and she was in a coma—“ Miss Pratt paused.

 

“That happened two years ago, ma’am. And I was younger.” Oh dear. I’ve interrupted her again, Tegan thought

 

Miss Pratt smiled. “Yes, two years ago. A woman is in a coma, her husband is arranging to get her an abortion so she can come out of the coma, and you and your pro-lifers SUE for custody of the fetus…you’ve never met her, you don’t know her.

 

But God forbid you don’t get involved. Thank God, that was thrown out of court.”

Miss Pratt dropped “American Virtue” on the floor, and picked up the Tickler. She arose from her LaZ-Boy.

 

“How are you doing Glynnis?” Miss Pratt asked with a smile. “I’m doing fine, Miss Pratt” Glynnis said with a weak smile back. The heavy telephone books were really weighing Glynnis down, but she was trying, Tay thought. The poor fat woman. Why would a woman put herself in that position?

 

But then again, I’m here too, Tay thought. And my slit is wet, and I’m probably going to masturbate like crazy when I get home, and that woman will too.

 

“You seem depressed, Glynnis. Why don’t you cheer up?” Miss Pratt asked. WHACK! The Tickler slammed against Glynnis’s protruding stomach. Glynnis grabbed her stomach, and dropped both telephone books. One hit Miss Pratt on the toe.

 

It didn’t really hurt, but Miss Pratt made the most of it, anyway. “Aaah!” she screamed, and began whacking Glyn with vigor. “You are a fat, ugly pig.” WHACK WHACK WHACK! “The sight of you makes me ill! I can’t believe something as disgusting as you is alive…and you throw books on my feet!”

 

Glynnis fell off the chair and Miss Pratt whacked the Tickler on her prone body. “Get out of here, you emetic pig….don’t come back until your appointment next week!” The fat woman ran out of the room, and Miss Pratt leaned back, sighing in satisfaction.

 

“She really does cook well, Tegan.”

 

 

 

Then Miss Pratt strolled towards Tegan’s sawhorse. The Tickler swung through the air.

 

Tay was now really worried. This was the first time Miss Pratt ever dragged politics into their sessions. And here she was, Tegan O’Kesan, Harvard Law Review editor, Miss Pottsville County, journalist, and TV show host…and submissive slave to an angry lesbian!

 

Here Tegan was, bent over the sawhorse, her right wrist cuffed to her right ankle, resting on the floor, and left wrist handcuffed to left ankle. And she’d paid $400 for this dubious privilege.

 

Miss Pratt looked at the duct tape that Samuel had thoughtfully placed between Tegan’s legs earlier. “So I told you to shave your pubes, and you didn’t…but this will take care of it, methinks.” Savagely, Miss Pratt ripped the duct tape out from between Tay’s legs and she screamed.

 

“Such an intellect, our Tay O’Kesen.” Miss Pratt tossed the crumpled duct tape in a corner. Samuel would curse her later when he was doing the housework. “Anti-homosexual activism…”

 

Tay closed her eyes, knowing that the worst was yet to come.

 

“It’s tough being queer.” Miss Pratt said, meditatively. Reaching over, she yanked the dart out of Tay’s thigh, and Tay screamed. “Want something to cry about, dearie?” Miss Pratt bent the Tickler and swung it in the air sharply. Tay’s straight blond hair bounced as she winced and held her head low against her heavy breasts.

 

Oh, please don’t let her hit me again, Tay thought.

 

 The Tickler had already done considerable damage to Tegan’s derriere and legs, and she probably would not be able to show up for the Pro-Life Seashore Jamboree at Atlantic City.

 

 That would be a shame, as Tegan was known as the Right Wing Hottie!!!!!!!!  Often fat, sweating conservative pundits and congressional aides would flock to the Jamboree to “listen” to Tegan lecture them on the evils of feminism and abortion and the virtues of chastity, while wearing her black string bikini.

 

Thinking of it, for a moment, Tegan grinned. She thought of her leopard miniskirt that she wore on the talk shows, condemning homosexuality, public assistance, Social Security Disability, taxes, condoms, clean needle programs.

 

Tegan enjoyed her trollop/nun combo…but she’d forgotten that her beloved domme read the papers and watched TV just like everyone else.

 

Miss Pratt seemed to be wandering dangerously close to Tay’s full, now slightly welted asscheeks. You never knew with Miss Pratt. During a previous session, she’d rubbed turpentine on Tegan’s clitoris and how it had stung. So the Tickler might not be the greatest danger here.

 

WHACK! There it came. But Tay didn’t cry. She would hold back, as Miss Pratt hated whiners. “Besides, Tegan” WHACK! “you confuse gay men” WHACK WHACK            “many of whom” WHACK “are not known for long-term relationships” WHACK! “with us Sapphics, who generally bring along a U-haul on our second date.”

 

Miss Pratt smiled with genuine joy as the Tickler made a long, messy welt across the lower globes of Tay’s asscheeks. Miss Pratt reached into the pocket of her sensible tweed skirt and pulled out a tube of Binaca breath spray.

 

“You’ve got to learn not to make sweeping generalizations, hon.,” Miss Pratt said as she fell to one knee behind Tegan’s spread buttocks. PSSSST! Spraying the breath mint directly into Tay’s pussy, Miss Pratt backed off a bit as Tay screamed anew.

 

“Does that hurt, honey?” Miss Pratt’s fingers began exploring between Tay’s globes. She prodded and massaged Tay’s vulva, and the girl began moaning. “I don’t mean to be too excessive of course.”

 

Tay began bucking and moaning as Miss Pratt continued her expert massage on the young conservative’s clit. “You know of course, I’ve been with my partner for twelve years.” Miss Pratt said mildly, pulling her fingers out just before Tay was about to orgasm.

“But-but I respect your choices as an individual, Miss Pr—“ SLASH! WHACK! The Tickler began caressing with vigor, bouncing off Tay’s bruised buttocks like Louganis on a diving board.

 

Miss Pratt admired her own handiwork as the Tickler landed seven or eight times, crisscrossing Tay’s pretty buttocks, and then suddenly slashing between her legs where the Binaca had painfully disinfected.

 

“But God forbid that I want to marry, eh…” Miss Pratt shook her head, and tossed the Tickler on the floor. “So you’re not an individual with choices, Tegan?” Tay closed her eyes but to no avail.

 

Miss Pratt came over to the front of the horse and dragged Tay’s hair up so that her head was bending backwards. Miss Pratt’s bespectacled, homely face came close to Tegan’s classic features. “Jesus, you beg to lick my twat again and again after every one of our sessions, honey.”

 

 Miss Pratt looked questioningly at Tay. “ I remember when you were Republican counsel to the House Ethics Committee, you used to call me and have me come see you so you could take a muff-diving break between sessions.”

 

Miss Pratt grabbed Tay’s scalp and she shook it. “And Samuel tells me that you order a great deal of my glossies…pics of me in various positions that I know you probably diddle to before you go meet with Rush Limbaugh and Bill O’Reilley….but are you a dyke in real life?” SLAP!

 

Miss Pratt’s hand left a nasty red mark on Tay’s cheek, and her other hand let go of Tay’s scalp, finally. “Are you a dyke?” Miss Pratt looked seriously at Tay.

 

“You’ve told me about Olwyn, who was your lover when you were roommates in the Senate Page program. But you were kids. And the slavegirl who recommended me to you was whats-her-name Kulwitz, the Reagan speechwriter? After your first session, I called her and she told me that she thought you weren’t really gay, though you two had slept together…she said you were just afraid of men. Is that it?”

 

“I don’t know, Miss Pratt” Tay gasped as Miss Pratt took Tay’s nose in her firm fingers and twisted it firmly. “You don’t know? What do you know? Think maybe you are always sounding off about other people’s private—“ here Miss Pratt twisted Tay’s nose viciously—“lives because you haven’t thought about your own?”

 

“I don’t dow, Biss Bratt” said Tay through her mouth as Miss Pratt’s fingers continued to pull and twist her nose. “I’be doo busy to thick about byself.”

 

Miss Pratt let go of Tegan’s nose and slapped her again. “So you’re a lifelong spinster, as you told G. Gordon Liddy on the radio last night? And proud of it.” Miss Pratt reached under Tegan’s head and twisted one of the Jaws on Tay’s right nipple. “So proud…to look your best, dress sexy and make everyone drool after you. You’re not a journalist, you’re just a miserable little cocktease.” Tay moaned as Miss Pratt twisted some more.

 

Finally Miss Pratt let go, and grabbed Tay’s jaw and pushed her head up, and leaned in. “And you love telling people you’re an old maid…you dress like a harlot, but you’re so goddamned virtuous. What a waste of 36C breasts, that’s all I can say.” Miss Pratt dropped Tay’s head. “And mine are stuck in a  training bra for life.”

 

“Oh, no, Miss Pratt, you have beautiful breasts they’re quite full—“ Tegan’s earnest rejoinder was rewarded by a slap right across the mouth.

 

 “Don’t you have anything better to do than look at my tits, you slug?” screamed Miss Pratt. “I thought you were born-again, anyway.”

 

.

 Miss Pratt finally unlocked Tay's handcuffs, and the exhausted girl got up, and massaged her back and buttocks. "Oh, God, it hurts so much..."

 

"But you haven't answered my question, dearie." Miss Pratt asked archly. "Why haven't you ever had a dick in you?” 

Tay shook her head. "N-no..I'm a baptized Catholic AND I was born again last year. Being a virgin is--"

 

Miss Pratt shook her head. "No lies, darlin'. We know you're not TOO born again because here you are, visiting me, right? I think the problem is, you need a little bit of introspection. Possibly if you had a little experience with a dick, you might stop babbling on your inane radio shows about how evil sex is."

 

Suddenly the door opened, and Miss Pratt and Tegan, who towered over her while standing up, looked over at Glynnis, who was still naked, but carrying a pair of workmen’s overalls, stained with paint and grease.

 

“Miss Pratt, Samuel has taken my clothes and won’t let me have them back, even though I told him you want me to leave.” Glynnis held up the overalls. “Samuel says I’m to wear these out, but the dress he has of mine is a $4500 Gucci green floral—“

 

Miss Pratt snorted. “Shut your face, you ectoplasm. What, my father’s old overalls aren’t good enough for you?”  Miss Pratt looked up at Tay, who stood there dumbly. “You see the problem with you conservatives..you turn liberal Dems like Glyn here into born-again preppies.”

 

Miss Pratt went to her toy box and reached in, selecting a copper coated welding rod that Samuel had purchased for her at Home Depot. Miss Pratt walked up to Glynnis.

 

“What’s a fat, repulsive hippo like you doing in a Gucci dress, anyway.” WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! The welding rod left serious welts on both of Glyn’s shoulders. THWACK! Miss Pratt landed a third slash right across Glynnis’s thighs.

 

“I recall overhearing that you paid extra for the dress to be made in your size…but the overalls will look much better on you, Glynnis.” Miss Pratt swung the welding rod again.

 

 “But if you insist on getting the dress back, I must cooperate.” Miss Pratt went to the intercom. “Bring Glynnis’s  green floral dress with the silver diamond beads, please, Samuel.”

 

“I don’t mean to be difficult, Miss Pratt, but the dress cost a lot.” Glynnis said, relieved through her pain that the dress was coming back to her. “I have to sell a lot of cook books, ha ha.”

 

Tay stared. Oh, she’d seen that woman’s face on the back of her Mom’s “Glynnis Shepherd Italian Cuisine” book. Huh. Well, it takes all kinds.

 

Samuel came in, holding a paper bag, which he handed to Glynnis. “I was cleaning the bathroom, Prattsie.” He said this to Miss Pratt with a concerned air. “When we let Evelyn out of the Coffin, I put an enema in her and she had a nasty accident in the Little Girls.” Samuel grinned broadly at Glynnis. “I was only borrowing your dress, Ms. Shepherd.”

 

Glynnis’s eyes widened, and she reached into the paper bag and wrinkled her nose. Tegan smelled it too. Oh, what a stink. Glynnis pulled out a light brown rag…no it’s covered with fecal matter. But Tay could see a faint light green  color to one of the ends of the dress.

 

Glynnis dropped it. “You don’t want it, Miss Shepherd?” Samuel asked. “I just used it to clean the bathroom a bit.” Glynnis looked a bit shaky.

 

“Perhaps you should put on the overalls and go home, dear.” Miss Pratt said kindly. “We’ll see you next week, and maybe you can shave off the patrician attitude, eh?”

 

Glynnis stepped into the filthy overalls and snapped them up, and staggered from the room.

 

Samuel picked up the shit-covered designer dress, and nodding, left the room as well.

 

“So back on topic, dearie.” Miss Pratt said as she walked up and stared into Tay’s face. Miss Pratt lightly swung the welding rod. “Why have you never had a dick in you?”

 

 "Even I've had a dick or two in me, and I've been a confirmed lesbian since I was nine. Cut the religious bullshit."

 

"No, Jesus means so much to me..."Tay babbled. WHACK! WHACK! Miss Pratt stepped back and looked at the vicious red welts she'd just raised on Tay's breasts.

 

 It wasn't easy to see them, as America's blonde conservative Valkyrie was grasping her breasts and weeping, but Miss Pratt could see real progress.

 

Miss Pratt decided to knock off the nipple Jaws as well THWACK! WHACK! The Jaws fell to the floor, and Tay held her breasts and screamed, and then, after Miss Pratt whacked her in the stomach, she threw up.

 

"Lick that up now." Miss Pratt said warningly, and sobbing, the girl got on her hands and knees and licked up her vomit.

 

"I like these copper rods." Miss Pratt said.” And look, they're flexible." Miss Pratt bent the rod into a ball and threw it in the direction of the duct tape.

 

"Now, dear. Why don't you tell me why you don't like dick...or have never tried dick?" Miss Pratt asked this gently. Tay began weeping. "I-my Daddy told me it was evil!"

 

"Oh yes...your Daddy the Congressman who believes that abortion doctors should be hung...I know about him." Miss Pratt said thoughtfully. "Well don't you want to be cured of this nonsense, honey?"

 

Tay's eyes were drooling, and she was just beat. "Wh-whatever you want, Miss Pratt."

 

"Well, your break is over, back over the sawhorse, so I can cuff you up again!"

 

That had been a BREAK? Tegan thought, as she wearily lay over the sawhorse once more. As the handcuffs clicked on her wrists and ankles, she contemplated suicide...but her clit was drenched. What would happen now, Tegan thought excitedly.

 

 

 

“But of course you still have your values, right dear?”

Miss Pratt chortled. “Opposed to birth control, against premarital dicks…but you must know how to suck a dick, don’t you?” Miss Pratt grabbed Evelyn’s ear and twisted it. “Answer me! Can you suck a dick?”

 

“I-I’ve never learned, ma’am…I was engaged once, but we were both Catholic…” Miss Pratt began laughing. “Yes, good Catholic girls don’t give head, do they? And you’re a born-again Christian on top of that, I understand from one of your idiotic radio interviews. “ Miss Pratt reached the Tickler over Tay’s head while still facing her and slashed her back hard.

 

So all you’ve ever done is eat fish—“ Miss Pratt indelicately grabbed her crotch through her sensible tweed skirt “—but you want to close all the lezzie bars. Well, maybe you’re not a lesbian, but there’s only one way to find out.”

 

Miss Pratt blew a whistle, and a large African man, who resembled Samuel, but was much younger, wandered in, unzipping his pants. As Tegan screamed in horror, Miss Pratt lit a cigarette and  grinned. “Now you’re going to see the meaning of true empowerment, Tay. Enjoy Kenseth, and give him something memorable!”

 

From the “Washington Post, June 13, 2005”

 

“In a shocking but beautiful ceremony today, Washington pundit Tegan O’Kesen married Kenseth Rajul, a Third World immigrant, who she now employs as her chauffer. Although her family and former conservative friends boycotted the ceremony,  the ecstaticMs. O’Kesen-Rajul, now a writer for the socialist “Mother Jones” said mysteriously “Our greatest wedding gift was being able to keep Kenseth’s nuts.” This reporter was unaware that Mr. Rajul ‘s diet was vegetarian.”