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In This Issue
- Fat Virgin Screws Microsoft
- Fed Talks with Corporate Stooge
- Letters to the Feditor!
- Dirty Terrorists Go Too Far: Now It's Personal
- LilAmber.com: Legal Child Porn for the Masses
- Fed Fun Guide: How Not To Make A Bomb
- Shivering Shit Machines Progeny of Actress Ricci
- The SHIT
- Bollinger: Mixing Business with Leather
- Lashed & Leashed at CV
- 14 Year Olds Do It Best!
- Remember Sept 27th
- Girl of Petite Race Likes Small Place
- The Staff of 19.1
Bollinger: Mixing Business with Leather
A Date with the Prez
Jamie Peck
Hi, I’m a freshman. Or should I say fresh WOMAN?" Psych, I’m neither. I would more accurately describe myself as fresh meat -- a fresh little kinderwhore, prostitot, you name it; my left ass pocket says "pull down and tear". Hence, I found it only fitting to attend a meeting of Columbia’s only sex… ahem, I mean, "sex discussion" club, Conversio Virium. I went for some free strawberries and spankings, but little did I know this would lead to something far more perverse, namely (cue dramatic music): my date with Lee Bollinger.
I showed up in my zombie-with-tits dress, which I frequently use for role-playing (yes, the fun kind). Expecting to encounter a group of people hotter and kinkier than myself, I instead met with a large assortment of SEAS-looking people wearing shirts with slogans like "I’m a Mathlete" and "e: what’s your limit?" And one guy who thought he was a vampire. It all seemed for naught, until I laid eyes on the sexiest person there: our university’s president, Lee C. Bollinger.
My oh my my my! I could hardly contain my excitement. It being "punish the infidels, eat human feces, slaughter a chicken and show us your toy" night, President Bollinger (or should I say Big Bolls?) was in a stunning get-up consisting of a pair of stunning gold Daisy-Dukes, an executioner’s hat, the aforementioned chicken and a devilish grin.
"He’s sooooo dreamy!" I leaned over and whispered to my girlfriend, "I never would’ve guessed from the orientation ceremony thingy!" I went up and shyly introduced myself. He’ll never give me the time of day, I thought. But, much to my amazement, he smiled sweetly and offered to "show me the ropes." He said he’d read my application himself and thought I was a bright young woman with a scintillating future at Columbia, and that I was hot with an H-O-double-T-T. I blushed, and said I admired his hands-on approach to the student body. Then, he asked me out! You bet your crotchless body-sock I accepted.
I was waiting at the sundial, when what should roll up college walk but a stretch-batmobile, and peeking out of it was my hott crush, Lee B.! He was wearing the same boy-toy outfit from the night before, only he had discarded the chicken for a subtler boa constrictor.
"Do you like candy?" he asked with that same devilish grin.
"Golly President Bollinger, do I ever!"
"Please, call me Lee. Lord Viper-Spankety-Yankety’s okay too, but even that I sometimes find too formal."
Once inside the batmobile, I found a vast array of puppies, kitties, lollies, sodie-water, nipple-clamps and handcuffs -- everything this little kinderwhore’s heart could possibly desire.
"Where did you get all this neat stuff?" I asked in wonderment.
"Well Jamie," he chuckled merrily, "being the president of an Ivy League University certainly has its perks. Batmobiles rule, eh? Wanna see the plans for the next Iraq-attack? I got the hookup!" He then pushed a button, bringing up a large tinted window between us and the driver after slipping him a Benjamin and mumbling something like "loose lips break hips."
"So, President Boll-um, Lord Viper-Spankety-Yankety. How did you end up in academia?"
"Well Jamie, that’s a mighty fine question," he said, adjusting his magnificent golden shorts and taking a sip of mescal, "it all started when I graduated the academy. Not many people know this, but I’m a classically trained ballet dancer. I dreamed of prancing beautifully across the floor and having roses thrown at me each night, so many that I would be in beautiful pain from all those thorns. Beautiful, sexy pain. But alas…" A single small tear ran down his cheek. "I fell victim to the little-known discrimination among the ballet community against those who are prematurely gray. So naturally, I looked to my secondary ambition, being the President of Columbia."
"Oh Lee, I’m so sorry!" I was almost in tears from his tragic tale.
"Don’t cry sugar-tits," he said, "I’ve done pretty well for myself here, as you can see. But until now, I have still been missing one crucial component of my being, something money and status cannot buy."
"Love?!" I asked excitedly.
"That would be nice, but I was thinking more along the lines of cheap, kinky sex with a nasty little ingénue such as yourself. You’re 18, right?"
"Close enough!"
Big Bolls began by taking out and shoving his massive, throbbing, pigs-blood-covered – [scene missing]
As he dropped me off with a final goodnight spank, I felt like I was walking on air. My crush liked me back! Or maybe that was just the after effects of the mescal he’d given me, or the near-blackout state I had achieved during the whipping phase of our evening. In any case, I knew I had found my very own hott new disciplinarian. It was totally worth the paddle-marks. And the herpes will be with me for a good long while. Still. Until we meet again, this is Jamie P. saying I miss you Lee B…
I showed up in my zombie-with-tits dress, which I frequently use for role-playing (yes, the fun kind). Expecting to encounter a group of people hotter and kinkier than myself, I instead met with a large assortment of SEAS-looking people wearing shirts with slogans like "I’m a Mathlete" and "e: what’s your limit?" And one guy who thought he was a vampire. It all seemed for naught, until I laid eyes on the sexiest person there: our university’s president, Lee C. Bollinger.
My oh my my my! I could hardly contain my excitement. It being "punish the infidels, eat human feces, slaughter a chicken and show us your toy" night, President Bollinger (or should I say Big Bolls?) was in a stunning get-up consisting of a pair of stunning gold Daisy-Dukes, an executioner’s hat, the aforementioned chicken and a devilish grin.
"He’s sooooo dreamy!" I leaned over and whispered to my girlfriend, "I never would’ve guessed from the orientation ceremony thingy!" I went up and shyly introduced myself. He’ll never give me the time of day, I thought. But, much to my amazement, he smiled sweetly and offered to "show me the ropes." He said he’d read my application himself and thought I was a bright young woman with a scintillating future at Columbia, and that I was hot with an H-O-double-T-T. I blushed, and said I admired his hands-on approach to the student body. Then, he asked me out! You bet your crotchless body-sock I accepted.
I was waiting at the sundial, when what should roll up college walk but a stretch-batmobile, and peeking out of it was my hott crush, Lee B.! He was wearing the same boy-toy outfit from the night before, only he had discarded the chicken for a subtler boa constrictor.
"Do you like candy?" he asked with that same devilish grin.
"Golly President Bollinger, do I ever!"
"Please, call me Lee. Lord Viper-Spankety-Yankety’s okay too, but even that I sometimes find too formal."
Once inside the batmobile, I found a vast array of puppies, kitties, lollies, sodie-water, nipple-clamps and handcuffs -- everything this little kinderwhore’s heart could possibly desire.
"Where did you get all this neat stuff?" I asked in wonderment.
"Well Jamie," he chuckled merrily, "being the president of an Ivy League University certainly has its perks. Batmobiles rule, eh? Wanna see the plans for the next Iraq-attack? I got the hookup!" He then pushed a button, bringing up a large tinted window between us and the driver after slipping him a Benjamin and mumbling something like "loose lips break hips."
"So, President Boll-um, Lord Viper-Spankety-Yankety. How did you end up in academia?"
"Well Jamie, that’s a mighty fine question," he said, adjusting his magnificent golden shorts and taking a sip of mescal, "it all started when I graduated the academy. Not many people know this, but I’m a classically trained ballet dancer. I dreamed of prancing beautifully across the floor and having roses thrown at me each night, so many that I would be in beautiful pain from all those thorns. Beautiful, sexy pain. But alas…" A single small tear ran down his cheek. "I fell victim to the little-known discrimination among the ballet community against those who are prematurely gray. So naturally, I looked to my secondary ambition, being the President of Columbia."
"Oh Lee, I’m so sorry!" I was almost in tears from his tragic tale.
"Don’t cry sugar-tits," he said, "I’ve done pretty well for myself here, as you can see. But until now, I have still been missing one crucial component of my being, something money and status cannot buy."
"Love?!" I asked excitedly.
"That would be nice, but I was thinking more along the lines of cheap, kinky sex with a nasty little ingénue such as yourself. You’re 18, right?"
"Close enough!"
Big Bolls began by taking out and shoving his massive, throbbing, pigs-blood-covered – [scene missing]
As he dropped me off with a final goodnight spank, I felt like I was walking on air. My crush liked me back! Or maybe that was just the after effects of the mescal he’d given me, or the near-blackout state I had achieved during the whipping phase of our evening. In any case, I knew I had found my very own hott new disciplinarian. It was totally worth the paddle-marks. And the herpes will be with me for a good long while. Still. Until we meet again, this is Jamie P. saying I miss you Lee B…