tagSci-Fi & FantasyBride of Kong 02

Bride of Kong 02


Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Or is it? All characters herein are imaginary. Or are they? All events described here are fictitious. Oh, really? All locales described here are real and actual. If you had been to the unnamed places, you would recognize them. But this story is not to be taken seriously. Or is it? All sexual activity depicted here involves human persons at least 18 years old. Really. No host-mothers were harmed in writing this story. Not yet, anyway.

If you have not read the previous episode, you will not get this one.

--06-- (1987)

Your eye is a magic camera lens.

A scene opens before you, a birds-eye view of a rolling hilly landscape with groves of oak trees, threaded by a four-lane divided highway lined with light industrial parks. You are somewhere in California.

Your eye moves toward a nondescript anonymous big-box building, set in a fenced campus of similar big boxes, and through a wall-size mirrored outer window.

You are in sparsely-decorated reception area. Low tables and chairs are set against the tinted glass walls that only allow outwards vision. A long receptionist's desk fronts a woven-wood wall bearing a minimalist corporate logo: muGen, where 'mu' is the lowercase letter of the Greek alphabet.

A single door penetrates the wall to the left of the reception desk. Your eye passes through that door. The next room is obviously a security cell with a single vault-like door. Your eye penetrates that door also, into a long corridor lined with anonymous steel doors.

A larger ironwood door is at the far end of the corridor. The door opens for you. Beyond is a spacious office with a large mostly-clear desk and a few uneasy chairs. The poster-size images on the otherwise bare walls are of biochemical structures: protein molecules, DNA strands, crystal diffraction patterns.

Two chairs are occupied by middle-aged white men in light suits. The founder and CEO of muGen, who looks nothing like Dicky Attenborough, is being interviewed by a famous doctor-turned-author of techno-thriller novels and screenplays. An LED display on the desk shows the current date and time: 1987-03-05 14:25:10.

Your magic eye passes through the walls and into the adjacent big-box building. Inside are laboratories filled with incompehensible devices, biochemical equipment, racks of computers, enclosed vats and reactors, atomic scanners, all the paraphenalia of modern biomedical research.

A conference room is set amongst the laboratory space. The walls are lined with giant computer display screens. One screen indicates the progress of various projects. Your magic eye roughly translates the project and status codes. These include:

Ichthyyosaur - 035.3
Trannosaurus - 052.7
Sabre-Tooth - 083.6
Woolly Mammoth - 087.4
Greatest Ape - 001.2

Your eye returns to the office at the end of the corridor in the first building. The interview is over. The CEO who looks nothing like Dicky Attenborough is shouting into a telephone handset. He is very displeased at the progress of one important project. Heads will roll. Again.

That project will not show significant progress for many more years.

Your magic eye closes for now.

--07-- (1994)

Chestnut-haired nineteen-year-old Linda Myers felt rather good at the moment. She and her dark wild little roommate Dolores had lured a couple of horny virile varsity baseball jocks to their off-campus Berkeley apartment, on this beautiful clear late-fall Sunday in 1994.

Linda felt two engorged black cocks actively engaging her heated nether holes. She reclined on David, whose radioactive prick was fully embedded inside her expanded anus, while Jamal crouched tautly atop her, sheathed in her vagina, pedal to the metal, shiny side up.

Dolores squatted easily over Linda's wide mouth and rode her questing tongue with her luscious pussy. They moved together in intricate, primal rhythms. A merry time was had by all, yes indeed.

Linda and Dolores normally spent their short weekends this way, although the numbers and genders of their fucktoys varied. They had worked out a proper schedule. Weeknights were for studying, usually, unless some really hot prospects appeared. Short weekends for for fuckfests.

On long weekends and longer breaks, Linda happily returned home, making the four-hour drive through the Napa-Sonoma wine country and across the mountains to the Mendocino coast.

Linda loved being home regularly. She loved the familiarity, and listening to her Grandma Ann's stories, and helping at the family B&B. She loved hearing Daddy Dave and her two moms fucking upstairs when they thought they were being so quiet. For fifty-year-olds, those ancient farts were still pretty hot, yeah!

Linda sometimes spied on them. Their couplings and triplings were so beautiful, so erotic, so many tempos and tones of love, filled with energy and emotion and joy. Sometimes Linda cried as she watched them.

And Linda loved sleeping-over with her friends Ilsa and Chris. These two had wandered for a year after graduation, then returned home, to safe jobs in the lumber company offices, in the building named after Linda's father and brother as a memorial. Ilsa and Chris were endless sources of love and comfort.

"Linda gal, you ever get tired of the big city, you know you'll always have a place with us here."

"I love you both so much! Yeah, my work is there, but my heart is here. I'll always come back to you."

Linda missed her two older 'sisters' who now had lives and careers far away. Nancy practiced law in Seattle. Julie designed microchips in Austin. She only saw them on rare holiday reunions.

No reunion was on hand this long Thanksgiving weekend, just four days of at-home down time.

Besides the comforting sex with her loving friends, Linda decided to focus her efforts on the bed-and-breakfast. This focus led her to the downstairs storage space next to the back porch. In the far corner of that dark hold, she found an old upright steamer trunk.

The trunk had remained there, unopened, the sixteen years since her mother Sue last closed it. The packets and folders Sue had last handled were still atop the contents. These files are what Linda opened and read first. And as her mother had been, Linda was shocked to her core.

Silver-haired eighty-two-year-old Ann Driscoll was still spry and active. Ann was working in her garden again today. Linda walked up to her carrying the dusty manila packets.

"Grandma, please come inside. I want to show you something."

Ann looked up from her plant tending, turned pale, and whispered, "Oh shit, not again."

Linda was shocked even further. She had never before heard her grandmother curse.

"Grandma, is this a put-on or something? Or..."

Before Linda could finish her question, Ann collapsed, breathing hard, her jaw clenching.

Linda screamed, "Grandma! GRANDMA! Oh fuck, oh fuck, GRANDMA! HELP! HELP!"

Linda cradled Ann's still form. Kathy ran from the house to them.

Linda yelled, "Mama Kathy, Grandma's hurt! Call an ambulance!"

The paramedic unit arrived five minutes later and had Ann in the emergency room at Coast Medical Center just seven minutes after that. Ann was in surgery for five hours.

The fatigued surgeon walked through the waiting room door and faced the gathered anxious family.

"Mrs Driscoll suffered a severe CVA, a stroke. A blood clot lodged in her brain and caused considerable damage. We repaired what we could, but much of the damage is irreversable. It's unlikely that she will ever walk or talk again. Worst case, she may be totally paralyzed. I'm sorry. You may want to talk to a staff counselor. I must go now. Again, I am so sorry."

Linda held her two moms and cried.

"Oh shit, oh shit, it's all my fault. I had those old clippings and she just..."

Sue squeezed her daughter tightly.

"Darling, you couldn't have known. No, it's my fault, not yours. I promised never to let anyone know what was in the trunk. I should have burned everything in it years ago. That goddam beast is going to kill my mother after all."

Sue squeezed Linda harder, crying.

"We've got to burn that stuff today, right now. Kathy, Dave, go get the incinerator lit. I'm going to see Mom for a while, but I'll be home soon, and I'm going to throw all that trash into the fire myself."

And that is just what happened. Dave and Linda hauled the trunk to the back. Sue pulled out every scrap of paper and film and cardboard, and fed them to the flames. Then Dave took an axe to the trunk and broke it into scraps of kindling. Those pieces also went into the incinerator. Soon, only ashes remained.

Only ashes -- and one hair-filled envelope that had fallen unnoticed onto the storage room floor and been kicked behind a packing box.

Linda came into the storage space again for a final clean-up before returning to Berkeley. And she found the big fat manila envelope full of thick black hair, the envelope marked KONG.

Linda felt apprehensive. She was not as freaked-out as she had been just days before, but her guts still twisted slightly. On impulse, she hid the parcel in her overnight bag. She took it back to hers and Dolores' apartment. She worried.


Dolores let herself into the shared off-campus apartment that Monday night. She found Linda laying back on the couch, the old envelope in her hands.

"Hola chica, how you doing tonight? What you got there?"

"Dolly, this is something that's been eating me. I've gotta tell someone. I trust you. I love you. You've gotta promise that this stays between you and me."

"Hey, I've never seen you so serious. Of course I promise, baby. What's up?"

"We took that 20th Century US History class together. Do you remember the module on the Depression?"

"Yeah, well, some of it. That's kinda ancient history now. They didn't even have TV then!"

"Do you remember the stuff about King Kong?"

"Kong, Kong... oh yeah, that huge ape that fucked New York. Sure I remember. He was after some girl or something, right?"

"Dolly, that girl Kong was chasing -- that was my Grandma Ann. And this stuff in the envelope -- it's some of Kong's hair."

"No way! You aren't just bullshitting me, are you? Is this for real?"

"Way. No shit. For real. For. Fucking. Real. Look, my grandma had a stroke when I was home. She saw me with this envelope and some folders I'd found, and that's what knocked her down and paralyzed her. She'd been hiding this for sixty years. Just seeing this is killing her."

"!Hijole! Holy shit! What you going to do with that?"

"I dunno Dolly, I dunno. It's, like, real bad news. But it also may be all that's left of Kong. I feel like if I was to burn it, it would be like destroying the last trace of important history. I'm just going to stash it for now, think about it later."

"Speaking of later, girl, it's later than you think already. You don't look like you really wanna go party tonight. How about we have a nice night in, just you and me, and some medicinal pot and good Oaxaca mezcal I scored, hey? You could really use the attitude adjustment. And I got this new butterfly buzzer you gotta try. It'll humm your clit into the next time zone!"

"Yeah, sounds like a good idea. C'mere baby, I need you to hold me a while."

They drank, and smoked, and sucked, and fucked. They carefully pleasured each other's bodies. They fit together so well -- not surprising, given their year of practice.


Dolores was a great friend. But she also tended to talk, especially when stoned and/or well-fucked. The next evening at a friend's Berkeley flat found her in both conditions.

Dolores was fully occupied with a tall tanned muscular blond man and his pale shorter red-headed fuckmate. They had puffed some mind-blowing Afghan green, and pulled themselves into the usual erotic contortions, and more.

Brown and red pubic bushes intermixed, their owners' shapely legs scissored together, grinding vulvas. Glen stood at the bedside, Dolly's head hanging below him, easing her deep-throating of his long cock. He came scorchingly. Dolores swallowed every steaming ounce of hot jiz. Patty's pubes ground against Dolly's. They came gloriously.

Dolores moved beside Patty. Glen crawled to Patty's other side. They lowered their mouths to her breasts, kissing around the great mounds, licking the firm points. Glen slid down to feast on Dolly's tits, then her navel, then her cunt, as Dolores did the same for Patty. Patty pulled Glen's legs around and swallowed his hardening cock. They ate each other languidly, easily. Glen spurted his last cum for a few hours.

They fell apart, moaning, sweating, glowing. They cuddled. They chatted.

And Dolores spilled the secret.

"Wow guys, that was great! Pass me the Gatorade, would ya? I'm dehydrating as we speak," Dolores gasped.

"Hey, you want to get together again tomorrow night? We can get here earlier, so we can fuck longer."

"Sorry no, I gotta get back with my girlfriend tomorrow, she's having a rough patch, we gotta talk."

"So what's the problem? Somebody dump on her?" Patty asked.

"No, nothing like that, it's something personal from her past. You ever see the History Channel show about that King Kong shit from, like, sixty years ago? Well, it was real, and her family was involved, and now she's got this pile of Kong's hair. And she doesn't know what to do with it, it's been bad news for her family, she doesn't know whether to burn it or keep it, but it's like historical, y'know?"

"Wow, rad stuff! She ever think of donating it to a museum or lab or something?"

"Like I said, we're gonna talk about it, about what she could do with it. She's got this envelope marked KONG, it's full of hair, and it's killing her grandma or something. She feels guilty about it."

"Well, here's something *I* don't feel guilty about. Spread your legs, Dolores. I have a treat for you."

Their conversation, and their attention, headed into different territory then. Ape hair was forgotten as they concentrated on mixing their own fur together sensuously.

The women 69'd luxuriently, lasciviously. Glen moved from pussy to pussy, from mouth to mouth, filling every hole in turn, and returned. Glen grunted like a mule when he came hard. The women were more into muffled screaming. The bedsheets became soaked and soggy. Again.

Glen and Patty were trained codemonkeys who had graduated the year before. They didn't work for a software house. Their employer was a biotech firm: muGen.

Glen knew of muGen's high-priority Greatest Ape project. He had some very frustrated friends working on it. Many years with zero progress -- yet they persevered, because they were ordered too. Top management desperately wanted results.

Glen chatted with a Great Ape team member. He mentioned being told of Kong's hair. The member told her team leader. The team leader told his manager. The manager told her division president. Movement occured.

A man and woman, both looking very fit in their tidy suits, came to Glen's cubicle. Their muGen ID badges didn't reveal they were in corporate security. They calmly interviewed Glen. He told them all of Dolores' story. They thanked him and left. Glen returned to his keyboard, to his own work, dismissing the visit.

A few nights later, Linda was sleeping-over with Nikki (and Dolores and Tanaka and Kim). Burglars snuck into Dolores and Linda's apartment. They made no mess. They found and took only the envelope marked KONG.


A month has passed. Your magic eye returns to the muGen conference room. You again see the screen showing the progress of various projects. Your magic eye roughly translates the updated project and status codes. These include:

Ichtyosaur - 072.5
Trannosaurus - 089.4
Sabre-Tooth - 100.0
Woolly Mammoth - 100.0
Greatest Ape - 091.3

Your eye intrudes again in the large spare office behind the ironwood door. The desk LED shows the current date and time: 1994-04-07 10:35:20. The CEO who never looked anything like Dicky Attenborough is talking quietly into his cellphone. He is not happy yet.

Your magic eye closes again.

--08-- (1997-2000)

Linda graduated UC Berkeley in 1997 with a BSEE / Computer Science degree. She was quickly hired by a chic San Francisco software house and paid an unbelievable salary to engineer nifty database features.

Linda was about in codemonkey heaven. She had a killer job, all the computing horsepower she could handle, a good North Beach hillside apartment with a hot tub and a great view, a lively new circle of sexually ourtageous friends plus a few old favorites, and now only a three-hour drive to the Mendocino coast.

Linda usually spent one weekend a month at her old home coastal home. She always felt refreshed by her family's love.

Grandma Ann had died in 1995, her eyes bright, but silent and immobile. Mama Sue still presided over the county library. Daddy Dave had retired from the lumber company. He and Mama Kathy ran CAPTAIN JACK'S B&B full-time now. They hosted many of Linda's co-workers on their weekend and vacation getaways from the Bay Area.

Linda's company grew tremendously, as did her stock options. The dot-com bubble would not burst for a few more years. The feared Y2K bug had profitably fizzled. Life was good -- and Linda still helped out at the B&B when she could. After the stresses of software development and debugging, physical work was relaxing.

Linda rolled her newish Porsche up to CAPTAIN JACK'S B&B one Friday night in late spring 2000. Early the next morning, she was back in the downstairs storage space, clearing out yet more old boxes, her long chestnut hair tied back in a clean ponytail. She found no more spillings from the old steamer trunk. She was vastly relieved. She drove back home thinking of work challenges, not old tragedy.

Linda's old Berkeley roommate Dolores worked in a nearby programming shop and lived on Russian Hill. They were still great friends, still playful lovers. They enjoyed frequent sleepovers, sometimes with pale little red-headed Patty, their fuckbuddy from muGen. Patty's ex-guy Glen had moved on, long gone and almost forgotten.

This evening, Linda and Patty were linked together by a large red double-ended dildo sliding in and out of their throbbing wet tunnels. Dark little Dolores bent over their intersection, sucking and fingering their clits alternately, while they each tortured their own abused nipples. They groaned continuously.

Linda and Patty were trying to extend their pleasures as long as possible. Dolly's fervant goal was to make them cum screaming as soon as possible.

These were the game rules: whoever came loudly first, had to give up her end of the dildo to Dolores. The sooner Dolly reduced one of her lovers to mindless ecstasy, the sooner her chance for the same.

"Oh shit Patty, I'm going to lose it!"

"Go right ahead, I can take it some more, ooh, ooh..."

Linda lost -- if screaming like a demented banshee whilst melting down into a well-fucked sexual puddle can be considered a loss. Dolores pulled Linda's end of the dildo from a much-abused cunt and plugged herself in immediately. Linda groggily crawled over and fingered Dolly's clit.

"You'll get yours, damn you!"

Patty lasted a few minutes longer. By then, Dolores had worked up to her steady pumping rhythm. When Patty screamed, Dolores didn't stop, but just kept one moving the dildo in and out relentlessly. Patty screamed for some minutes. Dolly grinned, and worked towards her own well-deserved explosive climax. Pow!

Linda's rich collection of classic lithos by MC Escher and Scott Kim and Rob Tinney stared down from the room walls, surveying the frantic female tripling below them. The action got messy sometimes. Is that bad?

The fun continued throughout the night.

--09-- (2000)

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