Microfiction: The Instaglue Issue, by Andrea Trask

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The Instaglue Issue
by Andrea Trask

There once existed a house of pleasure, pain, and all things in between, in which all was accepted and nothing was forbidden, save for the one thing unspeakable.


It was barred at the doors, satchels were checked periodically, bottles of personally-blended lubricants and unguents were CLEARLY labeled and occasionally tested, and the rumor of some sneaking in was enough to clear the place out in under a quarter of an hour, which had the benefit of emptying it out the one time somebody decided they REALLY wanted the undeniably popular Rodeo Room all to themselves for a while.

The problem with the taboo is that it sets up a line, a boundary. The problem with boundaries is that people like to push them, even if it means bouncing off. The problem with lines is that someone always wants to step over them.

The problem with Instaglue was that it bonded skin instantly…and someone had snuck some into the House lubricant vat.

There was a convenient dispensary in every room, and one that one awful night it got a lot of use. There were countless stories afterward of what was found when the outside medics were finally called in. Cocks were joined like caducei. Fingers plugged plumped pussies. Someone’s lips were simply sealed, and someone else’s lips were sealed to her left buttock, rumored to have left a permanent mark after removal.

The Rodeo Room was a mess–all the saddles had to be replaced. In the Edge Playpen, someone was discovered the next day stuck in the mass of pinprick-covered plastic balls. No one, from the feather-fuckers to the fightsex folks, from the people into public pubic piercing to everyone in the Dungeon of Dominion, from the puppy players to the bite by bite bleeders, got out of the House unscathed.

The outcries that escaped the windows and doors that night, according to the passersby and onlookers that gathered as rumors spread into the streets, seemed to vary in much the same ratio as any night before.

Sales of anal anti-inflammatories jumped in the area for the next two months, and the House was closed for cleansing, repairs, and investigations.

When it reopened, there was a new addition upstairs–the Sticky Situation Room. All was accepted. Nothing was forbidden.

Andrea Trask, who is more likely to answer to the name Bliss in a crowd, is partially fused with the internet and infused with a hefty helping of CHALLENGE ACCEPTED! She can be found at http://gplus.to/callmebliss

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