The Kinky Festival and The Gargoyle

The stories took a week off last Friday because we (yes, Gargy and I) attended Montréal's first annual International Kinky Festival.

The Marquise insisted we attend, knowing that I could meet any number of females who would be overjoyed at making me grovel (the Marquise isn't the most astute of people - anyone can see I'm a confident and entirely dominant male with absolutely no qualms or insecurities with regards to women).

Anyhoo, we arrived, set up our booth and I placed Gargy on a very short chain bolted to a steel pillar (the required hardware was purchased from a remainder sale from the Granby Zoo's elephant display). Over the weekend, there were people in various states of undress (in exotic combinations of leather and latex) and, well, the ladies had enough sense to do the limbo in order to avoid my pathologically onanistic beast's... eruptions while the men were visibly unsettled at seeing the gushings.

...obviously these males are less secure in their sexualities than I. THEY must be closeted submissives. Unlike me. Quite obviously. Uh-huh.

Later, after The Marquise came by our booth with her freaky-smart Dude to examine the ropes and nuzzle Gargy affectionately, she remarked that gargoyle ejaculate adds a sheen she had never yet seen on latex. Gargy was quite the attraction after that. All sorts of rubber-clad deviants knelt before him. The unfortunate part is that my flabby, scaled pervert seemed to not distinguish between the sexes (not that there was much of a difference. Traditional sexual roles, which I cling to desperately, seem to become pretzel-shaped when faced with hordes of these weirdos). Everyone was served helpings.

...and I was left bulimic by the experience. 'Lost six pounds in four days (which, after a summer away from the gym, isn't the worst thing that could happen). The things I'll do in order to sell ropes.

Back at the cottage, Gargy slept for three days straight, occasionally waking to micturate and grab an oversized pitcher of microbrew. Squirrels seem to have lost their charm on him, though I have seen him pick up old inner tubes we have hanging around and cut them into miniature vests, skirts and hoods.

Hm.

The Gargoyle and The Fetish Friendship Site

Oh... Crap.

Gargy, the adopted pet name for my gargoyle for those of you who may not be aware, just joined a Web site which, apparently, caters to our esteemed clientèle.

This unfortunately means he's now directly corresponding with perverts from around the world.

For those long time readers among you (mom), you well know that I cannot stomach any mention of sexual connections that aren't sanctioned by the Papal see. I, however, now have a reptilian squirrel sodomist who twists hemp AND actively sollicits clients by "chatting" with them. I stumbled upon his friends list and have found the most depraved, at first glance, group of people one could hope to couple with if one wished to be bolted to a harness and lashed with handmade leather implements.

(...of course, our good friend Master André is one of the eminent Canadian implement-makers AND he distributes our ropes, so I'll just shut the heck up right there. V., his wife, scares me. In a nice way).

Gargy is promoting the use of our ropes by the use of carnal photographs of the Crazy Ex in, what would seem, unfortunate situations. Her dark-skinned beauty apparently enjoys putting her in such situations with OUR ROPES (purchased, I assume, from the Marquise's boutique) and photographing her. How my blobby rodent-fucker got these pictures is a mystery.

...this does however explain the sticky puddles and the acceleration of hollow squirrel cadavers around the cottage. *sigh*

I now have to manage the company's new marketing efforts by having contact with those who are obviously condemned to eternal flaming damnation and protect the integrity of MY soul. This is NOT easy.

Of course, as loyal readers of our stories, if you wish to use our hemp in your venal games, we'd be more than happy to offer them to you in exchange for barges of cash. Capitalism always outweighs ethics (ah, the momories of my MBA ethics teacher and his winks at every case study. Good times).

Gargy thanks you. He also looks at your pictures and goes out squirrel hunting.