Ponsonby and the other English
aristocrats ended their trunking
extravaganza at the onset of golden African dusk. Their dicks sore and swollen, they turned from the dead elephant remains and limped to their truck to get back to camp before
the jackals arrived. His Grace the Duke of Devonshire, who had snapped off a massive tusk during the tusking frenzy, clubbed the base of Lord Melbury's skull and tusked the hell out of the unconscious man's pitiful asshole. The tusk was brutally shoved through the knickers and plunged deep, removed, and plunged again. This being an act of affection among the
privileged, the others joined in. Sir Fredricks tusked the hell out of Baron Warwick, Fortesque received two tusks, Ponsonby tusked himself to tears, and so on. The majestic ivory of God's great beast was stained with shit containing caviar and quail eggs (no doubt) as the moon rose bringing twinkles to the eyes of watching hyenas, who mistook the wails of glee-infused pain as mating calls.
This occasion marks the birth of tusking. Some
religions have considered including a good tusking in certain rites of passage, and those who work for Fox News are required to tusk and be tusked for a minimum of 30 minutes/day.
Both women and men can tusk and be tusked.