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.