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{ASSM}"Alphabet Game: Queue"{Dancer}(MF)


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Admonition: This story contains explicit descriptions of 
people engaging in careless and unprotected sexual 
activity. PLEASE do not emulate these people since they 
are fictional characters existing in a fantasy world where 
sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy don't 
happen. You don't live in such a world, so "let's be 
careful out there."

Oh, and minors shouldn't be reading this stuff - if you 
can't place the quote I just made in the last paragraph, 
you probably aren't old enough to be flipping through ASS*. 
Bugger off and watch 'TV Land' instead, so you can bone up 
for little age-testing quizzes like this! :)


Copyright notice: Dancer, the author of this smutty little 
opus, holds all rights of reproduction. Private copies for 
personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial 
distribution are permitted by her.


Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect 
is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of 
humanity. But wait - how does that author KNOW if people 
are reading and enjoying his story? Yep; if you like a 
story posted to alt.sex.stories.*, the fair thing to do is 
email the author and tell them so. I promise that it'll 
make YOU feel good to send them kudos, after all, Mark 
Twain said, "The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to 
cheer someone else up." As always you may contact me (and 
my wife Dancer) through my email 
account: <empath69@hotmail.com> 
(Wow, I'm not just an author, now I'm an AGENT, too! ;)


Editor's Note: Here it is - part seventeen of Dancer's 
'Alphabet Game'; twenty-six hot, little vignettes she 
whipped out in something like a week or two - Lord Malinov 
eat your heart out with that semi-annual 'story-a-day' run 
I remember *way* back in the 20th century! ;) (Is he still 
around?)

And relax - these stories are all self-contained - you 
don't HAVE to read them in order, or read any of the ones 
that might squick you...

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The Alphabet Game (17/26)
Queue * 
Copyright Dancer 2001

(* - a plait of hair worn hanging from the back of the 
neck; pigtail)

Mitch plunked into the chair. "Cut it off. All of it."

Abby's jaw dropped. "Why? It took you eight years to get it 
this length."

"Sara wants it cut short for the wedding on Saturday. She 
say's it'll look better with the tux."

"Do you want it cut off?"

"No, but I'm sick and tired of listening to her bitch."

"Has she demanded laser surgery for the tattoos, too?"

He snorted. "Don't get me started, Abby." He felt her 
gentle hands combing out his waist-length, coal black 
tresses and surpressed a shudder. "Stop!" Mitch jerked out 
of the chair. "I can't do it. Sara will have to live with 
it."

Abby stuck the comb in the air. "Good for you! How 'bout a 
trim instead?" He shook his head yes and sat back down. She 
began her work and asked, "Is Sara complaining about all 
the tattoos?"

"Yeah, but mostly she bitches about the firebird on my 
back. Especially if we go to her folks' house to swim."

Snip, snip, snip. "Talk about a double standard. I know for 
a fact she has a daisy on her butt."

"But that doesn't show!" Mitch mimicked his fiancee. "Could 
you braid it for me?"

"Sure," Abby said happily. She cut his hair in silence 
before speaking again. "Why the big changes? I thought Sara 
loved how you look."

"The wedding. Her whole family's coming and she wants to 
make a good impression." Mitch paused, thinking. "What if I 
started badgering her about the way she looks?"

"Uh-un. Don't go there. Women are sensitive about their 
looks."

"Implants! She got breast implants a few months after we 
got engaged."

"What the hell for?"

"The stupid dress, of course! Maybe if I reminisce about 
how she looked much sexier before the surgery? "

"You could always try honesty. Tell Sara you won't cut your 
hair or remove your tattoos and that's that."

"It goes in one ear and out the other."

Abby looped the rubber band around the tail of his braid. 
"Then break it off. Let her keep the ring." She tugged at 
his hair lightly. "All done."

Mitch got to his feet and hugged his beautician. "Thanks 
for the advice, Abby. I'm meeting Sara for lunch and I'll 
break the engagement then." He kissed her forehead 
brotherly.

"Mitchel Travers!" He glanced at the woman standing in the 
doorway.

"Sara," he began but she cut him off.

"I should have known! You gave in too quickly to get a 
haircut!" Sara clomped over and slapped her fiance soundly. 
"You bastard! The wedding's off!" She rushed out of the 
salon, leaving a surprised Abby and a hurt Mitch in her 
wake.

"She thinks we're sleeping together!" the whispered in 
unison. Abby looked at Mitch with a twinkle in her eye. 
"You unbraid your hair and I'll go lock the door." Quick 
like a bunny, the lock clicked and his hair fell in a long 
cascade down his shoulders.

"Where? The back room?" She nodded and Mitch dragged her 
through the open archway. They removed the necessary 
clothing and tumbled to the tiled floor with Mitch resting 
between Abby's upper legs. She raised her knees and sighed 
as he slid home. His silky hair draped over his chest, 
teasing her peach-sized breasts as Mitch thrust deeply. 
Abby feathered her fingers through the black strands and 
brought his lips to hers for a kiss.

Their tongues tasted and teased each other. A tingle spread 
along his groin. "In or out?" Mitch asked hoarsely. "Hurry 
up or you won't have a choice."

"Out," Abby whispered and felt his withdrawal. He clasped a 
hand around the base of his cock and pumped, spurting 
jackage across her flesh. She ran two fingers through the 
puddle around her navel ring and sucked the salty goo 
noisily. "Mmm, still the best cum in town."

End part 17

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Editor's Postscript: Well! Back to the surprise ending, I 
see. :) 

I'm also slightly affronted - maybe even a little taken 
aback - "Mitchell Travers" is also a character in a non-
sexual sci-fi story of mine. The unsettling thing is that 
I *know* Dancer's never seen it and I haven't talked about 
it to her... <'Twilight Zone' music>;)