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From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Blueblood Slut (MF rom, slow) - Part 3 - The Legacy
Date: Mon, 31 Jan 2000 08:10:01 -0500
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The Blueblood Slut (MF rom, slow) - Part 3:
by DrSpin
February 2000
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com
===========================================================
Standard Disclaimer:
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is
to it. If any reader is offended, and I would be surprised
to hear it, he/she should not have been here in the first
place and only has himself/herself to blame. If this story
is relocated, please leave my name intact as the author and
please include my email address.
===========================================================
PART 3 - The Legacy:
Mockery hurts. It is belittling and diminishing, and it is
especially hard to bear when it comes from the only woman
you will ever truly love. But it delighted her. She
prospered on it.
Jane stood before me with her skirt raised, exposing her
smooth and hairless sex. She smiled contentedly, certain in
her knowledge that she was irresistible. She barely had to
work at it.
"I know what I'd like," she said. "But I'm not the client
so it's not my place to ask." When I didn't respond she
continued. "I'd like you to come to me and lick me till I
can't stand." I sat on my chair, not moving. "But then
again," she said sardonically, "you wouldn't be any good at
it anyway. Poor Blue. It's just not your sort of game, is
it."
She could always hurt me without trying. She didn't need to
try this hard.
"I should have taken you in hand back then," she said.
"Back in those good old days. You could have had me on my
back 15 times a week if you'd only shown a spark of
invention. I should have taken you in hand. I should have
taught you to lick me like the faithful basset hound you
are." She laughed ironically. "Well, at least you could
come and give me a kiss. You can do that much, can't you?"
I approached her with foreboding and put out my hands to
take her by the shoulders.
"Not on the mouth," she said, shrugging away. "I'm a long
way past sentimental." She bent her head. "Down there,
Blue. That's where I want you."
Slowly I sank to my knees, leaned forward and pressed my
lips to her smooth and cool skin.
"That's very good," she said. "Keep going. Smother me with
kisses."
She smelled of powder and perfume. Fragrant bath oils,
perhaps. And so smooth, like she'd never had hair there at
all.
She let the skirt drop over my head and placed her hands in
my hair, urging me forward. "That's very good," she said.
"You see how easy it is? I'm just so easy to please."
I pulled away from her, away from the dress, and looked up
at her looking down at me. "Yes," I said. "Sluts are like
that."
I thought she'd be angry. Furious. I thought she'd leave.
But she smiled down at me almost benevolently. "That's
right," she said. "It's taken you a long time to find that
out."
She took me to bed, again. She led and I followed. I did my
best to please her because that was all I was ever fated to
do. She held my head and guided me with a demanding hand as
I licked and lashed her to an orgasm that squeezed out of
her with an intensity I found disconcerting. I knew she was
using me and I knew there was a reason for it but I didn't
know what it was. Still don't. But there was something
behind it that was dark, spiteful and not nice to look at.
Once more she put me on my back in the bed and took me
inside her, black eyes staring down at my face and mouth
set thin and cold. She didn't pump but wriggled and
writhed, bending forward till she was poised above me, face
to face, her body held up by straight arms. Her eyes dulled
and she flinched. She squeezed, twisted and squirmed to her
second orgasm and I watched her like a detached observer.
She rolled away and lay beside me on her back. "You bring
out the worst in me," she said, her voice laboured.
I tried to know. "Why?"
"You just do," she said. And there was a definite full
point to the comment.
I drifted away to sleep and she did too. Later in the
night, in darkness, I woke because she was crying. She made
no sound but I knew it just the same.
"Why are you crying?" I asked softly.
"I was thinking about Dominic," she said. "I never do that.
It must be because you're here."
I turned towards her and she came into my arms, small,
slight and fragile. "Now you know why I can't come back,"
she said.
She rose at first light and dressed quickly, back to her
brisk and brittle self. I sat up in bed and watched as she
searched in my coat for my wallet, and as she counted out
hundred dollar bills. "No need to tip me," she said with
heavily laid irony.
She stood beside the bed, black-haired and black-eyed.
"Well, Blue," she said. "I think this is goodbye." Without
waiting for a response, and I didn't have one anyway, she
turned sharply and left. I heard the door shut.
I flew home that same day. I shut down her pursuers, let
her be, and got on with my life. I never stopped thinking
about her but I let her be. I met a girl who said she liked
me, and she was not nearly as clever as I was, so I knew it
had to be true. In bed I led and she followed. It was
ordinary but satisfactory. But it always felt like
something was missing. Some factor, some component that was
lacking. In about a year we became engaged. Families drew
together and a wedding of substance was planned.
Then a senior police officer came to my office. He was so
senior he was wearing a dress uniform, and I knew it was
going to be about Jane. She was dead, of course. Stabbed in
the neck. The knife had been embedded to the hilt, employed
with malevolent force. The circumstances were not known,
other than the fact she had been killed in a hotel room in
Las Vegas. Investigations were proceeding but the police
officer said without saying an outcome was unlikely.
He was most discreet and so was I. When it was established
I knew about her lifestyle he let the matter drop straight
away. He left and I put the matter into the eminently safe
hands of the family solicitors.
She left me everything she had. Nobody else was mentioned.
I turned 30 a wealthy man and I married Jane. The plain
one. I hope I always treat her well. But sometimes, in the
dark of the night when memories are blackest, I find I
don't want to.
ENDS
* The author welcomes (and gets blood transfusions from)
comments and opinions from readers and is usually motivated
to respond. Write to drspin@newsguy.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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