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From: souvien22@yahoo.com (Souvie)
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Subject: {ASSM} "Kinks" (four stories, one common theme) - kinks.txt (1/1)
Date: Sun, 23 Jul 2000 22:10:02 -0400
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These four short stories are mine - that means they are my own creation and
as such I retain the copyright to them. No reposting is allowed without my
express permission. If you are under the age of 18, or it's illegal to
read erotica in your area, then please, stop now. In the spirit of the
Blow Job Principle, I welcome any and all feedback. Email address:
souvien22@yahoo.com
Special thanks goes to John R., who unknowingly helped me with the first
story, to Dr. Spin for telling me what I was doing wrong (or right), and
Lisala for her editing expertise (since Denny is swamped right now). <g>
If you'd like to see the pictures that inspired these stories, you can
find them at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Souvie/www/kinks.html
======
======
"Toying with Danny Boy"
(MF, cons, toys)
Daniel straightened his tie as he looked in the mirror over the sink.
The investors had arrived and would be expecting his report in exactly...
he glanced at his watch... seven minutes.
There, the tie was perfect. He thought about Alexa's hands
straightening it just before he left this morning. Long fingers with clear
buffed nails raking down the center of his chest, mimicking her actions of
just hours before when they'd been lying on sweat-soaked sheets. He'd left
her at the door with a promise to hurry home as soon as he could. They'd
ordered some new toys from an online store and they were due to come in any
day.
Alexa had waved to him and promised to let him know at lunch if the mail
had come or not. Then she'd blown him a kiss and pulled back her robe to
show him what she wasn't wearing underneath.
His stomach clenched now at the thought of Alexa, her milky skin and
long wavy black hair. Lord that woman made him hotter than a six-peckered
alleycat.
"Daniel, they're ready," his partner said, sticking his head into the
men's room.
"Coming." He banished all thoughts of Alexa and her luscious legs to a
remote corner of his mind and headed for the conference room.
Seven people waited for him there - his partner, Roger, and the six
investors. He'd worked, along with Roger, for over a year to get their
project off the ground. Now that it was fully underway, the investors
insisted on weekly updates, in person, not by fax or conference phone. The
week to week progress was so minute these meetings were nothing more than a
waste of time. Time he could be spending out on the job site.
"Morning, gentlemen." He gave them a hundred-watt smile and snapped open
his briefcase. "I've prepared the weekly update for you all, as usual." He
shuffled some things around and started passing out the thin folders.
There, underneath the handouts, was a pink piece of paper, folded in two
with his name scrawled in Alexa's handwriting on the outside. He picked it
up and a Polariod fluttered out and landed face up on top of his notes.
His eyes widened as he saw it and he shoved it back in his briefcase. His
eyes widened more as he quickly read the note.*
His index finger went up and ran along the inside of his collar.
Suddenly his tie was too tight, his clothes too binding. "Ahem," he
cleared his throat. "I'm afraid something has come up unexpectedly. If
you gentleman don't mind, Roger here will finish up the presentation." He
snapped the briefcase shut and locked it, the pink note and photo safely
inside.
Roger drew him aside. "What's going on?"
"An emergency at home. Alexa... I'm needed at home." He slapped him on
the shoulder. "You know this stuff as well as I do." He smiled tightly and
nodded at the investors. The only female in the group caught his eye. The
wide smirk on her face and the knowing wink let him know he hadn't shoved
the photo back in his case fast enough. He beat a hasty exit.
On the way home he pushed the speed limit, daring a cop to stop him. He
arrived home with a high-pitched squeal of the tires and was out the car
without even bothering with the garage door.
"Alexa," he called out, flinging the door open and then slamming it
shut. He dropped his briefcase in the hall and started loosening his tie,
unbuttoning his shirt, as he walked through to the living room. She wasn't
there. He heard humming and turned toward the bedroom.
She was sitting on the bed, gloriously nude, hands behind her back, a
wicked grin on her cherry-red lips. Just like in the Polaroid. "Hi,
honey. You're certainly home earlier than expected."
He grinned lazily at her and finished with the tie, sliding it slowly
out from under his shirt collar and letting it fall to a heap on the floor.
His shirt soon joined it. "I found this note and picture in my
briefcase..."
"Oh."
"Uh huh," he stepped closer. "That package we ordered came in already
didn't it?"
"Uh huh."
"And you set up the photo yesterday and slipped it in my briefcase this
morning?"
"Uh huh."
His grin got bigger. He unfastened his belt. "Aren't you going to help
me with this?"
She stood up and turned around. Only then was he able to see that her
hands were behind her back by force; handcuffs held them snugly together.
Her long hair tickled the small of her back as she clasped her buttocks in
her hands. "I have a small problem," she murmured, looking at him over her
shoulder, a shameless grin tugging at her mouth. The position pushed her
rounded breasts out, her whole body on display for his hungry eyes.
"I can see," he said. He strode forward, turning her to face him and
pushing against her shoulders. She fell onto the bed with a slight whoosh
of air.
He picked up one slender foot. The red of the polish matched her lips
and stood out, an obscene splash of color against her creamy white skin.
"Niiiice." He rubbed his face against her foot and lightly nibbled her big
toe.
"Ooooooooooooh yes." She licked her lips and groaned in anticipation.
His eyes darkened with lust; with her leg raised he had a good view
straight down. He could feel himself getting hard at the erotic sight of
her long fingers squeezing and pulling the cheeks of her ass. "I think
you're too tense, sweetheart. There's some kinks you need worked out," he
drawled, resting her foot on his chest as he unzipped his pants.
-----
* The pink note read:
I moan as you gently rub your fingers across the top of my right foot,
moving towards my toes... each one you individually massage... with the
palm of your hand you rub the sole of my foot and arriving at the heel, you
gently squeeze a few times... with your thumbs you now begin rubbing the
bottom of my foot in circular patterns increasing the pressure...
concurrently the other fingers stroke the top of my foot...
=======
=======
"Initiation"
(MF, cheat)
"This is sure nice of you."
"Oh, it's no problem, ma'am. It's actually part of my job."
Jimmy struggled to scoot the washer into position. The laundry room was
tiny and there wasn't much maneuvering room. His biceps strained against
the thin cotton shirt with "Ace Appliances" embroidered across the pocket.
Abby leaned against the doorjamb, her silky black slip-dress clinging to
her hot skin. "I can hardly believe this heat wave we're having. Seems
like it should be summer and here it is, only the second week in May."
Jimmy grunted in agreement.
"You're new here, aren't you? I don't recall ever seeing you in town."
She laughed, a full throaty trickle down his spine. "Of course Junction is
so small it's easy to keep track of everyone's comings and goings."
"Yes, ma'am, I moved here just about three weeks ago. Got this job just
yesterday." The washer was in place now. He plugged in the cord then
inched his body around it to hook up the cold and hot water hoses.
"Mason who runs the appliance store's got a good heart. He'll do right
by you, mark my words."
"Yes, ma'am, I agree."
Abby laughed again. "Oh please, Jimmy, don't call me ma'am. I'm only
32, not *that* much older'n you."
"Sorry, Miz Tucker."
"That's so formal sounding. Just call me Abby, everyone else does."
"Okay, Abby." Just a few more turns and it would be ready. "Where's the
mister?"
It took Abby a couple of seconds to reply; she was too busy admiring the
tight fit of Jimmy's faded jeans and the tight ass they hugged. "Oh,
Harold drives a truck, long haulin'. He won't be back for another week or
so."
She shifted from one foot to the other and moved her eyes up to the
sharp lines of his back. "I declare, I just can't imagine how my old
washer died on me so quickly. I hadn't even had it hardly more'n a year
before the thing just up and kicked the bucket."
"Well, let me get this kink out of the hose and that'll about do it,"
Jimmy said, wiping his hands on his worn jeans. "Want me to turn it on
so's you can see that it works right?"
His back was to her, and he missed seeing the gleam of anticipation in
Abby's eyes. "Sure nuff, Jimmy. Just toss that pile of clothes there in
the floor in it and crank her up. I can add the detergent later."
Jimmy tossed in the clothes and set the machine. It started filling up
with water.
"There you go, Miz... I mean, Abby. We deliver what we promise."
"Oh I'm counting on it," she said, her voice a husky whisper, echoing in
the small room.
Puzzled, Jimmy turned around and stood staring at the woman in front of
him. Abby's dishwater blonde hair was pinned up in a loose pile on the top
of her head and her face was flushed adding a pretty glow to her skin. The
straps on her dress had fallen down on her shoulders and the generous
display of cleavage begged to have a face buried in it.
Her beauty non-withstanding, it was what she was doing that got his
attention. "What...what are you doing?" Jimmy's throat was suddenly dry
and he'd lost the power to blink.
Her hand rubbed against her bare leg and then started inching the hem of
her dress up, little by little. "Why, Jimmy, haven't you ever seen a woman
suffering from...heat, before?" She grinned slowly, the smile traveling up
and into her eyes. "I've got something that only you can help me with,
Jimmy."
Jimmy couldn't have moved even if he'd wanted to. In all his 19 years
no one had ever come on to him like this. It was heady and powerful, and
if the bulge in his jeans was any indication, highly erotic.
Jimmy could see the edge of Abby's panties now and the white lace stood
out in stark relief against the black of her dress. She slipped two
fingers inside them. Jimmy might not have been all that experienced, but
he had a pretty good idea of what they were doing.
"Mmmmm, Jimmy, I want you." Abby removed her hand and walked slowly up
to Jimmy. Standing toe to toe with him she looked up into his eyes. With
a playful grin, she raised her fingers to her mouth and licked them.
Jimmy's moan was louder than hers had been.
"What about Harold?" He had a feeling he ought not to even try to fight
this; it'd be over before it even started.
"Harold won't be home for a week and I need it now, Jimmy. Now."
Jimmy fumbled for his zipper but she stilled his hand. "On the washer."
"The washer?" He wrinkled his brow.
"The washer," she repeated. "It has to be on the washer."
Abby backed up to the now vibrating washer and shimmied out of her
panties, tossing them into a corner. She hopped up onto the washer and
spread her legs. "Fuck me."
Jimmy didn't need to be told twice. In a flash his jeans and briefs
were around his ankles and he was kneeling on the washer, sliding into
Abby's wetness. Now the sly looks from the guys at the appliance shop made
sense; they'd known what would happen.
The motion of the washer moved in perfect counterpoint to Jimmy's quick
thrusting. It didn't take much before Abby was screaming out her pleasure,
her voice louder than the sound of the washer beneath her. Jimmy stiffened
as he came inside her and slowed his pumping until he was spent.
His skin was coated with sweat now, his wavy brown hair plastered to the
nape of his neck. He didn't know if it was from the heat, his recent
exertions or a combination of both. He slid down off the washer and pulled
up his pants. "Lord, ma'am, I can't believe how hot it is in here." He
wiped his face with the back of his hand and held out a hand to help her
down.
"Sorry about that," she said, "but the air broke today. I think all it
needs is freon." Her eyes glinted with barely suppressed humor and
something else. "I put a call in anyway. The air conditioner repair man
will be here in the morning."
=======
=======
"Elasticity" (FF, rom)
Joanna blew a bubble with the hot pink gum and then sucked it back in
before it could pop. She kept that up, blowing and sucking, until Paula
noticed her.
"Hey! I told you about chewing gum during a session, Jo."
"But I'm bo-red." She drew the word out to stress her state of mind.
"Holding these stupid positions day after day is... well, monotonous." She
blew her bangs out of her eyes.
"They are poses, Jo, not positions. If you're going to model for me,
please learn the terminology." She checked the lighting again, and then
adjusted the focus on the camera.
Taking advantage of the lull, Joanna stretched her legs out. "Who would
have thought seven years ago that scrawny little Paula Louise Rodgers would
aspire to be the next Annie Liebowitz?"
"I pulled your pigtails in high school, I can do it again," Paula
threatened with a smile. "Besides, I could only hope to be as good as that
woman is."
"I'd like to see just how good you are," Joanna mumbled under her
breath.
"Huh?"
"Nothing," she said breezily. She would have waved a hand but she was
lying on her stomach, wearing nothing more than a pair of black lace thong
panties, heels and a long string of pearls around her neck. She was
propped up on her forearms, just enough to tantalize with a shadowy hint of
bare breasts. Her feet were encased in four-inch black stilettos and were
bent up in the air and crossed at the ankle.
"If I recall, pulling my pigtails in high school was about the only tame
thing you did. Even if you were a spoiled rich kid, you sure got into your
share of mischief." Joanna snuck a look at Paula and blew another bubble.
Paula walked over and bent down, her hand held out. Making a face,
Joanna spit the gum into her palm and Paula tossed it into the trash.
Walking back to her large camera bag, she snorted as she changed film
and fiddled with the aperture. "Since we're tripping down memory lane,
need I remind you of the time you and Bobby Mason got it on in the back of
his daddy's hearse?"
"You *had* to remind me, didn't you?" Joanna groaned. "Bitch."
"Kinky slut," Paula threw back. "Okay, I'm ready to start shooting
again." She held the camera in front of her face and looked at Joanna
through it. "Toss your hair over one shoulder. Your right shoulder. No,
don't take it down from the ponytail, leave it up. The black is a good
contrast against the stark white of the pearls, honey."
She was getting into it now; using endearments like she did it all the
time. The truth was, they'd been friends since junior high, and even
though both were gay, their relationship had always been platonic. Oh the
sexual undertones had always been there, but neither one had felt
comfortable acting upon them. Paula was well aware that Jo's body was on
the plump side; some would even call her fat. It didn't matter to Paula;
there was just something about her that made her the sexiest woman she'd
ever known. When time came to choose a model, there'd been no doubt in her
mind who she'd ask.
"Okay, now, cross your arms over your breasts and roll over onto your
back."
Joanna gave her one of her patented "What the fuck are you talking
about?" looks.
"Come on, sugar. You'll be covered and I'll get some great shots from
above. You can let your hair down and fan it out around you, too." She
knew she was proud of her long, straight black hair, a genetic hand-me-down
from her Cherokee grandmother.
"Okay, just for you, Paula." Joanna tugged her hair out of the ponytail
and shook her head causing it to shimmer and settle around her shoulders,
spilling over on her breasts. Before she could roll over onto her back,
Paula yelled.
"Wait! Don't move an inch." She switched lenses and toned down the
lighting. "That's so goddamn sexy it's unreal."
Paula moved in close and personal, clicking away, totally lost in her
work. "Okay, now, roll over on your back. Now, don't think, just do it,
Jo."
The brunette rolled as requested and crossed her arms over her generous
bosom, her hands clasping her shoulders, hair tousled as if fresh from a
bout of lovemaking.
"Perfect, Jo, just fucking-a perfect." Snap, click, whirr.
Unable to resist, Joanna stretched her neck up and nipped at Paula's
breast hanging so close to her face. Paula drew back quickly, lowering the
camera in an instant.
So absorbed in her work, she'd failed to notice the heady scent wafting
around her - an intriguing mix of spicy perfume, sweat and sex. Oh yes,
now she couldn't miss the smell of lust permeating the air. She looked
down into Joanna's flushed face. She could see now that the lust in her
eyes wasn't faked for the camera; it was real and Paula was the cause of
it.
"Jo?" she said, a bit breathlessly.
Joanna flashed her "I know something you don't know smile." That woman
had more smiles than a fifty cent whore had clients.
"Want to see my hidden talent, Paula?" she said, rolling back over onto
her stomach, Paula moving back on her knees out of the way. Joanna bent
her leg back and twisted her foot until her heel had hooked under the
crotch of her panties. She lifted her foot up, pulling the black lace
taut, and spread her legs. From Paula's elevated height, she could see the
effect this had on Joanna's nether regions. The skimpy panty was bisecting
Joanna's outer lips, making them spill over the edges and smother the
material between. Paula could feel herself tingling below, just thinking
about the amount of pressure that would exert on Joanna's clit, and the
sensations it must be producing.
Confident that she'd accomplished what she'd set out to do, Joanna put
her legs together again, the panties still hooked around her heel. With a
bit of wiggling and tugging, she pulled the thong down her long legs and
kicked them aside, all without using her hands or moving off of her
stomach.
"Oh." Paula's mouth was dry and she felt as if the room was suddenly
several degrees warmer. "Very...impressive."
Joanna smiled and reached out a hand to topple Paula off-balance. She
landed on her back, Joanna astride her before she'd known what was
happening. "I used to take dance classes remember? Tap, jazz and ballet,
not to mention karate. Plus my hips are double-jointed. I don't think I
ever mentioned that before. She was unbuttoning the front of Paula's
blouse as she spoke.
"No, you certainly didn't ever mention that." The camera lay forgotten
in her hand.
"I'm very flexible," Joanna purred. She parted Paula's blouse and bent
over her. Paula's athletic body, short, curly red hair and pale, freckled
skin provided another contrast to Joanna's plump, dark looks. Joanna
watched in fascination as the strands of her long hair touched and then
blended with Paula's copper locks. "Why didn't we do this sooner?" she
asked.
"I thought we didn't want to complicate our friendship."
"Are we so sure this won't enhance it, instead? Create a deeper, more
meaningful bond?"
"No." Paula set the camera aside and clasped Joanna's bare hips in her
long, slender hands.
"I'm willing to find out. How about you?"
Paula looked up into Joanna's dark eyes and found a reflection of all
the warmth, passion and desire she was feeling inside. "I say, what the
hell." A smile hot enough to make the devil sigh, spread across her face.
Her hands kneaded Joanna's dimpled ass.
Joanna slipped the dangling end of the strand of pearls over Paula's
head, trapping them both, and lowered her head slowly. Her tongue snaked
out to lick Paula's lips; long, full licks that had Paula moaning low in
her throat and feeling love slick between her thighs. "Wait till you see
what other talents I have," Joanna whispered into her mouth.
Lost in her new lover's embrace, Joanna never noticed that Paula had set
the camera to self-timer, repeating every two minutes. After the first
flash, Paula forgot about it herself.
=======
=======
"To Each His Own"
(no sex)
"Hey, Bobby, just cause you busted don't mean you can't watch the game,"
Roy hollered.
"I am watchin' the game. Cabrera is up at bat and St. Louis is ahead
by two." Bobby was sitting on the edge of the recliner, eyes glued to the
television set and a Budwiser clutched in his right hand.
Roy shook his head in disgust and turned his attention back to the game
in progress around the square card table George had set up in the kitchen.
Everyone had busted except for Luke and Frannie. Yep, Frannie was
playing cards with "the boys." When the friends got together for their
bi-monthly poker game, it was strictly no women allowed. Roy still wasn't
sure how Frannie had managed to wheedle a spot at the table, but it was a
done deal.
They all worked together, even Frannie, at Pilgrim's Pride, a chicken
processing plant. The work was dirty and smelly and the poker night gave
them a small measure of relief. It was good to just sit back and cut up
with the boys every now and then. That is, until a woman like Frannie
invaded your turf.
At the table, Luke raised his eyes. Directly across from him was the
cause of his sweaty palms, sweat-coated brow and dry mouth. Frannie was a
vision in fishnet stockings with a matching garter, no shoes and a backless
black sundress. Nails painted a hot pink tapped against the card table as
blue eyes perused the dealt cards. Not a bad hand, was Frannie's thinking.
Luke loosened his tie. He'd come over to George's for the game right
after work and hadn't had a chance to change yet. He'd been against
letting Frannie play, but the other boys'd out-voted him. And now Frannie
was beating the socks off of him. Figured.
Frannie, looking quite delectable with matching hot pink lipstick, thick
black lashes that most women tried all their life to achieve and a pout
that must have taken at least a month of practice to perfect, placed two
cards face down on the table and slid them to George, the dealer.
He dealt two more back and those were slowly placed with the remaining
three cards.
Luke tugged nervously on his tie again. The pot was up to three hundred
and fifty bucks. Certainly not chump change. He placed three cards face
down and slid them to George, then picked up his three new ones. He
frowned and studied his cards.
He felt a sudden pressure on the inside of his leg; sliding, slowly
sliding up toward his crotch. He looked over at Frannie. The pretty pink
lips were turned upward in a knowing grin.
Luke scooted his chair back out of range. The smile turned into a
frown.
In a definite snit now, Frannie said, "I want to bet, but I don't have
any money left."
"Then you call," Luke said, "and show your cards."
Bobby, bored now that a commercial had interrupted his ballgame,
wandered in to grab another beer. "Whoo-whee, darlin', you lookin' good
tonight." He passed behind Frannie and leaned down, planting a loud kiss
against the back of her neck. "Wanna go somewhere and party after you win
all of Luke's money?" He opened the fridge door and popped open a fresh
beer.
Frannie giggled. "Oh, George, you flirt! What would your wife say?"
Bobby's reply was a loud belch.
George made a face of disgust while Roy just shook his head. "You're
drunk as a skunk, Bobby," George said. "I'm taking you home as soon as
this game's over. And I hope to hell you remember everything in the
morning."
Luke looked at Frannie again. "You going to call?"
Drunk on the attention from Bobby, Frannie hiccuped and used an elegant
hand to cover it up. "Oh but, I'm sure I have something I could add to the
pot to keep the betting up." The eyelashes fluttered. Frannie turned to
the right and started to bend over. As if in slow motion, Frannie's hand
hit the edge of the table and the cards fluttered to the floor. "Oh damn!"
Luke, the gentleman he was, kept his eyes on the table and didn't even
try to sneak a peek at his opponent's cards.
Roy started to get up to help, but Frannie waved him back in his seat.
"I've got it." Out of sight of the others, Frannie slipped the ace of
diamonds out of the top of one stocking and slid the replaced card under a
shapely foot. Sliding off the stocking, Frannie raised up and deposited it
on top of the money in the center of the table. "Will that do, sweet
cheeks?"
Luke threw his cards down in disgust. "That's it, that's just fucking
it. Divide up the money and let me go home."
George was going to try to reason with him, when Roy put in, "Best thing
to do. Frannie cheated anyway. Had a card stuck in the top of that there
stocking. Switched 'em when the cards were dropped."
"Fred, you fruity son of a bitch!" Luke shouted. "We all stood by you
when you confessed that you liked to dress in women's clothing on occasion.
That was uncomfortable but we could handle it. You come in here, all
dressed up in your wife's clothes to play cards tonight, and we let you.
And you pay us back by cheating? I thought we were friends. Kinky queer,"
he said in disgust.
Fred stood up, pink lips in a sneer, pink nails digging into his palms;
all pretense at femininity gone now. "Goddamn it, Luke! I told you to
call me Frannie!"
=======
THE END
=======
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