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From: rjnp@my-deja.com (Rui Jorge)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 25 Sep 2000 20:23:23 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} 'Write Club' duel - Father Ignatius vs Jack of All Trades
Date: Mon, 25 Sep 2000 18:10:08 -0400
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Write Club Duel
Duellists:
- Father Ignatius (FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com)
- Jack of All Trades (jackofalltrades@post.com)
Referee: Rui Jorge (rjnp@my-deja.com)
Special rules: None
Challenge Words:
- Jack: quadrangle, infatuated, catalytic
- Nat: armchair, bridge pencil, toothpick
- Rui: tragicomedy, ninja, squeal
NOTE: The referee's decision can be found on ASSD.
'Write Club' site:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/Write_Club/
-----
Expanding Julie's Sexual Horizons (MF oral anal toys
voy<*>)
(c)September 2000 Father Ignatius
FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com
When I first introduced Julie to my friend Jim (who is
a right bitch and doesn't know when to keep his mouth
shut), he made some witty little comment to me under
his breath about "Mud-wrestlers always did do it for
you, didn't they?" Julie has excellent hearing, as it
happens, and so it wasn't far enough under his
breath. She didn't let on to have heard him, though.
With a completely neutral expression on her Victorian
porcelain-doll face, she made as if to shake hands
with him. When he put his hand in hers, she
dislocated his thumb. I found this both scary
and a major turn-on.
Okay, she's a pretty meaty girl. She won a lot of
swimming trophies at school, anchored the freestyle
relay team and so on. She has big, full, swimmer's
shoulders; a broad, firm swimmer's back; her narrow
waist flares out to wide, womanly hips and well-
rounded, well-muscled buttocks above long, powerful
legs.
And she has large, business-like breasts. She
characteristically wears some sort of a sports top as
well as a bra to give them extra support. They get
most distractingly--and not only for her--in the way
when she's working on a drawing-board. "Thank God
for CAD stations," she says. I told you she looked
like a Victorian porcelain doll, and so she does, and
so she says it through a very curved Cupid's-bow mouth
under a snub nose under laser-like icy-blue eyes under
brown, old-fashioned bangs. Eyes like that make a man
want to do things for a woman. That, and not getting
his thumbs dislocated. When she walks into a room,
people notice. I was completely infatuated.
The first time we had sex I discovered that she wasn't
shy to tell me what she wanted. We spent Saturday
afternoon together and were fooling around on the sofa
after dinner. I had unbuttoned her shirt, revealing
her ample frontage and was kissing her neck and the
upper slopes of her ample breasts. When I started
tickling their undersides, she came to a decision and
stood up, lifting me to my feet. She shrugged the
shirt onto the floor, took me by the hand and,
reaching up behind her back to unhook her bra as she
walked, led me into my bedroom. She dropped the bra
on the floor and, turning to me, pulled me onto her
front as she lay back on the bed.
I burrowed like a happy puppy into her abundance and,
in the following ecstatic minutes, worked my way from
her glorious mouth down to her navel and below.
Rubicon time. I edged the waistband of her tracksuit
trousers down a cautious, gentlemanly half-inch, and
licked politely. I felt the firm fingers of a firm
hand close round the top of my skull and felt my face
pushed further down her belly and further towards it.
She lifted her buttocks off the bed as I straightened
up to draw the trousers down to her thighs and then
she lifted her feet off the bed to let me pull them
off entirely, to drop them unregarded on the floor.
I bent down again to business, to her pale yellow
lacey panties that half-revealed the whorls of her
brown pubic hair pressed back behind that dainty
barrier. The hand appeared on top of my skull again
and I felt my nose pressed firmly into service. Side
to side we slowly went, to start with, and, after a
sudden, sharp gasp from Julie we then up and down for
a while, more gently. Finally, the team worked up to
a little circular motion one way for my face and the
other for her pelvis that made her breathe deep and
fast.
Abruptly, she caught her breath, lifted my face from
her and again lifted her buttocks from the bed. I
pulled the stained, soaking panties down her legs,
leaving a trail of moisture down one thigh, past her
ankles and heels and tossed them into oblivion. I
bent again to her crotch but she grunted "Mm-mm" and
closed her legs. I looked up at her face and she took
my cheeks and jaw in her two hands and lifted me up
her body, my eager cock straining in my jeans into the
valley between her thighs until the tip butted into
her curls. I felt her lift the hem of my tee-shirt
and pushed up to let it free, lifting one arm and then
the other to allow her to pull it off as our crotches
ground eagerly together. Her hand in my back pulled
me down again and her hand behind my head pushed my
face into her broad shoulder.
I felt her hands push in between us, beneath my
belly. Her fingers slipped under the waistband of my
jeans and met inside my underpants, either side of my
frantic, imprisoned cock. I felt her thumbs undoing
the single metal waist-button and then thumbs clamped
fingers as she undid my zip in one smooth movement of
pulling apart the fabric either side. With a "zip"
sound, believe it or not. And pulled my underpants
and jeans down around my thighs. My cock flopped
eagerly out and burrowed into her crotch. I felt her
thighs open under mine, felt her belly muscles
contract under mine, her pelvis swivelled and her
hands, under my buttocks, were pushing me firmly into
her. "In," she said. I did it.
Her hands moved to the underside of my rib-cage and
her thighs gripped my pelvis and, between them and
her, she set the rhythm she wanted, which was brutal.
"Harder," she grunted, teeth clenched. I did it. I
gripped her shoulders, swung back, swung forward and,
impelled by her firm hands, thrust hard into her. She
pushed me back and together we swung me forward again,
encouraging me to wild, back-to-teenager thrusting,
revelling in the honey feel of my cock sweeping
roughly back and forth up her toned, gripping cunt,
rushing and tumbling towards a hasty, inelegant,
animal, glorious, shared, fun eruption of pleasure.
The zip was never the same again and I eventually
replaced the jeans and learned to get them off quickly
myself when she got that look in her eye. But we
always did much the same thing, in missionary
position. Eventually, I made an elaborately casual
remark about expanding her sexual horizons. She
didn't say anything but looked thoughtful and
uncharacteristically uneasy.
* * *
My casual remark had been catalytic, I eventually
discovered. Eventual enlightenment began the next
time I went to her flat to take her to the movies. I
rang the bell a few times without getting any
response. I eventually delivered a brisk, last-try
rat-a-tat on the door-knocker. The door swung
violently open and there stood Julie. She was naked
except for stereotype-teenage-fantasy black fishnet
stockings, stereotype-teenage-fantasy suspender belt
and stereotype-teenage-fantasy strappy, red high-
heels. I gaped.
"Don't just stand there!" she snapped, "Do you want
the whole neighbourhood to see me like this?"
Her hand shot out. Two powerful fingers got into the
waistband of my jeans behind my belt-buckle and she
yanked. I disappeared, pubis first and still gaping,
into her doorway like... like... Well, not a cork
into a bottle. But you know what I mean. The door
slammed behind me.
The whole neighbourhood, at my guess, would have been
fascinated to see her. While I carried on with the
gaping, my cock got into the business of reacting to
Julie's (I madly supposed) movie-going outfit. Her
fingertips noticed my response and she smiled fondly
and cupped her other hand under my balls, encouraging
further action unlikely to lead to the movies. This
made me nervous; she doesn't do fond smiling. She was
acting a little bit off in other ways, too. She gave
me a sweet, sweet smile--the first on record--and a
deliciously memorable kiss, gentle as cigarette
smoke. She usually kissed me as if she were attacking
grapefruit. I noticed when she did it that we stood
exactly eye-to-eye because of the high-heels. She
smelled nice but not of perfume--which she didn't
wear--but of something familiar but half-remembered.
She backed down the passage into the living room,
pulling me by my belt-buckle and, well, my balls. By
the time we got there, my cock was once more trying to
get out of my trousers and movies, I hoped, prayed,
were off the agenda. She yanked the end of my belt
out of the buckle and got down to dragging my nether
clothing off.
"Shoes off" she said. I did it, standing on the back
of one with the toe of the other foot and wrenching my
feet clear, the way it freaked my mom out when i did
it on her budget as a kid. By the time I was
barefoot, my jeans and pants were shackling me and I
stumbled out of them hastily as Julie pulled my tee-
shirt over my head. There was another whiff of the
familiar, elusive odour. In no time, I was bare as a
babe with my eager cock questing hungrily around,
dragging me behind, in the direction of Julie.
"Eager-beaver," said that little, irreverent internal
voice that got me into such trouble before I learned
not to let it out of my mouth. Hey, where's she gone?
She hadn't gone anywhere; she had turned her back on
me and bent forwards over the back of the armchair,
gripping the arms in her hands, hair flopping down and
obscuring her face. The high-heels lifted her just to
the right height to allow her to do this; her lower
belly nestled into the crumpling antimacassar.
"I've been thinking about what you said about
expanding my sexual horizons," came her slightly
muffled voice as I leered at the marble roundness of
her buttocks, the dark anal cleft, the suggestion of
an anal opening, the glimpse of labia, the roughness
of brown hair catching the light; the long, strong
legs, held straight and plunging into the whore-
sandals. "Start at the left."
I pulled myself together. Got a grip on myself, you
might say. Left? Left what? Next to the armchair,
on the table, was a startling array of objects. A can
of Crisco, courteously opened, standing on a
housewifely Kleenex. A toothpick. A very thin.
circular bridge pencil ("Hearts" noted the internal
voice in tones of satisfaction). A regular, hexagonal,
wooden pencil ("Staedtler HB" ticked off the internal
voice). A quadrangular ballpoint pen, slightly
thicker. A tiny little dildo--sort of pre-pubescent,
I guess--I didn't know they came that small. "Trainer
dildo" suggested the internal voice helpfully. Then a
somewhat larger dildo, a gap and, finally, a really
huge dildo. "To dream the impossible dream," hummed
the internal voice, half to itself. And, finally, a
whole box of Kleenex. All in a row, ends all lined
up, equally spaced except for the gap. "Anal
retentive?" suggested the internal voice.
I realised in a rush that the gap was where my cock
fitted into the series and what Julie expected of me.
She was mysteriously patient and quiet. Looking back
on it, that should have made me nervous, too. As it
was, the bit I was thinking with was straining with
renewed excitement and my brain only caught up much
later. I dipped the toothpick into the Crisco and
twiddled it in my fingers to get it thoroughly coated
and bent to the wonderfully round, firm, strong
buttocks. I eased them apart with thumb and
forefinger. They tensed and resisted and I felt
Julie's effort of will that relaxed them and allowed
me to part them, revealing the puckered little rosebud
of her ass-hole. I blew gently on it and watched it
pull in and then relax like a sea-anemone when a diver
swims past. A warning growl from the front of the
armchair hastened me forward to my duty.
I carefully introduced the toothpick a half-inch into
her ass. It was too small for her to resist. I
twiddled it again and was rewarded by a little gasp
floating around the side of the chair. I transferred
the toothpick from anus to Kleenex, generously
Criscoed-up the thin, round little bridge pencil and
pushed its rounded end firmly into the trying-not-to-
resist rosebud. Twiddling it did nothing--it was too
round--so I replaced it with the hexagonal Staedtler.
This time, twiddling produced a squeal and the full
hips writhed around on the back of the chair. Julie's
knees bent for a fraction of a second and then
resolutely straightened again. The quadrangular
ballpoint was an even greater success.
It was dildo time. The trainer dildo needed much more
encouragement to go in than the writing implements had
but once it was in it was obviously doing a much
better job (pre-adolescents take heart) and I
experimented for the first time with a back-and-forth
motion. I had to put a hand on Julie's back to steady
her but she writhed around so distractingly that I
decided to skip the next dildo and get into action
myself. I straightened and press my straining cock
against the rosebud, holding her by the hips. She
tensed and I felt the buttocks clamp closely and
forbiddingly round the top of my cock. Encouraged, I
pushed harder but, with a flicker of annoyance, she
clamped harder. I bet you didn't know buttocks could
clamp with a flicker of annoyance. Well, they can.
"Crisco," said Julie. Ah, yes. I did it, my cock
luxuriating in the lubricated touch of my fingers and
palms. This time, I pressed firmly but patiently but
relentlessly and eventually the relaxation came and I
was able to force my cock slowly, slowly in. The
tight band of her sphincter travelled slowly up my
cock until it was firmly clamped round the very root
as--gasping, eyes closed, head flung back, naked toes
sliding slightly on the carpet, Crisco'd fingers
slipping as I grasped her hips--I strained to get one
more millimetre further inside her.
* * *
At this point, I later worked out, she must have
fallen asleep. The intensely pleasurable gripping
sensation around the base of my cock transformed into
an intensely painful, much more powerful grip.
"Ow! Ease up!" I said.
No response.
"Please?"
"Please! Julie! You're hurting me!"
No response. A gentle snore--yes, by God, a snore!--
drifted around the armchair. And there I stood,
trapped. Horniness drained away but the blood in my
cock didn't; it had no way to get out. As the minutes
ticked by, it seemed to me that my trapped cock grew
within her and pleasurable throbbing gave way to
painful throbbing. Julie gave a little grunt and
made, I guess, a turning-over-in-bed motion. For the
sake of my un-conceived children I grabbed her firmly,
Crisco-slippery, and held her onto the top of the
chair. The hideous force of the clamping band eased
momentarily but, before I could react, clamped down
again double-hard. She slumped a bit further forward
as she settled, raising me helplessly to tip-toe. I
started to sweat. I grabbed the chair either side of
her hips, heedless of Crisco marking the fabric,
grateful for the greater friction with which to hold
her steady.
"Julie! Julie! Wake up!" I prodded her butt
frantically. Not a hope. She was really out, drugged
almost. How could this be?
I braced my knees and pulled, trying to walk backwards
on toe-tip. No change. I tried harder, recklessly
throwing my torso back to get a bit of momentum. Ow!
Don't try that again. I pulled back as hard as I
could without jerking. The chair slid back across the
carpet, loaded legs digging into the pile. Great.
Really great.
I put the heels of my hands on the back of the chair
and pushed back, doing vertical press-ups on the
chair-back. Nada. Harder. Julie slid a little bit
back over the chair, to her original position. This
was progress; I could get my heels onto the floor
again. With a little sigh, she slipped back again,
remorselessly pulling me to tip-toe once more. Damn
and blast.
I looked about for inspiration and caught sight of
myself reflected in the flat's picture window that
used to look out over Table Bay. I looked ridiculous:
obscured (mercifully) from pubis down by Julie and the
chair, I stood teetering with arms thrown back for
balance looking (would you believe?) worried. I
looked exactly what I was--a man with his cock trapped
in the butt of a slumbering Juno. Well, at least it
can't get worse, I thought, admiring the tragicomedy.
Just then, it got worse. My gaze travelled through my
reflection and focussed on the newer block of flats
that is the reason Julie's flat doesn't look out over
Table Bay any more. A family of interested tourists
from Gauteng was gathered on the passageway leading
from the lifts to the kitchen door of their hired
holiday home (that does, on the other side, look out
over Table Bay). Right now, they were finding me a lot
better value than the view they'd paid for.
"Vanderbijlpark can't offer anything like this," you
could hear them thinking. Well, I should bloody well
hope it can't.
As I watched, aghast, the mother chivvied the under-
age daughter indignantly through the kitchen door,
followed her in and banged the door righteously. The
father and the near-grown-up son continued to be
rivetted, with idiot grins pasted over the front of
their moron heads. After the briefest possible
interval, the net curtain of a bedroom window flicked
aside and the wide-eyed daughter returned unimpeded to
her gaping. The mother, for her part, materialised
discreetly in the kitchen, thin-lipped with self-
righteous, wouldn't-miss-it-for-the-world
disapproval. Her neighbours were certainly going to
get chapter and verse on life in the decadent Cape
when she got back home to Gauteng.
And every second that passed, my poor captured cock
got more and more and more painful. My dratted
internal voice was making smart-arse remarks about
dogs gnawing off their legs to escape traps when Julie
snorted, raised herself up on her arms and looked
about her, dazed. She obviously had no clue where she
was.
"Julie! For God's sake..!"
She didn't seem to hear me. But, at least, she stood
up. My heels greeted the floor once again, with
affection.
"Julie! Hey, Julie!"
No dice. She shook her head, to clear the sound of
dream voices, maybe, and obviously regretted it.
"Ooooh, shit." she said and, gripping her head in her
hands, strode off--in such a way, I have to tell you,
that I formed the opinion that she'd completely
forgotten she was wearing unaccustomed high-heels--
down the passage to her bedroom. Guess where I went?
Yelping in pain and horrible anticipation of pain,
I had an instant crash course in how to march in
lockstep with stumbling stiletto heels. All in all, I
did rather well: I only got a stiletto heel--driven by
the full weight of this mysteriously groggy, drunk-
stumbling hefty woman--onto my toes three times. At
my three corresponding screams of agony, she gasped in
pain and clasped her head afresh but otherwise behaved
as if I wasn't there, Rather an insult, really, I've
since thought, when I had leisure to consider.
She dragged me into her room and, like an exhausted
long-distance swimmer who has gone out too fast too
soon, she "dragged the piano" (i.e. me) into the final
lap and gratefully threw herself face-down onto her
bed. I was painfully yanked with her and flipped
forward as she crashed. Ow! And a split-second
later, the teeth of my upper jaw met her skull with an
explosion of blinding pain. Double, triple ow! Jesus
bloody buggering Christ! Pity my top lip was in the
way.
There was a spatter of applause and a derisive cheer
from outside the window. When I could again open my
tear-spurting eyes I saw that the bedside light was
on. Beyond the net curtain I dimly saw the Gauteng
tourists had moved up to follow the show. The
daughter was in the next bedroom, the mother had moved
into the bedroom she'd just vacated and the two men
had moved up the balcony. They rested their elbows on
the parapet, hands hanging, watching the afternoon's
entertainment as placidly as if it were a circus act
on television.
At least I could fix that. As I reached over to flip
the switch of the bedside light I saw a near-empty
bottle of sherry by it on the bedside table. She'd
won it in a raffle. Didn't drink the stuff. It had
been standing around unopened for months. As the
room plunged into merciful darkness--eliciting a
cheated groan of protest from the peanut gallery--I
identified at last the elusive odour Julie was putting
out: Bertram's Extra Dry Sherry. Julie, normally
abstemious, had most of a pint of sherry in her.
Calming herself for my expansion of her sexual
horizons, no doubt. Pity her anal sphincter obviously
wasn't calmed enough to expand. Hell, blast and double
damnation. No wonder she was out. She was going to
have the mother of all hangovers when she eventually
came round. Serve her right, the bloody bitch, I
thought vengefully. Me and my big mouth. I wasn't in
a position to do much but at least I could kick
myself, which I did.
"The drink went to her head when she bent down?" said
the internal voice helpfully. I shushed it. The pain
in my cock was now beyond unbearable, to say nothing
of my other wounds. I lay on Julie in what, normally,
would have been a highly erotic position--nothing is
sexier, I believe, than firm, round buttocks nestled
into the lower belly--wondering frantically what to
do. I wasn't well-placed for icy calmness but
eventually I bethought myself of the shower. An icy
cold shower was exactly what we both needed, in the
worst way. Particularly the slumbering Julie, I
thought bitterly. It was only a matter of getting
there. I lay there contemplating a variety of bizarre
ninja manoeuvres to achieve this but eventually I
realised that it was a choice of carrying this Juno
into the shower or dying of blood loss--merciful,
merciful blood loss--following the regrettable
explosion of my cock.
If I could slide her gently half-off the bed with her
knees on the floor, I could get enough leverage to
lift her and all would be well--relatively well,
anyway. If she slid past to point of no return and
flopped onto the floor, I might as well be nailed to
the floor by my scrotum until dead.
I pulled experimentally. Ow, ow, bloody ow. That
wasn't going to work. I rolled her to one side, got
one arm around her waist, rolled back, pushed up with
the other arm and, in exquisite agony, anti-humped
her--you should pardon the expression--slowly
backwards towards the edge of the bed. She
slumberingly resisted every inch of the way while I
sobbed and swore and gritted my teeth. When her knees
went over the edge of the mattress, she suddenly went
of her own accord and I was left with my fingernails
clawing at the bedclothes like a cat being Velcroed
off the sofa, trying to stop her before she pinned me
to the floor for the rest of my short, unnatural
life. Stiletto-stamped toes shrieking in protest, I
stopped her at the last moment and, after a deep
breath and a prayer (that God has a sense of humour) I
braced myself on my wounded feet and, clasping her
with both arms, humped her--this time you need not
pardon the expression--to the door of the shower.
God, she was a weight.
As we reeled through the door my shoulder struck the
light switch and a fluorescent light flickered
horrifyingly to life. A crow of delight and some
spontaneous applause indicated that the Gauteng
Fan Club hadn't given up hope that we'd be re-
illuminated before the show was over. I was beyond
caring now and staggered grimly forward on my very
last reserves of strength. I lifted her triumphantly
over the sill of the shower cubicle and God--who does,
it turns out, have a sense of humour--arranged for her
heels to catch and over we went, twisting as we fell.
Always the gentleman, I broke her fall with my body,
smashing my head gallantly on the tiled wall in the
process. Appreciative whistling came from the balcony
opposite. When the flashes of light behind my eyelids
eventually flicked out, I fought to roll Julie over on
her front and, as she hung from my poor, abused cock,
I kneeled and wrenched the cold tap with all the force
I could muster.
I was deluged in freezing, stinging water. So was
Julie. She screamed angrily and threw her head back.
This time my lower lip paid the price and got between
ny teeth and her skull.
"Fuck!" she screamed, not knowing where she was.
"Fuck!" I mumbled resentfully, clasping my abused
face.
She realised fast enough that she someone naked was
lying on her nakedness, though, and smashed her elbows
backwards at me. The anal sphincter crushed me
tighter than ever and I felt a rib crack before I
could grab her arms.
"Jesus, Julie, it's me! Relax! Stop!"
She swung her head round as far as it would go and
recognised me. She didn't seem to take it as a
relief.
"What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed.
"I'm broadening your fucking sexual horizons, you
dizzy bitch. Now let me go."
"Let you go?" I saw her on her face the reflection of
her physical stocktaking. Sexual horizons? asked her
face.
"Oh." She blushed, for the first time on record.
"Do it, dammit. Let me go. I'm dying here."
Pause
"I can't."
"You can. Bloody do it."
"I can't."
Then the bloody woman started to giggle helplessly. I
was about to get her attention by the famous
hangman's-noose-executed-with-soap-on-a-rope trick
when, at least, the giggling allowed her to relax and
the horrible clamping eased up. I didn't wait but
wrenched myself free, sobbing with relief. My cock
was unrecognisably huge, shaped and coloured like an
aubergine. Appreciative whistles filtered across from
the next block of flats. I lay and cried for a very
long time while the cold water beat down on my
distressed manhood.
"Oh, God," said Julie, "I feel sick." And she vomited
copiously onto the shower floor. the sweet, sick
smell of half-digested sherry chokingly billowed out
through the shower stall.
"Ag, sies!" cried the peanut gallery, fascinated and
affronted.
Time and water eventually helped. Julie, staggering
to stand and see straight, tried to be solicitous but
spoiled it by giggling and the turned worm drove her
away with harsh words.
Much, much later I got dressed again. My cracked rib
hurt damnably, putting on my underpants was
exquisitely painful--but marginally better than the
prospect of zipping my cock if I didn't--and I
couldn't get my damaged toes into my shoes.
Julie asked me to stay but I wanted to get my head, my
rib and my toes to a doctor. Driving was horribly
painful too but not as hard to bear as the
appreciative whistling and applause I got from the
Gautengers as I limped across the car park. They
playfully tossed me a can of Castle lager, as a sort
of street-theatre tip, I suppose. Unfortunately, I
was looking shamefacedly down and not up at my third-
floor tormentors. They throw accurately in Gauteng
and the can ricochetted off the bonnet of my new BMW
and cracked the windscreen.
"Ag, kak. O! Sorry, hey, man," came a Gauteng voice,
followed--not a moment too soon--by the sounds of
hurried withdrawal.
And, yes, when the doctor saw my other wounds, he
suspected I'd been mugged and insisted on me stripping
completely. And yes, he then insisted on a full and
complete explanation of my empurpled penis. And yes,
he then failed in his manful struggle not to roll
around on the floor laughing. He nearly made it but
made the mistake of catching the nursing sister's eye
and then they were both gone, snorting and trying to
say, "I'm sorry" and then giggling off again while I
stared patiently at the wall waiting unsuccessfully
for the ground to open up under me. The news spread
through the hospital like wildfire and I was escorted
off the premises by a goggle-eyed escort of
wheelchaired and ambulant patients and every member of
staff who could find an excuse for walking,
whispering, behind me--about a hundred per cent of
them, I judge.
* * *
The zip on those jeans was never the same again,
either. And, if I ever get another erection ever
again (and I'm not betting on it) and it isn't
exquisitely painful (and I don't believe it won't be)
there'll be no more broadening of sexual horizons.
It's the missionary position for me, preferably with
someone the size of Allie McBeal. And I'm never
eating aubergine again either.
-----
ENDS
- The Stories of Father Ignatius are at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Writing/
- I would be pleased to hear from you, at
FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com, about whether or not you
liked this
story, and why.
- Thank you for reading me.
***********************************************
"Fake Out" (MF, Rom) by Jack of All Trades
(jackofalltrades@post.com)
"Down," I shouted. My offensive line set in their
positions. I scanned the defense, the left defensive
back was cheating towards the center of the field,
tipping off that he was rolling to a zone defense.
That meant the outside linebacker would be rolling
into the flat to take the short out coverage. The
play I had called would work against the defense they
were throwing at us. "Yellow, 54Z, blast," I shouted
to both sides of the line. Unless the color was red
or black, the audible I called was a dummy. I looked
into the eyes of the linebacker across the line. They
gleamed with malevolence. "Hut! Hut!" The ball was
slammed up into my hands by Jimmy Rogers, my center,
the laces automatically in position across my fingers.
I pivoted and faked a handoff to Lance Gaines, the
tailback. Lance dived into the line and was tackled
by the linebacker, taking both out of the play.
I rolled to the right, my eyes scanning for a
downfield receiver. Leon Bridges flashed open and I
brought the ball up to throw. As I started my
delivery I saw the defensive back recover and make up
the ground to cover him. I was just able to hang onto
the ball as I pumped and brought it back in. "Look
out, TD," I heard shouted to my left. I felt more
than saw the defensive end bearing down on me. I
ducked, his hand clubbed me in the head as he passed
by. My time had run out, my protection was
collapsing. "Fire! Fire!" I shouted to Fran
Dreschetti, my left guard and personal blocker on this
play. Fran took off downfield as I followed him. It
was fourth and eight on Munchauk's 15, 15 seconds had
remained on the clock before this play started. I
estimated that I had used up five so far. Fran peeled
off and took out the defensive back on the outside. I
cut toward the middle and was drilled in the ribs by
the safety. Fortunately, he didn't wrap me up and I
stumbled forward until I was smacked under the chin by
another players helmet, standing me straight up.
Another player slammed into my legs on my right at the
same time as a linebacker drove into me high from the
left. We all collapsed into a pile, my face planted
firmly into the ground, the stripe of the five-yard
line under my facemask, as the whistle blew to end the
play.
Dimly I could hear someone screaming "timeout" as the
players began to climb off me. I was dazed and
confused when the ref finally took the ball. Coach
was on the sidelines waving me toward him frantically.
"You okay, TD?" Fran asked, concerned. I shook my
head to clear the cobwebs.
"Yeah," I told him then started over to coach. He
looked at me funny for a second, turned and said
something to the trainer. "TD, that's the last
timeout. We've got five seconds left on the clock.
We have to go for the end zone on this play." An
acrid smell permeated my nostrils, I shook my head and
glanced down. The trainer had popped an ammonia
capsule beneath my zone to help clear my head. I
nodded in response to coach and in thanks to the
trainer. Coach Grant tapped his bridge pencil against
the clipboard in his hand nervously. "I want you to
roll toward the wide side of the field. Look for Leon
on the quick post, if he's covered look for Harlon
dragging underneath."
"Okay, Coach."
"Use trips left, and for Christ sake get the damn line
to block. You almost lost your head on that last
play."
"Okay." I turned and ran back to the huddle. "Snap.
This is it guys, block your ass off and we party, you
screw up and were done, got it?" The offensive
linemen nodded. "Okay, trips left, K roll, on one.
Gus, don't let them get me." Gus Fortney, my right
guard, nodded at me. "Ready, break!" We clapped
hands in unison and ran to the line of scrimmage. The
team took their positions. "Down! Green, 48Q, brush!
Set!" The linebacker covering the center began
inching toward the line, they were going to blitz. I
hoped Jimmy could pick him up. "Hut!" The ball hit
my hands, and I turned to roll toward my left. I
glanced toward the line and saw Jimmy had checked the
linebacker, so I had some time.
Leon was covered. I pumped toward him anyway while I
looked for Harlon only to find him covered too. Gus
was out in front of me, looking for someone to block
and ready to take off downfield. Lance came open for
a step then tripped and fell, and I was out of
options. "Fire, fire," I yelled to Gus. I took a
step forward to get on his butt, the defensive back
covering Leon changed direction to try to tackle me.
Without thinking I zipped the ball Leon's way just as
a helmet buried itself into my ribs.
Cheering and pain were the next things to register in
my brain. The cheering was more important. Gingerly,
I got up my ribs aching fiercely, and saw Leon in the
end zone holding the ball high. I looked for flags,
there were none. Then Gus grabbed and lifted me into
a bear hug that took my breath away. "You did it!
You did it! Way to go, TD. National championships,
here we come." He dropped me to my feet.
"We did it, Gus," I told him when I could breathe
again. Christ my ribs hurt. Leon was being pummeled
by the rest of the team. I jogged over to the
sidelines. I grimaced as coach yanked me into a hug.
"Great throw. I knew you could do it." I glanced up
at the stands, the crowd was cheering lustily and
dancing wildly. I saw Cherie with the cheerleaders,
tears in her eyes as she blew me a kiss.
I had met her in the quadrangle the first day of my
freshman year. She was fresh, innocent and gorgeous.
I'm tall, dark and handsome. She was a cheerleader,
I'm a quarterback. It was cliche, it seemed perfect.
For four years it had been.
"Way to go, TD," she squealed in her sexy cheering
voice. How the hell could I break up with her
tonight, after all this, after four years together?
But I had to. I wasn't looking forward to that. The
last thing I did was look at the scoreboard to confirm
what I already knew. Shinington State 27, Munchauk
State 26. We were conference champions and qualified
for the Division two playoffs.
The locker room was wild with players yelling and
screaming. Jimmy was grinning from ear-to-ear, in his
mouth the toothpick he always was chewing on since he
quit chewing snuff. "Great game, TD. You coming to
the Kappa Sig party tonight?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Great. Gonna be a hell of a bash. Too bad you're
hooked to Cherie, you'd have your pick of any woman on
campus tonight."
"Yeah." I grabbed a towel and headed toward the
showers. My ribs still ached, and now I had a
headache to go with it. I showered, dried off, and
headed back to my locker. Cal Bennet, the trainer was
waiting on me.
"You okay, TD?" he asked.
"Yeah. My ribs hurt and I've got a headache, but I'm
okay."
"Let me just check to make sure." He took out a
flashlight and shined it into my eyes. Then he began
probing around on my ribs until I winced. He handed
me two tablets. "Doesn't feel like anything's broken.
Probably bruised pretty good though. You tell Cherie
to take it easy on you tonight," he laughed. "Take
those ibuprofen and see me when you wake up. I'll be
at the field house."
"Okay." I dressed in my pullover shirt and jeans. My
chin hurt too, I forgot to tell Cal about that. It
didn't really matter, there wasn't much treatment you
could do for a sore chin. I tossed my bag of sweaty
clothes into the laundry bin as I headed out of the
locker room. "See you tonight, TD, some of my
teammates called after me.
Cherie was waiting for me outside the door. I knew
she would be. "You were great, TD."
"Thanks."
"We going to the Kappa Sig party?"
I shook my head. "Cherie, we need to end this, it
isn't working. I think it would be best if we broke
up."
She stared at me with her mouth hanging open in
surprise. "You. you bastard," she screamed, her hand
flashed out and caught me flush against the cheek.
Her eyes gleamed hotly at me. "You aren't that hot
shit, Tony Dominici. I can't believe you'd do this.
Shit," she said softly, then buried her head in her
hands. Around me teammates and others were staring at
us.
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah you are. I don't know why I stuck with you.
You aren't even that good in bed. I faked half of
it."
That hurt. "Look, there's no need to get personal."
"Hah! You started this shit. It's all about
personal. You think I'd just walk away like a good
little girl, you've got another thought coming." I
started walking away from her and the Tragicomedy of
our relationship. "Don't you walk away from me, you
bastard. I'm not done!" But I was. I listened to
her voice become more and more shrill until I climbed
into my car. The car had been a gift from my father
when I broke the school record and passed for 3,000
yards my senior year in high school.
I went back to the athletic dorm and rested for a bit.
I really didn't want to go to the Kappa Sig party and
risk another confrontation with Cherie, but I had
promised. Reluctantly, I went. The party was in full
swing, and much to my relief, Cherie was nowhere in
sight. I gravitated toward the kitchen and the keg,
accepting congratulations along the way.
I talked with friends and teammates while we drank a
few beers and caught a good buzz. The beer got rid of
the headache that the ibuprofen couldn't kill. Larry
came into the kitchen all excited. "You should see
the bitch that just got here, man. She's hot, got a
body that will knock you out."
"Is that right," I smiled at him.
"Yeah, hey listen, I saw you and Cherie break up, you
mind if I try for her?"
"I'd give her a few days to settle down. I don't
think she's going to be in a loving mood for a while."
"You got that right, she was still screaming at you
when you drove away. But it won't bother you?"
"Nope. I'm comfortable with how things are."
"Good, you better check that woman out before someone
grabs her."
I headed into the living room. Someone had already
grabbed her and was dancing with her. I found a
vacant armchair and collapsed into it while I watched
her moves. She was dressed all in black, like a
ninja. Her body was lithe and moved in ways that
would make a dead man hard. She was simply gorgeous.
Black hair, her lips a deep red, long black
fingernails graced her hands. I quickly became
infatuated with her.
She danced for maybe fifteen minutes, all fast tunes,
her body gyrating wildly in concert with her partner.
I wanted her desperately when she was through, just
like every other man in the room. I went back to the
kitchen, got two beers, and came back to the room.
She was talking to her dance partner about an
economics class. She didn't look familiar, I couldn't
recall ever seeing her before on campus. I handed a
beer to her, she looked at me curiously while her
partner glared at me. "Thanks," she said, turning to
talk to me. Dance guy glared one last time then went
off. "What's your name," she asked. Her voice was
soft as velvet. It felt like a gentle caress.
"Tony Dominici, but my friends call me TD."
Her eyes narrowed. "You play ball."
"Yeah, a little."
"I'm not enamored of jocks."
Christ, this wasn't supposed to be this hard. I
thought it would be a sure thing. Now I was going to
have to work. "I'm not fond of them myself, actually.
But they tend to hang around the football field."
She threw back her head and laughed, it was as pure a
sound as I had ever heard. Cherie could laugh like
that when she tried, but she hadn't tried much toward
the end. I made up my mind to do whatever it took to
get this woman.
"A jock that doesn't like jocks, that's a first. Tell
me jock, you any good at the game you play?"
"I do all right."
"Uh-huh. I'm very good at the games I play," she told
me, licking her lips sexily. "And I play them all if
I can find someone able to keep up with me. My name's
Gretchen."
"I'm pleased to meet you, Gretchen."
"Hmmm, no obvious comeback at my double entendre, you
sure you're a jock?"
"Last time I checked." I watched her throat bob as
she swallowed some beer. Everything she did was sexy.
She looked at me appraisingly, then sat her beer down
as if she'd made a decision. "You better not
disappoint." She took my hand and led me toward the
front door.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Someplace you'll be familiar with. You've got a car
right?"
"Right."
"Give me the keys."
"Look, I'm."
"Give me the keys, or I go back inside and find
someone else." I handed over the keys. "Good, you're
doing well. Which one is it?" I pointed the car out
to her. She walked over and got in the driver's side,
pressing the button to unlock my side. I got in the
car beside her. "Buckle up, I don't want anything bad
to happen to you," she told me as she started the car.
I was familiar with the town and the college, once we
reached campus I knew she was heading for the football
stadium. She didn't stop at the gates. Apparently
the campus cleanup crew had forgotten to close them.
She drove straight onto the field and parked at the
fifty-yard line.
"This is where you do your jock things?" she asked.
"Yep."
"We'll you're about to remember it for something else.
Get out." I got out of the car and she did the same.
I could smell the plastic melting on the Astroturf
field from the heat of the catalytic converter.
Gretchen smiled at me, then pulled her black pullover
blouse over her head and tossed it away. Underneath
was pale white flesh that glowed softly in the
moonlight and breasts contained by a black bra. She
kicked off her shoes, unhooked her slacks and wiggled
out of them, revealing black French-cut panties. "You
waiting for an invitation?" she asked.
I quickly stripped down to my briefs. She smiled.
"Them too," she demanded. I removed my briefs leaving
my cock to bob in front of me in the cool night air.
"Impressive," she commented, then unfastened her bra
and let it drop to the turf. Jesus, they were
gorgeous, coral pink nipples topped breasts that made
my mouth water. She hooked her thumbs into her
panties and slid them over her hips and let them fall
to her feet. She was completely shaved and her lips
glistened slightly in the pale moonlight.
"If you catch me, you can fuck me," she said, then
took off running. I chased her for ten minutes
finally tackling her in the end zone. The heat of her
body a bright contrast against the cool night air.
"Fuck me," she moaned. My cock was rock hard as I
aligned myself with her then slid inside. Her legs
came up and wrapped around me. I grimaced as they
squeezed my ribs, but hips moving in unison quickly
distracted me from the pain. We both moaned at the
pleasure. She rolled me over and took top, grinding
herself against me in little circles until she
shivered atop me. I took advantage of her and rolled
over again, stroking franticly inside her.
When she recovered she came back to me, arching into
me with each stroke. "Fuck, fuck," she chanted with
each stroke. I could feel myself getting close when
she erupted under me, her body tight and hard as the
tremors took her, and took me over as well. I stayed
inside her until I couldn't support myself anymore.
Then I collapsed beside her on the turf.
She propped herself on an elbow and looked at me. "I
imagine this might disrupt your concentration if you
thought about it during the next game."
"Just slightly."
"Get dressed, we're going back to my place."
We did, and for the rest of the night it was heaven.
Her body responded to mine like we were made for each
other. We collapsed into sleep sometime around 4 in
the morning.
I awoke beside her around 10 in the morning. She was
awake, watching me, and smiled when I noticed. "You
were great, that was the best ever."
"You weren't faking it?"
"Struck a nerve with that one, did I? I've never
faked it, TD."
"Good."
"When you broke up with me, even though we planned it,
it hurt. I was so mad at you I could barely get
myself to come to the party."
"Was it what you wanted?"
"Oh, yeah. When I told you I hated jocks your face
fell, it was priceless. The game was fun, but I don't
think we'll play it again."
"Good. I've got a game I want to play."
"Seems fair. What is it?"
"It's called marriage, will you marry me, Cherie?"
She climbed onto me, planting her lips tightly to
mine. "I'm not fond of jocks, but in your case I'll
make an exception."
"Forever," I whispered.
"Forever," she agreed.
ENDS
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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