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Message-ID: <27509asstr$974657406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Inosolan@galaxycorp.com (Inosolan)
NNTP-Posting-Date: 19 Nov 2000 01:22:11 GMT
User-Agent: Xnews/03.09.22
Subject: {ASSM} Roberta Rossum (1/2) (MF,oral), a "Hot Rags" story by Inosolan
Date: Sun, 19 Nov 2000 13:10:06 -0500
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Roberta Rossum (1/2)
a "Hot Rags" story
by Inosolan

(MF,cons,oral)

<This work is copyright by the author.

<It is intended for the entertainment of adults over 18 only.>

If you aren't 18 or older or if it is illegal for you to look> 
<at sexually explicit materials online where you live (and,> 
<if it is, why haven't you moved?) and you're still reading> 
<this, well shame on you, stop reading at once.>

<<This work may *not* be reproduced for profit on any>> 
<<website or in any other way without the written>>
<<permission of the author.>>


She was sitting in the ESU library, with a stack of imposing-looking 
reference books on the table, and a faint frown on her face as she typed a 
few notes into an expensive-looking laptop.

She wasn't wearing any makeup -- not that her perfect skin actually 
*needed* any -- and her hair was pulled severely back from her face and 
gathered in a single flowing sable pony tail.  Her sweater, while form-
fitting enough to hint at a nicely-shaped bustline, was not particularly 
revealing, though its colour complemented her colouration, which was 
medium, just a hint of surviving tan.  Around her neck hung a chain 
supporting a pair of plain black-framed glasses, which she occasionally 
donned briefly and un-self-consciously whenever she needed to make out 
particularly difficult passages in the books she was researching.

Whatever else could be said of her appearance, she certainly had fine legs 
and -- and here was the odd note in her appearance that attracted attention 
-- they were definitely on display under the table, her feet in glistening 
red high-heeled pumps first catching the attention, leading to 
contemplation of shapely ankles caressed, bound and confined by the shoes' 
straps, after which the eye inevitably moved a bit higher, taking in the 
trim calves in sheer blue hose and the dimpled knees, then on to the fine 
strong-looking sleek thighs, eventually arriving at the hem of her black -- 
leather --  miniskirt.

Those fine legs, and the contrast between their presentation to the world 
and the rest of her appearance, had, over the three days she had been 
researching at that desk, caught the attention of several other library 
users, and some of them had made one or another excuse to speak to her, to 
try to make her acquaintance.  The library staff, watching the inevitable 
brush-offs, had quietly enjoyed the discomfiture of several young men and 
one girl so far, when one more young man arrived at the desk and spoke 
quietly to her.

"Excuse me," he said. "Do you have Asimov's 'Fundamental Laws of Robotics' 
there?"

Glancing briefly up, she looked down at her stack of books and said "Yes -- 
I believe I do.  Do you need it?"

"Well, actually, I just need one citation from it.  Do you mind of I borrow 
it for a moment?"

"Not at all." she said, just the faint trace of an unidentifiable accent 
coloring her speech.  Handing him the book, she casually asked "Are you 
studying cybernetics, also?"

"Actally, it's more of a hobby with me.  I'm an Electronics major, but as a 
personal project, I'm working on Artificial Intelligence.  I'm trying to 
decide how Asimov's Laws of Robotics can be instituted in a real-world 
situation, right now.  It seems to me that if the Laws are fully 
implemented, the constraints that they place on the actions of the AI will 
prevent it from ever passing the Turing Test."

"An interesting theory," she said, rolling the "R" slightly. "How so?"

"Well, if the person sitting at the terminal issues a direct order to his 
'partner', then what reaction he gets to that may well help him to 
determine whether he is communicating with a human or an AI -- a robot."

"I had thought of that," she responded, thoughtfully -- he noticed that she 
pronounced "th" with a bit of a Gabor-like "ts" sound. "I too am working on 
Artificial Intelligence; as a matter of fact, I am working on my thesis 
with Dr. Capek, and the subject is how to determine whether an AI is truly 
intelligent, rather than merely a very sophisticated computer game.  We had 
discarded the basic Turing Test for just such flaws and are trying to 
determine some better method."

"Fascinating," he said. "One idea would be to simply forbid such order-
giving, but that would prejudice the test."

"Exactly," she said, turning a bit to face him where he sat diagonally 
across the table from her, with a small smile on her face. "What Dr Capek 
has sugested I consider..."

And the Discussion began, the eternal Discussion that always seems to arise 
whenever two academics with a true love of their subject happen to meet -- 
wide-ranging over the problems faced by researchers and what solutions they 
planned to try, touching on the perfidy of funding administrators and on 
the foibles and quirks of thesis advisors.  before long they were 
suggesting possible solutions to each others' current problems, and 
pointing out references in various of the volumes she had collected on the 
table.

In order to better share the texts, he had moved around to her side of the 
table and sat next to her, as they took turns looking up obscure facts of 
cybernetic lore and pointing them out.  As they became more at ease with 
each other, their mutual passion for knowledge making it seem as if they 
had klnown each other for a long time, they drifted closer together at the 
table until, suddenly, with a bit of a start, he realised that her warm hip 
in its black leather had bumped against his.

"Ummm..." he began, but she interrupted him, speaking in a normal cheerful 
tone that didn't so much deny the contact of their bodies as simply make it 
unimportant in the Scheme of the Cosmic All.

"You know," she said, "I don't believe we have introduced ourselves.  My 
name is Roberta -- Roberta Rossum.  My friends call me Robbie."  And she 
held out her hand.

Taking the warm, slender but strong hand, he clasped it firmly but not too 
tightly, and answered "Gort -- short for 'Gorton' -- Arbeit.  Pleased to 
meet you."

Looking around, he suddenly realised just how long they had been talking -- 
they were the only ones left in the library, and, in fact, a library clerk 
was just approaching their table to ask them to finish up, please -- it was 
closing time.

Each grabbed a couple of important texts from the pile they had accumulated 
in their discussion, and headed for the check-out desk.  Emerging from the 
exit into the early evening cool, they stood a moment breathing the fresh 
air after a day of musty library odors.  For the first time, Gort got a 
good view of those glamour-grrl legs, from the almost blatantly-erotic red 
shoes up to the hem of the butter-soft black leather miniskirt.  For a 
moment, there was a silence, while the way in which he regarded her 
modified itself, adding "sexy lady" to "interesting colleague".

A faint smile on her lips as he looked back up acknowledged her recognition 
of his observations and his new perceptions, and added an element of 
challenge; would he now make a fool of himself, as so many had at this 
point, or would he simply continue in an easy manner, as if nothing had 
changed?

With only the faintest of hesitations, he said "You know, it's awfully 
late; did you have any dinner plans or whetever this evening?  Maybe we 
could grab a pizza or something and continue this discussion...?"

"Sounds good to me," she answered easily. "Here, be a gentleman."  Before 
he realised what she was doing she had added her armload of heavy books to 
his, and set off with an almost-skipping step and a bit of a merry laugh 
toward Jocko's, the finest pizza parlor near the campus.

"Hey -- no fair," he protested. "If I gotta carry all the books, you gotta 
pay for my pizza."

"We'll see..." she said. 

* * * * * * * * *

Sitting at the table that bore the remains of one of Jocko's giant "Death 
by Ingredient" specials, they continued to get acquainted.  She was from 
Eastern Europe, which explained her slight accent; he was from Chicago, 
which explained his cultivated air of habitual cynicism.  By the time they 
were ready to go, they were leaning inward over the table and holding 
hands.

They slowly walked toward his car parked across the street, where they had 
stashed their books; both reluctant to part, but neither really knowing 
what move to make next.

"Hey -- Cowboy Mouth are playing at the Bronze!" he said, noticing a flyer 
on a pole by the car.

"Who?" she asked

"Cowboy Mouth -- the greatest American rock'n'roll band there is; from New 
Orleans.  The door guy at the Bronze is a friend of mine -- I can get us in 
free.  Wanna go rock some?"

"Sure.  Why not -- I can sleep in tomorrow."

So they did.

And the show was terrific, as promised, with the pounding beat of true 
rock'n'roll, beautiful lyrics and downright fantastic vibes.

The Bronze was jammed -- hot, sweaty and tightly packed, the crowd surging 
one way and then the other in the dark.  They were pushed against each 
other by the crush, shoved hard together.

The proximity of their bodies and the hot, intimate atmosphere and the 
concealing darkness of the club and the sensuality of the music was, to say 
the least, stimulating to Gort; at one point, when he was pushed against 
Robbie from behind, and found his groin pressed firmly against her shapely 
buttocks under the thin leather of her skirt, he found himself with a 
rather embarrassing semi-erection that he was sure she must have felt 
pressing into the warm valley between the firm cheeks.

He was reassured and a litle startled when she pressed back against him and 
rolled her hips a bit, adding to the stimulation and bringing him fully 
erect.  

After a second of this, she broke the contact and stepped a bit backward, 
putting an arm around his waist.  At that, he reached out and likewise put 
an arm around her waist, hand on hip, and they snuggled up against each 
other, dancing in place together to a raving song called "Love of My Life".

The next song was a slow one, and she leaned her head onto his shoulder and 
nestled even more closely against him.

It was obvious that she didn't find him repulsive; even so, he was startled 
when she placed her hand on his and gently lifted his hand to cup her warm 
shapely breast.  He gently cupped the warm globe, feeling the nipple 
standng firm against his palm; she lifted her face to his and they kissed, 
at first gently and tentatively, then more passionatey, tongues touching 
and stroking each other.

The show was almost over; the band swung into a raving rocker of a song 
called "Jenny Says", with the singer inciting and encouraging the crowd to 
scream shout jump and dance and sing along.  Under cover of the noise and 
activity, she reached down and her strong warm fingers stroked and played 
with the almost painful erection in his jeans.

His hand dropped downward again, caressing her round warm asscheek through 
the thin leather of the skirt -- as he did, she grasped his dick more 
tightly and pumped it firmly, which made him bold enough to reach a bit 
lower, lift the hem of the skirt and stroke her flesh directly.  He was 
startled to feel that her hose were old-fashioned stockings, held up by a 
lacey garter belt and that she was apparently not wearing any panties!  As 
his fingertips traced the warm crack of her ass, she pumped his cock more 
firmly, and kissed him hungrily again, then turned a bit, pressing herself 
against him, letting his leg slip between her thighs and gently humping her 
crotch against his thigh, her breath catching slightly, eyes half-closed.

The show closed with a roaring cover of the Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again", 
during which she stood in front of him, one of his hands cupping a tit, one 
pressed against her crotch, holding her against him as he stroked his hot 
cock against her incredible ass.  He was about to cum in his pants, and, 
unless he mistook the signs, she had already had at least one small orgasm 
as they dirty danced to the driving beat.

* * * * * * * *

After pausing in the lobby to say "hi" to the band members, they ducked out 
to the car.

"Well, where shall I drop you?" he asked.

"Nowhere, yet," she answered. "Why don't we drive through the park for a 
while?"

"Okay," he said, putting the car in "Drive" and heading that way.

As soon as the car began moving through the night, she leaned over, 
snuggled up against him, and took his arm and put it around her.  With no 
urging needed this time, his hand found her breast again and fondled it 
gently; the feel of her erect nipple pressing against his palm was 
incredibly stimulating.

He wasn't driving very fast, which was a good thing, because, slow as he 
was driving, when her hand stroked his crotch and then cupped his balls he 
almost swerved the car off the road.

"Mmmm." She laughed softly. "My, my -- someone is a bit excited."

He stroked her tit again, then gently pinched the nipple, making her 
shudder and gasp slightly.

"Looks like more than one of us is a bit excited," he said.

Her only answer was a soft chuckle and another caress.  As the stimulation 
brought another shiver from him, he was amazed to feel her fingers plucking 
at his zipper.  The sound of the zipper was clearly audible in the quiet 
that had descended in the car, as was his gasp as her warm fingers daintily 
slipped in through his fly and into his boxers as she gently stroked his 
cock with the tips of her sharp nails.

Softly, she grasped his erect cock, bringing it into full view.  Her 
fingers tightened a bit, then began to pump him with a slow, tantalising 
rhythm.

"Keep driving," she said.  Her other hand plucked at her sweater, pulling 
its hem upward.  Under it she wore no bra, and his hand easily found the 
warm smooth globe of her pretty tit, his fingers teasing the hard hot 
nipple, then stroking the perfect skin, weighing and fondling, then 
tickling teasingly along the underside.

"Mmmmmm..."  She shifted in the seat, turning and leaning downward.  Even 
though he knew what she must be planning, it was still a shock when her 
warm wet mouth closed over his dickhead.

As her caressing mouth sent incredible sensations shooting through him, he 
kept on driving through the park, almost in a trance.  He became aware that 
as she sucked and kissed his cock, she was beginning to stroke herself, her 
short skirt up to her hips.  As her own fingers shot pleasure through her, 
she moaned in pleasure around his cock; the vibrations sent an extra thrill 
through him.

She briefly withdrew, looked upward under her eyelashes, and breathed "I 
want to make you cum.  Let me have your cum..." and went back to sucking 
him, harder and more insistently.

She began taking more and more of his cock with each stroke, her tongue 
caressing the head on the outstrokes, then pushing the head further and 
further into her throat until she was taking all eight inches of his thick 
hard dick.

Then she began to move faster and faster, sucking harder on the outstrokes, 
working the shaft with her tongue on the downstroke, her lips stimulating 
every inch of his flesh.  As he felt his orgasm getting nearer and nearer, 
she reched down and began to play with his balls, stroking and lifting 
them, fondling them and tickling their tightening sack with her nails.

Finally he could hold back no longer.

With a groan and a tiwtching of his whole body that again almost ran the 
car off the road, he let go.  His hot white cum gushed from his cockhead, 
pumping upward from his hot straining balls, spurting into her mouth as she 
swallowed eagerly, gulping down almost all of it.  It filled her mouth, and 
just a trickle ran out of one corner to drop down into his pubic hair.

As he softened in her mouth, she kept on gently sucking and nuzzling at 
him, until she let his soft cock fall from her lips.  By now he had had to 
stop the car in a dark shaded corner; she raised up and kissed him 
passionately, her tongue invading his mouth and bringing remnants and the 
taste of his own cum.
-- 
Inosolan@galaxycorp.com

He who would speak truth should have one foot in the stirrup.

asstr-mirror.org site under construction; read all of the "Hot Rags" stories at 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/inosolans_palace/www/ 

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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