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Message-ID: <28017asstr$977627402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: auto115901@hushmail.com (Jaime)
User-Agent: Xnews/03.12.21
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 23 Dec 2000 15:31:02 PST
Subject: {ASSM} It Happened one Night
Date: Sat, 23 Dec 2000 22:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Disclaimer:
Do not read the following story if you are under 21 years of age.

I tried to make this a readable story.  I changed the names, but if anyone 
wants to respond, don't hesitate.
All comments to the author will be greatly appreciated, personally or to 
the group, right?


THIS HAPPENED ONE NIGHT...

   Work parties are not my cup of tea.  I'm not sure their anyone's, so 
sometimes I wonder why they even exist.  I don't really want to know any of 
the people I work with any better.  As much as I'd like to be, I'm not a 
teenager and neither are they.  I already have friends, friends who never 
blow payroll deadlines.  Maybe it's just me, but irritation is not the 
greatest foundation for friendship.
   "This was great Jamie."  Carl worked in the office next to mine.  "I 
can't believe it, fun on the fifth floor!"  Carl apparently didn't feel the 
same way I did, or he was drunk enough to forget it.  He was right though, 
who would've thought that so much laughter could ring through the halls of 
a human resource office.  I told Carl that it was, indeed, great and 
grabbed my jacket to leave.
   My daughter, Jordan, was at home with the sitter.  It looked like I 
would be early, but I'm sure she would be asleep anyway.  At least I 
wouldn't have to pay Amy, the sitter, to watch anymore television.  It 
certainly wasn't like she needed the money.  I had a suspicion that her 
parents were paying her something on top of what I gave her.  I think they 
wanted to do the right thing by forcing her to be responsible.  Amy was 
already a dependable, if somewhat spoiled, young lady.  But, hey, I'm sure 
I'll be doing the same thing as mine grows up.
   Sure enough, when I opened the door I could see the faint glow of the TV 
from the back room.  I shut the door quietly.  I didn't want to wake the 
kid.  I walked down the hallway, and the screen slowly came into view on 
which music videos were playing.  The back of Amy's head was leaning 
against the couch, and her hair was draped over the back of it, like she 
might be asleep. But it looked like her right shoulder was moving up and 
down, too, and for a moment I thought she might actually be frigging 
herself.  "She's got cable, what's she doing?" was the actual first thing 
that I thought, even though I wasn't even sure what was going on.  I 
completely doubted my initial impression.  Still, it was enough for me to 
hold my tongue and walk a little more quietly.

   I haven't written much since my second, and last, year of college.  
Still, whenever I'm trying to work something out,  writing it down helps, 
most of the time, anyway, unless it gets too weird, which may be the case 
here and I think I'm rambling.  I'd met Amy when she answered a 
neighborhood flyer I'd put on the community mailbox.  I paid her to spend a 
night with me and Jordan just so I could see if she would be alright.  We 
talked for a while about baby bottles and Disney videos, but the rest of 
the time we talked about high school and music.  She was a cool girl who 
reminded me a little of myself ten years ago.  After that, we always talked 
for half an hour or so after I got home, which had been about ten times 
before that night.

   I had moved up to about five feet behind her.  She had slipped down the 
couch a little bit, which was why I could see her jeans, totally undone.  
They had been pushed down a few inches from her waist, revealing her 
panties, the edges of which she was tracing with her fingers.  I was 
flabbergasted and for some reason fixated on the yellow daisy print on the 
white of her underwear, the white of her undewear against her skin.  It was 
almost romantic the way she ran the tips of her fingers along the elastic.  
I spotted the faint line of her vulva when the cotton was drawn taut by her 
treatment.  Worse, I actually dallied on it.  As she began to massage the 
top of her panties with her palm, her legs stretched the waist of her 
pants.  The last few teeth of the zipper came apart, making a soft click, 
which I could hear, for some reason, much better than the TV.  It broke the 
tiny daze of mine, and my first inclination was to back away slowly and 
slam the front door and yell as a loudly as I could, "Amy, I'm home!"   
What I was seeing was too much and I didn't want to embarrass her, even 
though, I will admit now, I was amazed and even curious to find out just 
how far Amy would take herself.
   I began to retreat at the exact moment, of course, that the TV went 
silent and I made a floorboard squeak.  Amy flipped around and clumsily 
pulled up her jeans over her bottom.  "I'm sorry, Amy, I just came home, 
how's Jordan?" I said.  She was as flustered as I was and turned off the 
TV, rearranged some pillows, and picked up a schoolbook that was on the 
floor.  She looked at the floor "I'm sorry, Jaime, I was just watching TV, 
Jordan's sleeping, I better go home."  She shuffled down the hallway and I 
told her to wait, I needed to pay her.

   In all the time Amy and myself had talked, only a few times did our 
conversation turn to sex.  She'd had it with a few of boys, and it shocked 
me that someone only seventeen had done it even once.  Amy had asked me a 
couple of questions, mainly about getting as much as your were giving, I 
guess you could say.  I felt awkward at first, as if I was betraying her 
parents, even though I'd only talked to them on the phone.  Would they 
really want me giving their daughter tips?  I eventually gave her some 
pointers which, in turn, she could point out to her boyfriend.  It had been 
awhile since she'd approached the subject.

   In the kitchen, as I groped my purse for cash, Amy stood there 
nervously.  I could tell she was still feeling a little aroused.  I was a 
little hot, too, because I 'd never seen someone else do that.  It had been 
a while since I'd seen anything remotely sexual at all.  Eventually, I 
pulled some money from my bag, and handed it to her.  She was still 
breathing heavily.  Part of me was just amused, and I imagined what would 
happen if I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards me.  It was a funny 
thought, but also one a pervert might have.  
   After she put the money in her pocket, she kept standing there, quite 
still.  It was here, I think, that things took a real turn.  All of a 
sudden, I realized that the only thing she could've been indicating was 
that she didn't want to leave and if she didn't want to leave she wanted 
something else.  Maybe she wanted to talk.  That's what I told myself.  
Anything else would've been too odd, probably wrong, a lot more wrong than 
it seemed at the time.  "Look Amy, it's alright, everybody does it."  That 
sounded extremely lame.
   "I'm sorry, I was just trying to..." she mumbled.  I wondered what she 
was going to end the sentence with.  Clean her clothes? Figure out her 
calculus homework.  "It's alright, I understand," I repeated.  The heavy 
atmosphere had lifted a bit, and it all seemed a little silly.  It made me 
feel better, which was unfortunate, because I also felt more intrigued.  
She continued to stand there.
   I moved toward her and took her by the soldiers to reassure her.  My 
hands fell down her arms.  Honestly, I was just trying to be playful.  "It 
doesn't matter, we all do it." I fingered the top of her jeans, running my 
finger from her belly button down and back again, smiling comfortingly, 
attempting to make a joke out of it.  Okay, okay, maybe this is the point 
where things took a turn.  I hoped maybe she would laugh and walk home.  
It's totally crazy, but I also wasn't opposed to her not, though I'm not 
sure what I was anticipating otherwise.  She did begin walking, but not out 
the door.  She went back towards the living room.
   I took a moment to follow her.  What the hell was going on?  I was a 
mother.  But a mother who hadn't felt like this since I could remember.  It 
wasn't just the physical heat, but the whole taboo situation.  A young 
girl, for god sakes.  I knew she was a little experienced, anything out of 
the ordinary that could happen would be more just a memory for her than a 
long-lasting emotional scar.  But I couldn't believe I'd seen proper Amy do 
this in the first place.  And I could appreciate feminine beauty as much as 
the next woman, but nothing physical had ever happened with another girl.  
I followed her.  For some reason, I thought about the party I was just at, 
which seemed like a month ago, now.  My head was swimming.
   She was sitting on the couch again.  I moved around and leaned against 
the wall right next to the television.  I started to say "Don't be 
embarrassed, it's alright," as if we were at the door and I was waving her 
home.  But I caught myself when Amy began to unbutton her pants.  She kept 
looking down, refusing to make eye contact, her blond hair covering her 
face.  Her jeans were pulled down around her ankles, where she let them 
sit.
   With her hand she began to replay what I had seen earlier.  She was 
going to finish what she started with me watching.  I'm not sure why, maybe 
she wanted some advice, but I think the voyeuristic aspect of it all was 
turning her one as much as it was me.  Touching yourself, alone, to some 
rock music was fine, but I think she  recognized when she was in the 
kitchen how much more stimulating it might be if she was being watched, and 
hell, she already had been for few slight moments.  I have to give it her 
for appreciating this, much less actually acting on it.  I would never have 
done it, my legs were shaky enough as it was.
   The whole thing was very surreal.  Everything was quiet except for her 
breath, slow and deep from behind her the mask of her hair, and my own 
breath, which was interrupted frequently by swallowing.  My mouth was very 
dry.  My stomach was tight.
   I was gazing at her with new eyes.  She was still rubbing the outside of 
her underwear with her palm, the daisies rumpling slightly and smoothing 
again.  She had the kind of perfect skin only a teenager could have.  Her 
thighs were just a touch whiter than the rest of her body.  They were 
striking.  Her thighs were leisurely swinging in and out.
   Her breasts, average size for her age, were covered by a purple T-shirt 
but I could see the contour of her nipples through the fabric.  Amy was 
genuinely turned on.  I was noticing her chest when I made my way back 
below.  Her underwear was getting a workout now, stretched and scrunched up 
faster and faster.  I was getting glimpses of her lips.  They already 
looked a little swollen, once and briefly swallowing a strip of cotton 
between them before it appeared again.  I saw her pubic hair, which I don't 
think had fully grown in yet, but was a light color of brown and blonde.  
This may not sound particularly kinky or anything to many people, but to 
me, the perfect word is nasty.  I was looking at Amy's... pussy, and I 
liked it, and it was nasty.  She eventually gave up with her panties and 
pushed them halfway down her thighs, rubbing her vagina with an increasing 
pace, her pubic hair budding from between her fingers as she pressed her 
clitoris.
   It was all happening so fast on one hand, but on the other, it was all 
happening in slow motion.  Every detail lucid.  Until then I was basically 
standing there.  When Amy had first pulled down her pants, I had crossed my 
legs.  Without thinking, I had been flexing my thigh muscles ever since, 
vaguely aware of my wetness.  When she... relocated her underwear, I pulled 
my jacket closed with one hand and stuffed the other in.  I'm not sure why 
I bothered holding it shut.  I think I was still trying to give off an air 
of maturity by hiding my actions, trying not to give my explicit consent to 
this whole scene.   Please, though- as if I weren't just by standing there, 
watching this girl, my babysitter, go at it.
   Nonetheless, I slipped my hand under my blouse and under my bra to touch 
myself.  If she had looked then, I'm sure she could tell what was going on, 
and soon, she would.  The nipple I had reached for was already hard.  I 
rolled it in between two fingers while kneading my entire breast.  Damn.  I 
started inhaling louder.  Amy had begun to make a few noises, too, with 
each exhalation,  a short sigh from the back of her throat.  My amplified 
breathing, though, had caught her attention.
   She shook the hair from the front of her face.  I could see her open 
mouth, her upper lip, her eyes, which still refused to look in mine.  This 
was fine, it might have broken the spell.  So maybe not in my eyes, but she 
was definitely looking at me.  I don't know what she'd been picturing, if 
anything, until then, but I think it was clear what she was picturing now.  
She didn't look away.  I knew that she knew what I was doing.  I let go of 
my jacket and it fell open, and she could see me grabbing my... to say this 
nasty, tit.  I was playing with my tit, and forcefully.  I'm sure I had a 
larger chest than she'd ever seen, at least bare, before.  The left one was 
sprung from the cup, though to a degree, still covered by the thin film of 
silk of my shirt.  I looked down for a second and saw the redness of my 
areola through it.  Pushing the material aside, I freed it, squeezing it 
and pinching the nipple.  I was getting extremely hot.  I looked up, still 
nervously, to see that Amy was, too.  I could barley even consider this 
whole thing as real, as if it were a movie.
   I'm not sure I'd ever seen anything so hot.  She was staring at me as I 
pulled intermittently and hard at my nipple, which I started doing because 
she was going so hard on herself.  Amy had propped herself up a bit with 
her left arm, pushing her back against the couch, lifting her bottom up a 
little.  I think I was pushing against the wall for my own support as I had 
been sliding down it progressively for a while.  It had pushed my skirt up 
some, and I'm sure she could see the end of my stockings.  Maybe she found 
lingerie as sexy as most men.  She was rubbing her, at this point the only 
thing I can call it, cunt.  Tough.  Quick.
   Her clitoris was large and red from the speed she was polishing it with.  
Often, when her hand reached the top of its motion, near her belly button, 
her clitoris was pulled up and free, almost to a standing position.  Wow.  
I had never been aroused by the thought of this particular body part, but I 
truly couldn't resist the sight.  Areas of her crotch were becoming slick 
with dampness she spread with her palm.  Her hips bobbed slightly up and 
down from the couch.  Her gaze was locked on me, but never on my face, 
which I had given up on trying to control.  My jaws were clenched, and my 
nostrils had probably flared.  She was breathing quicker, too.  I had moved 
on to my other breast, not bothering to release it from clothing, but 
rubbing it through the patterned nylon of my bra.  It felt as good as, 
maybe better, than no clothing at all.
   Amy had slipped her middle finger inside herself a couple of times.  She 
was moving so reckless, it looked almost as if by accident.  But she 
definitely loved it.  Every time it dipped in, she released a tiny whine.  
Her breath had gotten ragged, and I'm sure for a reason.  The arm that was 
keeping her lifted was straining.  Her belly was taught for a second, then 
relaxed, then again.  Amy was on her way up, about to orgasm if she hadn't 
already begun to.  I was watching a teenage girl climax herself on my 
couch.  Horrible.  Incredible.  My eyes were wide open.  Amy was about to 
peak.  I was rolling both of my nipples in each hand.  
   What a bizarre, unwholesome sight this would be to a third party- an 
adult woman hanging out of her dress, aggressively molesting her own tits 
and a young girl with her pants around her ankles finger-fucking herself as 
they stared at each other.  How else could you put it?  How did this ever 
happen again? It was insane.
   When Amy's body tightened, she grunted for a split second and clenched 
her hand down on her pussy.  I watched her slip a final finger in, 
gripping.  She had already let herself down entirely onto the couch when 
she came.  After that she withdrew her arm from between her legs and leaned 
over her knees.  A fine time to be self-conscious.  Maybe she was just 
tired.  I couldn't believe the energy she had put into it.  Halfway 
through, when she began looking at me, it was like something snapped inside 
her, perhaps encouraged by my endorsement, and she had made sure she was 
going to get all that she could out of it.
   Now, though, she was just sitting there, breathing slowly, head down.  
All of a sudden I became a little concerned, maybe this whole situation was 
too out there for her.   I began to feel guilty.  Amy could really be 
freaked out or something.  I knew I was having my own second-thoughts about 
it as I pulled my skirt down and loaded the rest of myself into my bra, 
adjusting my blouse.  I stood there, as well, not sure what to do either.   
Amy eventually pulled up her panties, and she lifted her rump up to do it.  
She had a beautiful bottom- man, I was still tingling.  I couldn't think 
like that anymore, what if she told somebody?  I knew Amy and, rationally, 
I knew she wouldn't, but I still began to feel panicky.
   Amy stood up and bent over to reach her pants.  I slid over because I 
had to do something, and pushed away her hands as she was about to zip up.  
I did it for her, adjusted the waist and buttoned them.  My eyes lingered 
on her navel and that smooth path heading down towards the patch of hair I 
was peering at just moments earlier... but other than that, the motion 
could be described as quite motherly.  In my haste, I figured if I was in 
her position, well, I'd probably be home in bed by now, but all things 
considered at this point, I might be looking for some comfort.  When she 
finally looked up, I understood that I was right.  Her eyes looked a little 
glossy, but they were thankful.
   I hugged her, acutely aware that she might be able to feel the stiff 
tips of my chest, still rigid.  I began to wish I would calm down.  If she 
did feel them, though, maybe she'd be getting a message that I wouldn't 
mind her knowing but certainly didn't want to say, "Gee Amy, thanks for 
doing that, you really made an old lady happy.  I haven't gotten any in 
months, and while I usually go for a man in a bed, watching a teenage chick 
in my living room... well, thanks again."   No, I didn't want to say that.
   We walked down the hallway, and we still hadn't spoken yet.  In the 
kitchen, though, Amy said, "Well, I've got school in the morning.  Thanks a 
lot Jaime.  Um... call me when you need me, again."  Her tone was perfectly 
ordinary and it remarkably dissipated any awkward mood that may have 
remained.
"Great, Amy.  I better go check on Jordan.  Have a good night."

   At the time I'm writing this, I haven't seen Amy again, but only because 
I haven't been out.  I'm still don't like office parties, but I'm glad I 
went to that one because I had to come home.  The process of hashing this 
little adventure out has let me comprehend one thing, which is that I 
enjoyed it.  No, I fucking dug it.  Sure, I still feel weird about it, but 
it's not like I don't have that naughty side.  It's just that I hadn't seen 
it for a while.  And I don't remember it ever being that naughty.  Doggy 
style in my parents bedroom with my boyfriend... a distant memory and an 
average one, I think, compared to this.
   What Amy did that night, I did to myself a for few nights afterward.  It 
was a real nice afterglow.  But lusting after some hot piece of schoolgirl 
tail, that's the farthest thing from something I would ever do.  Again, I 
have a daughter of my own!  I hope the next time Amy baby-sits for me, if 
she ever does, I'll come home and we'll just have a nice little talk about 
what an asshole her English teacher is.  I guess we'll see.

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