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Message-ID: <28528asstr$980251803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Alexis Siefert <ealexissiefert@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Free Time {Alexis S} (F-solo)
Date: Tue, 23 Jan 2001 07:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "free time.txt" begin>

She sighed deeply and let her body sink into the water.  The 
bubbles tickled her nose, but she didn't bother raising her hand 
to flick them away.  As her ears dipped below the level of the 
water, she could hear the water rushing through the pipes.  There 
was a rhythmic 'swish-swish' somewhere in the house, telling her 
that the washing machine was filling, or perhaps the dishwasher 
had moved into its rinse mode, whatever.  Just so long as it 
didn't require her to get up. The wind was beating against the 
window above the tub.  Its incessant rapping sounded like a 
jealous neighbor, begging to be let in the house.  She giggled 
softly at the thought of the anthropomorphic wind knocking at the 
pane of glass.  An image sprang unbidden to her mind of the wind 
in human form--a lovely Native woman, full breasts and hips, 
fertility personified, dark hair blowing wildly around her face 
as the breeze whipped playfully through the black tresses.

She let her mind drift, her thoughts fading as the steam, 
pregnant with lavender scent, surrounded her face and filled her 
nostrils.  The sales clerk swore to her that lavender was 
relaxing, "aroma therapy" the clerk called it.  She didn't know 
if it was the scent, the steam, or just the knowledge that she 
had an hour to herself that was relaxing her.  It didn't matter.

Her brain shifted out of conscious thoughts into a series of 
images, drawn out of her body by the beckoning wind.  It was as 
though her body was separate from her being.  She floated above 
the water, looking down at the body below her, critically 
examining it in a detached manner.  She knew she was looking at 
her own form, but it seemed so foreign.   The body below her 
looked so lovely, so womanly, not at all how she pictured herself 
when she peered into the mirror every morning.  The woman in the 
tub had long legs; well, long for her height.  Her hips were 
softly rounded, framing her concave belly.  Perhaps a bit too 
sharp in her hipbones, she knew that she needed to put on another 
few pounds or so, but the effect was still pleasant.  

Her eyes traveled upward, tracing the delicate ribcage pausing 
briefly to watch her pulse beat in the hollow below her sternum.  
The skin of her breasts was flushed with the heat of the tub and 
they bobbed gently in the water in time with her slow, relaxed 
breathing. Around small shoulders, her pale hair floated, softly 
swaying, swirling around her face.  Her lips were full, which had 
been a point of contention with her until it became fashionable 
and the superstars were injecting their thin mouths to change 
their shape. She had heard men snicker when looking at pictures 
of these full-mouthed women, referring to their "dsl's."  It took 
months of discrete eves dropping for her to finally overhear the 
phrase "dick-sucking-lips" instead of the cryptic abbreviation.  
She knew at that moment that she had a mouth designed to frame a 
man's cock, lips meant to nestle a cockhead between, and 
suddenly, in spite of herself, her mouth was beautiful to her.

She reached down with her mind's fingers, imagining their touch 
on the pale skin of the body in the water below her.  The body 
responded with it's own fingers, brushing a fingertip over those 
red lips, and she was pulled back into herself.  She shivered a 
bit and parted her lips pushing her finger between her teeth, 
over her tongue.  She felt her teeth scrape along her skin and 
her nail drew an invisible line over her dark red tongue.  She 
sucked softly, teasingly, imagining her finger as a cock, pulsing 
between her lips.  

As she sucked her fingertip, her other hand fluttered over her 
neck, feeling her pulse pick up as her breathing quickened.  Her 
fingers wrapped around her tiny throat, pressing slightly, 
wondering what it would feel like to have a man's hand wrapped 
there, cutting off her wind as his body pounded into her.  

The CD player mounted to the wall clicked softly as the CD ended 
and started its loop again.  Soon soft strains of Franco 
Corelli's lamenting tenor aria from 'I Pagliacci' filled the 
room.  The mournful, insistent tones reached under the water, 
vibrating against her belly and the stroking touch of her fingers 
quickened to meet its rhythm.  

Her fingertips brushed over the tops of her breasts, leaving warm 
trails on her heated skin.  She was slightly surprised to find 
that her nipples were already hardened, erect, pushing away from 
her small, round breasts as if they were straining towards her 
lingering fingers.  She twisted her nipples gently between her 
thumbs and forefingers, working both breasts in tandem.  Twin 
sparks shot through her body from her breasts to the center of 
her sex, and she gasped.  Her fingers tightened their grip on her 
sensitive peaks, twisting her nipples more forcefully.  

She drew her knees up, and her thighs spread, coming to rest 
against the tile sides of the tub.  The contrast between the 
warmth of the water and the cooler air of the room served only to 
heighten the feelings suddenly building so strongly within her. 

One hand left her breast and drifted down, stroking lightly over 
the taut skin of her belly, hovering over the small tattoo at her 
hip--a Celtic harp--the only remnant of her brief rebellious 
period. Her fingers found the cleft of her sex, and she paused, 
hovering just at her opening, hesitantly stroking her outer lips. 
This was not an act she normally found comfortable, never mind 
exciting. Despite being raised in the enlightened decade of the 
70's, she was raised to believe that pleasure was not the purview 
of a woman; she was supposed to 'close her eyes and think of 
other things,' to quote her prim-and-proper mother.  However, the 
butterfly flutterings in her belly forced the reservations from 
her mind, pushed her past her 'moral' protests.  Her fingers 
began, for the first time, to truly explore that most secret 
place within her.  
 
As her fingertips parted her lips to dip into the slippery 
moisture there, her thumb grazed lightly over the swelling button 
above.  Her breath caught in her throat, and her clit twitched 
under her touch.

The music lifted and swelled through the room, shaking the glass 
in the window as the tenor's voice drew her further into her own 
passions.  Her fingers dug insistently between her pussy lips, no 
longer hesitant and unable to fight her natural instincts.  She 
felt her inner muscles clench around her fingertips as she pushed 
one, then two fingers deep inside her pussy.  A moan escaped her 
lips as she stretched her fingers, opening herself wider, feeling 
her body respond to the intrusion.  Her thumb stayed perched atop 
her rock hard, swollen clit, rolling it in hard circles against 
her body.  

Water swirled around her as her hand began to move faster, 
thrusting deeply into her soaking pussy.  The water flowed into 
her opening with each thrust, filling her further.  Her body 
began to shudder, her hips bucked up against her hand. She 
gripped the tile side of the tub with her free hand, gasping for 
breath as her face slipped below the water again and again.  Her 
body spasmed violently, wracked with her orgasm.

It was the sound of her own voice that called her out of her 
reverie.  A soft moaning reached her ears under the water, and 
she slowly caught her breath.  Her fingers were still buried 
deeply between her shaking legs, and her body quivered in seismic 
aftershocks.  Slowly, she allowed the warm water to calm her 
again, and she slowed her breathing until she felt confident 
enough of her own strength to stand.  Stepping from the tub, 
wrapping the towel around her dripping body, she moved to the 
bedroom, taking note of the luminescent glow of the clock on the 
wall.  

She smiled realizing that she still had 30 minutes left before 
her family was due home.  

<1st attachment end>


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