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From: spoonbender@hotmail.com (Theodore Spoonbender)
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Subject: {ASSM} ** New Spoonbender Story  - Slits [cons, mast] <*>
Date: Mon,  2 Apr 2001 06:10:03 -0400
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Slits (cons, mast)

************************************************
(c)2000 Spoonbender.  A short story of an adult nature.  Not to be
read by minors.  If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are
underage then don't read.  Contains allusions to naughty, erotic
goings on.  Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed,
including this heading.  If it is to be archived on an archive then
please email me first for permission.  Note that the characterizations
are mine.  I do not like people stealing them for inclusion in their
own efforts. Please email me with comments, constructive criticism,
fantasies you want put into words etc.  Don't flame me if you don't
like the content or you don't like my style.  My email address (if you
feel the unrelenting urge to shower me with praise) is
spoonbender@hotmail.com

Please look at my sex story survey at www.spoonbender.demon.co.uk It
is completely anonymous and the results will be posted on the web to
assist me and other writers in focusing our stories better. Many
thanks.
************************************************* 

Nobody knows how the craze that swept the world started that wild
summer.

Somebody said it was a French fashion house, others said it swept
unassisted out of the crowded subways of the Tokyo underground.

Whatever.

It filled a strange need amongst certain groups of travellers.

The fashion thing was a light flouncy skirt, a sort of peasant girl's
going out clothes, but with a cunning accessory.

A slit, well more like a pocket really. Right across the bottom of the
buttocks. Carefully concealed to the casual observer, it spoke volumes
to the sophisticated.

It said she was available. For certain things.

The flouncy dress went out of fashion within days, but someone took
the idea back to Tokyo. A few weeks later the first tentative copies,
carefully crafted into sleek business suits, made their appearance.

The result was electrifying.

The thing is, you see, that there is a special type of problem that
occurs on crowded tube trains. When a man is pressed hard against a
woman and she is so hemmed in she can't even turn her head to see who
it is. Things can happen, stands to reason.

Wandering hands, nubile flesh. You get the picture.

But what about if she don't want it? Most don't of course, very tricky
to choose a willing victim, but they were around. More than you'd ever
imagine. However there weren't that many in proportion, so more likely
than not an unwilling girl would find hands creeping up her body and
between her legs. Hemmed in she can't retaliate, so she just stands
there, humiliated. Great loss of face to be caught with a man's hand
inside your panties, apparently.

It so it went on, much to the dismay of the otherwise rather efficient
Tokyo Police. The travelling public, particularly women, demanded a
solution, but there was very little evidence to go on. Victim and
perpetrator soon got separated in the swirling crowds as the doors
opened. There were very few eye witnesses oddly enough even though it
usually happened in a crowd of people.

Then, just when the problem looked insoluble, along came the fashion.

Whispers travelled the crowded tubes full of salarymen dreaming of
retiring to the country. The slits, watch out for the slits.

Of course this being an extremely civilized country, there were rules.
Unwritten but everybody knew them. And so the perversely arousing
battle was joined.

The search was on for the slits.

And they were there!

Handy, concealed slits that would yield to a probing hand. 

Even before the doors close the fingers are at the gusset. Sawing
rapidly across the smooth silk.

Rule one. Be gentle, but firm.

The hand forcing the thighs to split. She resists, momentarily, but
the hand pushes again and the thighs part enough to give comfortable
access.

Rule two. Gusset first, see how far you get. If you get it wet then
you are on to the next stage.

The finger diddled her clit, she sighs heavily and closes her eyes.
Her juices start to flow.

Sensing the wet the finger sneaks under the panties and flesh meets
flesh. She shudders deliciously.

Rule three. If you get to this stage, the challenge is to finger fuck
her to orgasm before the next station.

The finger probes inside teasing the soaking depths. It wriggles
briefly then the pumping begins. Insistent, undeniable. They both know
what's at stake here. She's fighting it even though she wants it,
afraid of crying out her passion amongst a press of rocking commuters.
He is unstoppable, faster and faster.

They could both see the lights of the next station looming up and they
both battled towards their respective goals. She trying to deny
herself, and him, the orgasm that he was being so persistent in
forcing upon her. The finger worked assiduously on.

The front of the train had reached the end of the station as the
finger did its work. A few more seconds, just a few more, if she could
just last a few seconds.......

She'd be spared the humiliation of coming in public. Oh why did she
wear this skirt, today of all days. Oh noooo.....

Rule four. When the train stops the hand is immediately withdrawn,
whatever the outcome of the encounter.

She didn't make it, well she did so it wasn't all bad if you can
understand my convoluted tautology. She had her orgasm. He had his
fun.

Rule five. No acknowledgement of either party to the other. Yeah and
no peeking.

So if you're off to Tokyo watch out for the slits.


Case Study

Ryoko stood facing the doors as they hissed closed. It was the last
leg of her journey home and her thoughts strayed to what her and her
boyfriend were going to do that night. As her mind raced a delicious
shudder ran through her trim frame and she blushed modestly. Just
thinking about him had an overwhelming effect on her.

He could tease sensations out of her body that she still didn't
believe were possible. Pleasure so intense it was almost unbearable
and afterwards the dreamy, satiated weariness where her whole body
seemed to buzz with every nerve ending sending its own tingling
message of well being to a fuzzy floating brain.

A famous poet had called it the agony of pleasure and she thought that
that was the perfect description of what she felt.

They had been having sex for over six months now and marriage loomed
high on the agenda. A perfect marriage of financial security - he had
a very good job and had a foot firmly placed on the promotion ladder -
and steamy nights. They were just waiting for her to finish college
and then the big day. She could have hugged herself she was so happy.

In common with all the other girls in the college she wore the
standard uniform of blue skirt, white blouse and red string tie,
overlaid with a dark blue jacket. White ankle socks completed the
ensemble, giving her a cute appealing look that belied her eighteen
years.

All pretty normal stuff, seen on thousands of teenage girls.

Except her boyfriend had suggested one evening that she modify her
skirt a little.

Just a little.

She had blushed furiously when he first broached the subject and
refused to talk about it for days. She didn't want to be labelled as
being 'that' sort of girl. She had friends of hers who sold their
underwear to help them pay for the latest fashions and she found the
idea slightly nauseating. So for her to actually offer herself......to
complete strangers.....

Nevertheless she kept churning it around in her mind, the idea
starting to intrigue her. It was a few days later that she felt able
to broach the subject again with him. She had been so snappy and
dismissive last time that he hadn't mentioned it again. So she had,
like a gynaecologist, to search for a suitable opening.

It came after a bout of seriously contortionistic lovemaking. She
batted the subject lightly and he picked up her theme. Finally, after
some hours she'd agreed. 

And so she got out her sewing machine and carefully altered her skirt.
It was a painstakingly delicate task, made more so by the necessity of
keeping her little secret from her college friends. She knew she'd
just die if they found out. 

The first time she wore it was a bit of an anticlimax overall. She'd
kept her tightly buttoned jacket on and so the slits couldn't be seen.
But it got her incredibly hot just thinking that at any moment a hard
male hand could intrude between her legs seeking out her sex and......

She'd made the slits at the front, two of them like pockets with no
bottom. This was how the fashion was evolving, and so her sex was
available to anyone who stood close behind her and could snake his
hand around and plunge it inside the folds of her skirt.

That first night she had virtually melted when her boyfriend had first
broached her sex. And her climax soared like an eagle screaming around
Mount Fuji.

She'd worn it a few times since, usually on his insistence and each
time she had been left unmolested, but still the gnawing tingle of
anticipation kept stoking the itch between her legs. But she had never
been touched and that aroused mixed feelings in her.

On the one hand she felt mildly relieved and on the other the
unpalatable fact that maybe she just wasn't pretty enough. She was as
it happens, but she started to doubt it.

It was the last leg of the journey for her. The train rattled across
the points as it made its way slowly across the intersection. Rocking
her gently sideways. 

Ryoko breathed out slowly. She had again escaped possible
embarrassment. She even started to feel safe.

And so she dreamed.

Suddenly the lights flickered and the train came to a halt momentarily
catching her off balance. When she found her feet again she could feel
someone was pressed up against her. Very close.

Her breathing quickened and she fought hard to resist turning to face
the stranger as she felt the hand slide under her jacket and down
inside her skirt.

The train lurched just as the fingers reached her gusset, then the
lights went off plunging them into darkness. This seemed to urge the
hand on and it briefly played with her button evincing a low moan from
her. 

The finger described a small circle for a few seconds then started to
creep under the fabric of her panties. Ryoko realised with a start
that she must be soaking down there and she felt her cheeks burning
with shame as the finger made contact with her intimate folds.

For a second she was completely disorientated. There was something
wrong happening her. Very wrong and she struggled to work out what it
was. Then it hit her in a blinding flash.

It wasn't a man's hand!

The carefully manicured nails pressed little furrows in her compliant
skin, the smoothly rounded tip teasing her clitoris unmercifully.

Ryoko arched her back and gurgled a mild protest. She wasn't a lesbian
and she wanted to scream it out but her innate modesty and the
intensely wonderful feelings that the fingers were stealing from her
body took her breath away. And so she endured in wondrous bliss.

If there is one thing that a woman is supremely qualified in it is in
being able to extract the maximum pleasure from another woman's body.
And these fingers had been this way before, if not exactly this place.
They knew what to do and they did it.

Ryoko put her hands flat against the glass of the door and opened her
legs wantonly as the fingers wove their magic. Wave upon wave of
delectable sensations washed over her drowning her in bliss.

And when the fingers delved inside......

She had to push the end of her scarf into her mouth to stop her from
screaming as she rode her climax. The intensity and suddenness of it
creating a stroboscope of bright lights behind her tightly closed
eyelids as she wriggled and squirmed helplessly.

The lights came on briefly, but she didn't notice. She was lost in the
mists at the heights of her lust.

Suddenly, before she could fully recover she felt a second hand
intrude between her widespread legs. She muttered a muffled protest
then a new sensation was visited on her.

Something hard was pressing against her sopping entrance. 

She tensed as the 'thing' started to push in and out with increasingly
deep strokes.

This wasn't in the rules.

She reflexively tried to close her legs only to find the hands forcing
them apart again.

The 'thing' went deeper and deeper, harder and harder.

Then a finger started in on her clit and, just as she was starting to
dissolve, the train lurched into life and the lights came back on.

She came to blushing crazily and tried to compose herself, convinced
that everyone in the carriage could see what was happening. But her
molester was subtle, you couldn't see the arms under her jacket and
she was pushed against the door, blocking the front of her body from
sight.

The 'thing' never missed a beat as the finger wriggled.

Faster and faster as they started to pull into the station.

She was getting close, oh so close.

Faster.

Closer

She was cumming......

The doors started to hiss open and the hands withdrew smoothly.

Leaving her poised on the edge of one of the biggest orgasms of her
life with, what turned out to be, a rather large carrot pushed up deep
inside her. Held in by the gusset of her straining panties.

She opened her eyes to be confronted by her mother and younger sister
who were going to accompany her on the 2 mile walk to her home.

2 miles and unable to stop to remove the carrot.

She groaned in anticipation.

************************** (c)00 Spoonbender ************************

Ok so whaddya think? Email me at spoonbender@hotmail.com Don't forget
my survey at www.spoonbender.demon.co.uk Thanks.

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