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Message-ID: <30608asstr$991721403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: souvie@netdot.com (Souvie)
Reply-To: souvie@netdot.com
Subject: {ASSM} <Dulcinea> "Sexual Designs" (MF, rom, oral) by Souvie
Date: Tue,  5 Jun 2001 02:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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"Sexual Designs" (MF, rom, oral) 
by Souvie
May 10, 2001

Author's note: This is a work of erotic fiction, and my
entry into the Dulcinea Memorial Writing Festival. If
you're not of legal age to be reading it, then please
don't.  The story is copyright by me, Souvie, so please 
no reposting unless you've gotten permission from me 
first. Archiving at the Dulcinea Memorial Writing 
Festival website is allowed. In the spirit of the Blow 
Job Principle, I welcome any and all comments. In fact, 
I get off on feedback. Email me at souvie@netdot.com

=====

"Sexual Designs"


"How can you see those tiny little holes?  I'd be blind 
by now if I did that needlepoint."  He walked in 
between her and the television and sat down beside her, 
peering over her shoulder just because he knew it would 
drive her crazy.

Sure enough, she put down her cross stitch with a huff.
"You know I can't work with you staring over my 
shoulder.  I've got to get this done for your sister-
in-law's sister's baby shower, only a week away." She 
picked her work back up, then put it back down.  "And 
you should know very well that this is cross stitch, 
not needlepoint."

He moved to his small space of the couch in among her
needlecraft magazines, thread, and various other 
sundries.  Her, "Don't change the channel, I'm watching 
that," halted his reach for the remote control!

"Watching that? I thought you were cross stitching?"

"I'm doing that, too."

He shook his head.  "You can't possibly do both at the
same time."

"Yes I can."  She looked at him with a superior smirk. 
"Contrary to what you might think, I can concentrate on
more than one thing at a time."

He brooded, staring at the insipid talk show host on 
the TV, arms folded across his chest.  He stole little 
sideways glances at her, watching as she divided her 
time between the stitchery and the talk show.  She was 
dressed in her bath robe, hair still damp from the 
shower.  The white terrycloth would never be considered 
sexy by his standards, but the bare length of leg 
showing through the slit in it would.  A  thought came 
to him then.  With a wolfish smile he said, "So you can 
concentrate on more than one thing at a time?"

"Uh huh."

"And whatever else you're doing doesn't cause you to 
mess up on your stitches?"

"Nope."

"I see."  He licked his lips in anticipation.  "How 
about we put that to the test?"

"What are you talking about?"  Her exasperation was 
obvious.

"Do you contend that you can keep concentrating on your
cross stitch, no matter what I do to distract you?"

She wrinkled her brow, clearly not following him.  "Ye-
e-s."

"Good."  He sat back and closed his eyes.

She gave him one last puzzled look and then bent back 
to her thread and material.

When he got up off the couch she didn't notice.

When he knelt in front of her and ran his hands from 
her ankles to her bare thighs, pushing the robe out of 
his way, she *did* notice.  "Wha--?"

"You can concentrate on more than one thing at a time," 
he interrupted, mimicking her earlier words.  "No more 
talking -- unless you want to forfeit."

Lips clamped shut, she picked her stitching back up and
stared at it intently. 

He continued to caress her thighs, slowly edging her 
legs further and further apart, until he could just see 
the dark shadow of her pussy.  His hands urged her to 
sit closer to the edge of the couch, and she sighed 
deeply, like she was put out, but she slid to the edge.

The robe was fanned open, and he could see that she was
naked underneath, at least from the waist down. Good, 
it would make it easier for him.  

He could smell just the barest hint of her musk now, 
and it aroused him.  His whole hand brushed tenderly 
over the dark patch of hair above her lips, then moved 
downward. The contrast of feeling her wiry hair and 
then her smooth shaved lips excited him even more. He 
kept his hand resting there on her outer lips, 
delighting in their softness, until slowly, 
deliberately, he spread them apart.

Her juices had moistened her inner lips, causing them 
to look like petals caressed by the morning dew.  His 
middle finger slid deep inside her, and he smiled as he 
felt her body tense.  He drew his finger out, slippery 
with her juices, and ran it across his lips, then 
licked his lips.  Tangy, as always.

He glanced up, but she was still working on the cross
stitch, though her breathing wasn't as steady as it had
been just five minutes earlier.  Satisfied that he was
getting to her, he turned his attention back to her 
pussy.  He dipped his finger into her again, and then 
ran his finger lightly over her clit.  It hardened 
instantly.  Slightly spreading two fingers, he ran them 
along either side of her clit and back into her pussy. 
In and out, again and again, each time pressing tighter 
against her clit. 

He bent forward, and starting at her tightly puckered 
ass, licked her all the way up to her clit.  He heard 
her gasp.  He kept his two fingers inside of her, as 
his tongue danced in tight circles around her clit.  He 
switched then, his fingers pressing and rubbing on her 
little button, while his tongue plunged in and out of 
her.

Her breathing was ragged, and her hips were moving just
the slightest bit back and forth, in time with the
movements of his tongue.  

He slid his other hand beneath her, one finger pressing
against her ass - not sliding in, but putting enough
pressure that she couldn't help but feel it, and wonder
just when he *would* slip it in.

She spread her legs even wider, and he knew she was 
about to lose it.  He didn't quicken his pace, just 
kept it nice and steady.  

She came with a tightening of her thighs and a flow of
liquid honey on his tongue, her hands gripping his 
head, pressing it against her pussy.

After the last wave of pleasure had left her spent and
sated, she untangled her hands from his hair, and 
leaned back on the couch.  He grinned up at her, his 
the look of the cat that ate the canary.  

"What does your cross stitch look like, dear?"

"I'll be ripping stitches out for at least a day."  She
smiled back at him.  "But I don't give a damn."

"Still say you can concentrate on more than one thing 
at a time?" 

She stood up and dropped the robe to the floor.  
Looking down at him, she held out a hand.   "Why don't 
we go upstairs and find out?"

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