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Message-ID: <33440asstr$1005635407@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vinnie_tesla@yahoo.com (Vinnie Tesla)
Subject: {ASSM} Residues: Seven Very Short Dirty Stories
Date: Tue, 13 Nov 2001 02:10:07 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Residues: Seven Very Short Dirty Stories
By Vinnie Tesla

1: The Curse

"So?"

"So...we might as well not get started, y'know?" she said,
uncomfortable.

"But I still want to do it with you tonight. I mean, if you're
willing," he said hesitantly.

"You don't mind?" she asked, surprised.

"No, of course not,"  

"But what about the mess?"

"I've got dark towels, and there's laundry in the basement of the
 dorm. No problem.

Later:

"Oh my god," he said, laughing, "it went right through the
towel, and into my sheets. Can you give me a hand stripping the bed?
...Oh, and right into the mattress!

"I'm sorry!" she muttered, looking miserable

"Hey, no problem! It was worth it," he said, kissing her. She flinched
at the contact. "I just need to make sure to get fresh sheets on
before my roommate gets back."

"But what about the end of the year?"

"Huh. I guess we'll be passing it on to posterity. Hey, we should
sign and date it. Conceptual art!"

She started to giggle.

2: Parting Gift

They hugged goodbye rather chastely on the front porch; you never knew
when neighbors were looking. She unlocked her bicycle and, wincing
slightly, sat down on it. She looked over her shoulder, and her heart
jumped at the sight of him still standing on his porch waving. She
waved back, and set out. 

As she came to the big hill north of his house, she got up off of the
seat to put her weight onto the pedals. A thick drop of semen oozed
from her swollen, reddish anus and ran, ticklish and hot, down the
back of her steadily pumping thigh.

3: Party Favor

He returned to the party downstairs. As he passed through the kitchen,
she walked up to him with a cool little smile. She leaned in very
close to his face, and inhaled deeply through her nose. Her smile
broadened. "Your beard is damp," she told him. He stroked it, a little
self-consciously. 

"How was she?" she asked.

"Delicious," he answered.

4: Palimpsest

"One, two, three, four, and, on the opposite side, five. I wonder how
you got those bruises on your thigh." His voice was teasing, but his
stomach was in knots.

"I'm really pissed at him," she said, her eyes avoiding his, "I *told*
him I didn't want to have any marks for this weekend.

"Tsk! Boys!" his voice the same, his stomach unsoothed.

Later:

"Oh, wow," she sighed, rubbing her sore ass gingerly, her eyes
watering. "That was intense...you've got a heavy hand, lover." She
craned her neck to try to assess the damage. "I'm gonna be red for
days from those last few.

"Oops," he said.

5: Socks and Violence

We were still lying on our backs, gasping and sticky, when she caught
sight of the time, and sprang into action, frantically gathering her
clothes. After a moment, she enlisted his help in tracking them down.


One of her socks was behind the stereo. Her panties had somehow gotten
themselves wadded inside one leg of his corduroys, not to be
discovered
until we'd given up on them and he'd started to get dressed himself.
She
had to leave without the other sock. Two days later he found it: it
had
gotten thrown on top of the bookshelf on the other side of the room.

6: Scene of the Crime

"You *did* fuck her, didn't you?" she demanded furiously.

"It's none of your business," he repeated, glaring.

"You haven't even moved your stuff out yet!" she shouted.

"What does that prove? You may recall that you and I have broken
up. Which means that--"

"Wait a second-- I know!" She dashed into the bedroom, opened the
bottom dresser drawer, rifled through calculators, art supplies,
stacks of photographs. When they had thought they were going to have
sex, he had dashed out and bought a small box of condoms. When her
nerve had failed once again, it had found its way in a drawer of
miscellaneous forgotten items. Now it was missing. She felt a wave of
triumph at her detective work before the sobs started.

7: Flashbacks

The next day, he discovered that he couldn't read or hear the word
"blowjob"
or any of its synonyms or euphemisms without a heart-pounding wave of
recollection washing over him. Each time he would relive the moment
when, at her urging, he had tightly gripped her hair and roughly
shoved into her mouth until her nose was pressed against his
stomach. He would feel the texture of her hair, the pressure of her
throat; hear her muffled groans.

He felt like a shell-shocked veteran--scarred, perhaps permanently, by
terrible pleasure.

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