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Message-ID: <33929asstr$1007885404@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: DrSpin <drspin@newsguy.com>
Subject: {ASSM} First Time Repost (3): Just Paul (MF) ~ by DrSpin
Date: Sun,  9 Dec 2001 03:10:04 -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

Just Paul (MF)
by DrSpin (aka Neil Anthony)
(first ever repost - originally posted November 1999) 

---------------------------------------------------------
* The author welcomes comments and opinions from readers 
and is invariably motivated to respond. Write to:
drspin@newsguy.com or neil@ruthiesclub.com

* DrSpin's Standard Disclaimer: 
I write and you read, if you care to. That's all there is 
to it. Any reader is offended should not have been here 
in the first place.
---------------------------------------------------------

The pea-brained dog was barking incessantly just outside 
the window and I excused myself from the dinner table to 
investigate. That's what I said, anyway. The old bastard 
was half mad and I was going to investigate by inserting a 
shoe into its midribs. 

The dog was not quite mad enough not to see me coming and 
he shot off into the darkness. I wandered around our large 
garden muttering for a while and returned to the house via 
the back door. Or I almost did. On the way I looked in 
through the kitchen window and saw Paul come up behind my 
wife as she was piling plates beside the sink, reach around 
her with both his arms and place his hands on her breasts. 
She went on with what she was doing as if he wasn't there. 
I watched him move his hands across her breasts, having 
himself a substantial and prolonged grope. She finished 
stacking the plates, slid out and away from him and left 
the kitchen to return to the dining room. Paul stayed in 
the kitchen and I lingered beside the window to see what 
would happen next. 

I was stunned. Paul was an old friend. He wasn't a close 
friend but he was part of a large group of us who gathered 
every now and then. What the hell did he think he was 
doing? And what the hell was Clara doing by doing nothing 
to stop him? Was there something I didn't know about? 

As I watched, Paul unzipped his trousers and extracted his 
stiff dick. He was a big guy and so was his dick. It stuck 
hard and long out of his trousers. Clara came back into the 
kitchen carrying more plates and he stood directly in front 
of her with his dick sticking out. She just detoured around 
him as though he was a chair in the middle of the room and 
dumped the plates on the bench. 

Again he came up behind her and put his hands on her 
breasts and again she acted as if nothing untoward was 
occurring. Even though it was, because now his hard dick 
was pressing into her with its own urgent message. Once 
more, though, she completed her task and twisted easily 
away from him and disappeared from the room. Paul zipped 
himself up and followed. 

I returned to the dining table and Paul sat there 
cheerfully. So did Clara; if not cheerfully, then at least 
unconcerned. I was greatly disturbed but masked my feelings 
and waited until they'd all gone home.

"I saw something nasty in the kitchen," I said to Clara.

She looked about her in alarm. She hated crawling insects. 
"Where?"

"No, earlier. I saw Paul groping you and exposing himself."

"Oh that," she said, as though it was a more attractive 
alternative than a cockroach. "Don't worry about it. That's 
just Paul."

"I'll say it was."

"No," she said, dismissing my concern with a wave of her 
hand. "He does it to everybody. We just ignore him."

"Who's we?"

"Us women. The wives. He's being doing that stupid stuff 
for ages."

"What? To all of you? What about Margo?" Margo was Paul's 
wife.

"She knows. She was the one who told us to ignore him."

I was incredulous. "Really?"

"Yes, she says he wants us to make a fuss. That's why he 
does it."

"Well, how about I make a fuss. I might just give him a 
biff on the side of the head with a baseball bat."

"Don't fret. He's totally harmless."

I was fuming. What a jerk. He gets to feel up my wife and 
stick his dick out and yet nobody's concerned and he's 
harmless? 

"What say I did what he does," I said. "What say I feel up 
the other wives in their kitchens?"

"But you couldn't do that," she said.

"Why not? He does."

"Yes, but you're not harmless. It would mean something if 
you did it."

Stymied and unsatisfied, I resolved to keep an eye on 
Paul's behaviour in future. The images stayed with me, 
however, and rankled my normal good humour. I couldn't stop 
thinking about it. Three weeks later we were at dinner at 
Mike and Kerry's place and still I couldn't get it out of 
my mind. Paul hadn't been invited so I had no need to keep 
an eye on anybody. Except, as it turned out, myself.

I don't know what made me do it. No idea. I have no 
recollection of a decision being considered or made. I 
found myself in the kitchen with Kerry, my arms around her 
from behind, my hands on her small but tidy breasts.

"Paul," she said with a fair degree of irritation. "Stop 
it." I felt her body stiffen as she realised it was not 
Paul because he wasn't there. She squirmed around to face 
me and my arms continued to enclose her. 

She looked at me in blank surprise. "Ian," she said. "What 
on earth are you doing?"

She was so close. My arms were around her shoulders and 
hers were loosely around my waist. Her eyes flicked across 
my face. Her mouth was inches away. I kissed her. It seemed 
like the natural thing to do in the circumstances. She 
tilted her head and kissed me back. Mouth to mouth, 
entwined, we lingered. It was nice. Pleasant. Kerry was 
nice. I liked her. I was finding I liked her a lot. We were 
engrossed in the kiss. Kerry was more than nice. In fact 
she was ... we broke apart, breathing heavily. 

Her eyes searched mine. "Gosh," she said huskily, a flush 
on her cheeks and a catch in her voice. She moved to break 
away and I stood back. "Wait," she whispered urgently. 
"I'll be back in a second."

This wasn't going to plan. Not that I had a plan. I was 
just doing what Paul did. I was unzipping my trousers in 
tune with this when Kerry returned, carrying plates. She 
stopped instantly, looking at my hands on my zip. She 
placed the plates carefully on the bench, her eyes wide and 
not leaving me. "You must be stark staring mad," she said. 

Suddenly she giggled, lifting a hand to her mouth. "You're 
completely crazy," she said. "You can't do anything like 
that here." 

But she was smiling nervously and her eyes were gleaming. 
"Oh heavens," she said, and swiftly unlatched the top three 
buttons on her dress. 

She moved in close, arms out like a slow dancer, dress open 
and white bra showing, putting up her face to be kissed. 
The invitation was inescapable. I kissed her and slid my 
hand into her dress. She kissed me back and her hand slid 
into my trousers, worked into my briefs and clasped my very 
hard erection. We kissed. She feathered my cock lightly and 
I slid my fingers across and around the diamond-hard nipple 
of her right breast.

Kerry murmured into my mouth and withdrew her lips. "Holy 
white-haired father," she said shakily. She was a 
practising Catholic. "I haven't done anything this sexy for 
years." 

Then, patently making up her mind, she pulled away and 
buttoned herself. "We must get back," she said. "Listen, 
tomorrow's my early day. I'll be home by one. Can you make 
it?"

Sure I could. Easy. She took the expression on my face as 
assent, flashed a quick conspiratorial smile and left the 
room. 

Sure I could. No problem. But would I? And did I want to 
anyway?

"You certainly went quiet tonight," Clara said as we drove 
home. I was still wrestling with the question.

I sighed. "I've done something stupid."

"What?"

"I tried to be something I'm not and now I have to face the 
consequences."

"Oh well," she said. "You've done that before." She thought 
I was talking about work. "Face the consequences and be 
damned."

You really think I'd take that as a free pass?

ENDS

* DrSpin/Neil Anthony is at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

* also at neil@ruthiesclub.com and at http://www.ruthiesclub.com

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