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Message-ID: <34650asstr$1010747408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: nickurfe@yahoo.com (Nicholas Urfe)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 11 Jan 2002 06:33:09 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} cuyahoga.001 [urfe] [new]
Date: Fri, 11 Jan 2002 06:10:08 -0500
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.
                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

Vanessa Cuyahoga is not a small woman, but her heels kicked off, she
only comes up to Marko Lappalainen's collarbone. And even though she's
supporting some of her weight with her bare feet propped on the
counter top, he holds the rest easily enough with hands the size of
soup plates under her thighs. She leans back against his broad chest
and reaches up and back with one hand to stroke his cheek. Her eyes
get wide as he lifts her, a little. Ah ah, she says. Wait a minute.
Wait for Timo.

Timo Lappalainen is three inches shorter and just as blue-eyed and
sandy-haired and naked as his brother. Grinning, he sidles up, his
back to the counter, ducks under one of those amazing lean legs the
flawless color of Danish wood, and stands up, carefully, between them,
facing her, his back to the counter. He hooks hands only slightly
smaller than soup plates under her knees and pulls and lifts and leans
down to swallow her mouth with his. His cock, glaring purpled cockeye
through a milky membrane of latex, disappears under the hem of her
glossy black microskirt. Mmf, she says, pulling away from his lips.
Wait, she says, licking the dusting of golden stubble on his chin.
Wait. Let's get Marko in first.

She leans back against Marko, high enough now that her head nestles
comfortably between his cheek and shoulder. He hefts her a little, and
she giggles. No, she says. Ooh. Not, uh.

Um, he says.

Help him, she says to Timo. Reach under - there. Spread my - that's
it. That's it. Oh. Right there. Oh boy. Now. In. In. Push, that's -
oh. Oh, boy.

Ranh, says Marko.

Oh, you're in, she says. You're in. You're all the way in.

Hey, says Timo.

Just a, she says. Just a minute. Let me -

Come on, says Timo.

Get in there, says Marko.

Fuck, says Vanessa. Can't I just, just enjoy the moment?

But Timo's hands have already pushed up her skirt and there's her
pussy, the lips parted slightly, glistening in the sunlight. He runs
his fingers lightly along the skin above it, shaved smooth, bare. Like
a little girl's, he says, softly. Like a little girl's.

Like a stripper's, says Marko.

Vanessa arches her back, the hem of her black satin camisole riding up
her taut belly. She tilts her head back to bite at Marko's ear. Shut
up, she says. She looks at Timo then, fixes his pale blue gaze with
hers, dark and steely. Well? she says. Well? You wanna fuck this
little girl? You gonna? You gonna fuck this little girl?

He licks his lips.

Your brother's cock is already up my ass. All the way. You'd better
get inside now or this won't be a fair fight - and there's Timo
already grabbing her hips and ducking his knees a little. She reaches
down to spread herself, just enough, and as he slips inside the most
extraordinary look crosses his face. Vanessa grins, and then the grin
slides off as Marko shifts his weight, as Timo pushes closer,
squeezing her between them. Her eyelids flutter over her eyes. Her
lips tremble. Her toes curl, one foot slipping a little on the slick
tile edge of the counter. Oh, she says, oh, oh boy, so full...

I can, says Timo. I can feel you.

Yes, says Marko. You can.

Okay, says Vanessa. Okay. Slow and easy to start. Lift, and - work
together. Lift, and -

Marko's hands shift, move down Vanessa's thighs a little as Timo's
squeeze the cheeks of her ass, wedged against his brother's hips. They
lift Vanessa a little, Marko grunting, and she flexes her legs and
swings forward a little and down, and Timo groans. And again.
Vanessa's holding onto Timo's shoulders, squeezes them. And again.

Now, says Vanessa, now, you might think you've got an advantage over
Marko. You might think - oh, boy - you might think because my ass is
so tight that you've got an advantage over Marko. Oh. That he can't -
oh, like that, like that, yes - that he can't hold out. But. But. Oh,
boy, faster, a little faster, because. Because. Because I can do
things with my cunt -

- and a wave passes up Vanessa's body, rolling along her spine, her
tits slithering under the black satin cami as she looks up past
Marko's grimace into the light-washed ceiling and then back down, down
again to Timo, whose eyes have just crossed -

Of course, says Vanessa, of course, oh, it can't help but do things to
my, to my ass, too. It's all connected. It's all connected. Faster.
Faster. Come on, goddammit. Come on. I don't care, I don't care which
of you comes last, but. Oh, boy. Oh, oh boy. But I'd damn well, damn
well better come first...

Vanessa pumps her legs, controlling somewhat the thrusts up and down,
mitigating what the Lappalainen brothers do with their hands and legs
and hips. Her foot slips on the counter. Marko catches her weight.
Timo lifts, grunting. Vanessa plants it again. Fucking. Fucking in the
breakfast nook, a late-morning pot of coffee steaming on the table
beyond them, forgotten, next to rolled-up plans, a scale model of a
house, three or four low, flat levels staggered down a molded hillside
littered with tiny trees like green spun sugar. Lots of clear plastic
standing in for floor-to-ceiling windows. A broad square pool ending
like a cliff, covered with a sheet of blue saran wrap for water, two
tiny figures as big as the first joint of your thumb lying beside it
in painted-on bikinis, blue and yellow. A Matchbox Audi in the little
driveway at the top of the hill, parked by a long low wall made of
thick white Bristol board.

Oh, says Vanessa with a grimace, oh boy, eyes squeezed shut as her
mouth drops open, panting shallowly, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh, her legs
folding and Marko moving with her squashing Timo, groaning, against
the counter, squashing Vanessa, oh, oh boy, between them, oh, oh fuck!
And Marko holds her, and Timo holds her, and she shudders between
them, her head lying back on Marko's shoulder, one hand poised,
fingers curling, by Timo's head. Oh. Oh, boy. Fuck. Yeah. Fuck.

Well? says Marko, and he kisses her cheek.

Well? says Vanessa. Well? Well what? What? You tired? You want to put
me down?

No, says Marko, as Timo snorts. No.

Then come on, goddammit. Come on. Come on.

Vanessa kicks her legs against the counter and humps up and back and
down again, grinding between them, down and again, down and again.
Marko plants his legs, his bare ass quivering, thick muscles taut as
they thrust to meet Vanessa. Timo leans back, butt against the
counter, looking up as Vanessa hikes herself forward to lick his
nipple, to bite it as her nails dig red lines into his shoulder. They
fall into a fevered rhythm, panting, all of them, harsh and noisily.
Sweat slicks Vanessa's arms, her throat, Marko's forehead, his back,
Timo wipes it out of his eyes quickly with a shaking hand and then
back into the rhythm of it, faster now, and faster. Leaning back now
Vanessa reaches up for the back of Marko's head and draws it down, his
neck straining, into a clumsy kiss. Syncopation. Then Marko hunches
forward as Vanessa tilts her head out of the way, looking sidelong
down her nose with a satisfied smile, her face still though her head
still bobs with the rhythm, as Marko's lips open like fingers to grasp
his brother's mouth, as his tongue licks Timo's lips, and Timo's
tongue, as Marko's teeth flash and as he takes his brother's lower lip
between them, pulling, and Timo groans, his fingers clenching,
grinding, his nails leaving red crescent moons along the flesh of
Vanessa's ass, and still Vanessa's smile does not shift or alter in
any way.

But it's Marko breaks the rhythm, it's Marko whose buttocks jerk
sharply, and again, whose knees threaten to buckle. Vanessa's feet
loose their purchase but she can't fall, not now. Borne up on Marko's
thrusts they lurch into Timo, his head back, whooping even as his
breath gets ragged, as some muscle in his throat jerks, and jerks, and
jerks again, like someone's flipping a switch somewhere, on and off,
on and off.

Vanessa's toes are touching the floor. Fingers of one hand spread
across the bare slick plank of Timo's chest, she absently kisses his
throat as he kisses his brother's mouth. Marko has let go her thighs -
it's their pelvises holding her up now, stilled, but trembling - and
one massive hand cups a tit, swallows it. Marko kisses his brother's
forehead and then rests his nose on the back of Vanessa's head.

We should, says Timo.

Yes, says Marko.

What, ah, says Vanessa, lifting her mouth from Timo's neck. What time
is it?

Eleven thirty, says Marko. Possibly later.

Twenty of, says Timo.

Shit, says Vanessa. I've, uh - Marko ducks his knees a little, pushes
her hips - I've got a thing - there's Marko's condomed cock, wet and
shining, Timo grimaces, ducking, as Vanessa steps away, and there's
his, shining, wet...

The pool? says Marko, shovelling his damp cock into the black jeans
he's just tugged over his hips. The plans? They work for you?

Vanessa looks up from working one bare foot into a narrow black
squared-off shoe. Settling her heel into it, frowning, she says, The
pool. And then walks across the nook to the table, past Timo, naked,
pouring himself some coffee. The pool, she says, is fine.

But? says Marko.

Vanessa's toying with the little figure just bigger than her
fingertip, the one in the painted-on blue bikini. If, she says, you,
either of you, lay a hand on one of my daughters. She looks up, eyes
cool and dark and clear, her mouth crooked a little at the corners.
You have the contract, she says. But if that happens, anything like
that, I'll see you crucified.

I'm sure, says Marko, we understand each other.

Vanessa hooks her thin black car coat up with one finger and shrugs
into it. It's got six brass buttons. Good, she says.

Your, uh, says Timo. Your panties?

Vanessa looks up from slipping the top button into its buttonhole. Her
eyebrows quirk up. She shoots a floppy cuff to check her watch. She
shakes her head. Keep them, she says.

And she leaves, slotting black Ray Bans over her eyes, sensible heels
clip-clopping on the red tile floor. Didn't even bother to finishing
buttoning her coat.

I'll take some of that coffee, says Marko.

                                                  ::
                                                
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.001
                                                 
                                                          --n.
                                                  ::
                                                  
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/nickurfe/www/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com

This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.

.

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