index


Message-ID: <34713asstr$1011010219@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: nickurfe@yahoo.com (Nicholas Urfe)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 14 Jan 2002 07:08:40 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} cuyahoga.002 [urfe] [new]
Date: Mon, 14 Jan 2002 07:10:19 -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

.
                                                  ::

                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls

                                                  ::

Vanessa Cuyahoga drives a red convertible Miata very, very fast,
fishing in her bag with one hand as she hits the onramp, singing along
with the stereo, Is it my drunkenness or my first-born's kiss that
makes my second-born's hips sway like there is no tomorrow..!

Out pops her hand with a cell phone, which she drops in her lap,
unreeling the earbead and microphone. She plugs the earbead in, flips
open the phone, and says, Sam.

The phone dials.

The lesson of Sodom is, you can lead a horse to water but you can't
make him, no no no - Hey, sis. How's it going?

No, I didn't get your message.

Well, fuck. I just ran out on the Lappalainens to make our date -

Yes, actually. Yes, I did. I did! Both of them. I'm practically
sitting in a puddle of come, I left so fast. There's a towel -

Well. If we were still having lunch at Scalia's, I'd give you all the
gory details.

Yes. Both of them. At the same time - but you're being a bitch, so -

I don't care about Richie! I'm not fucking Richie.

Yeah? When's he getting there?

Five minutes? Uh huh. And you're ready for him? Yeah? What are you
wearing?

Uh huh.

Oh, I like that. You look really good in that. So he's never seen the
- ?

Really. I'm the only one you've ever - ?

Well. You must like him a lot, then.

Vanessa's yelling over the wind that flutters her hair like a dark
rippling sheet. Both hands on the wheel, right foot gunning the engine
in a growling pull past a semi, she leans her left leg over, open,
resting her left knee against the door.

Well, if you weren't being such a bitch I'd tell you all about it.
Both of them. At the same time. I had Marko in my ass and Timo in my
cunt, and they - or maybe it was the other way around, but -

I hiked up my skirt so I wouldn't leak all over it. I'm sitting
bare-assed on a towel doing eighty-five on the Loop -

I bet you would. I bet you would. And I'd let you lick up every drop.
Vanessa is driving with one hand now. The other has unbuttoned the car
coat she's wearing and is toying with the hem of her microskirt, there
in her lap.

What I was going to do, says Vanessa, I was going to walk up to you in
Scalia's, I was going to stand in front of you and let you smell me.
Let you smell them on me. I was going to grab your hand and let you
feel how wet I am. Run your fingers in the come leaking out of my ass
and out of my pussy. I was going to let you lick your fingers clean. I
was going to smear it on your lips and your chin and let you like my
fingers clean, and then I was going to kick your chair over and let
you fall on the floor and I was going to kneel over you, there in the
restaurant, and let you lick it all up, every drop, while everyone
watched. And I was going to rip off your pants and eat you and eat you
until you begged me to stop. Right there on the floor of Scalia's. And
then I was going to kiss you, and kiss you, but you're being such a
goddamn bitch, what the fuck am I supposed to do with the rest of my
afternoon? Huh? Fucking Richie.

Nah, it was just a ratty old pair of black satin undies. I knew I was
going to leave 'em a souvenir. Yeah.

He there yet? No?

So tell me.

Uh huh.

Oh, yeah. Yeah.

Oh, boy.

Vanessa has planted her left foot on the bulge of the wheel well, and
has tugged her skirt up to her waist. One hand on the wheel, cutting
into the right lane around a dirty van, the fingers of her other hand
sliding along the lips of her pussy, glistening, slick.

Oh, boy. You know, I - I could be there -

Five minutes. Less than. I'm serious, I could -

I'm serious, says Vanessa. Somewhere far back, a siren sounds.

I'm serious! Imagine - imagine the look. He walks in, and there's two
of us, diving into each other, we look up -

He'd love it. He'd love it. It's - shit. Shit.

There's a fucking cop, that's what. Shit. Vanessa snaps the phone
closed, her fingers leaving wet smears on the matte grey plastic.

The unmarked car is crowding Vanessa, lights flashing in the grille
and on the dashboard, siren wailing. She sits up, shit, shit, fuck,
tugging at her skirt, braking, pulling to the left shoulder.

Shit.

Vanessa yanks the earbead out of her ear.

The cop's footsteps crunch on the gravel by the guardrail. Ma'am? It's
a woman's voice, a woman in the uniform, white T-shirt peeking out
from under her black shirt, hands in backless black leather gloves,
velcro strips open and dangling, one hand hooked on the weight of the
gun and the swaggerstick cocking her hips just so. Ma'am? You have any
idea how fast you were going?

Vanessa squints up at the cop, backlit by a whitehot sky. Too fast, I
imagine, she says, with a small rueful smile.

The cop says nothing. She's bareheaded, blond. Her eyes are hidden
behind dark mirrorshades. The gleaming lipstick red of Vanessa's car
shines in their depths.

I'm sorry, says Vanessa, I didn't -

What color is your underwear? says the cop.

Vanessa blinks. What?

What kind of underwear are you wearing?

I don't think that's any -

Step out of the car. Ma'am. Step out of the car. I'm not going to ask
you again.

Vanessa opens the door and steps out. The cop catches the door when
she tries to shut it, and leans over, plucking out the towel. Vanessa
watches, mouth open as if to say something, as the cop sniffs the
towel, then wads it up and throws it at her. Vanessa manages not to
drop it in the dust.

Clean yourself up, says the cop.

Excuse me? says Vanessa.

You reek. You've just been fucking and you reek of it. Clean yourself
up, now. Your legs. Your vagina. Your anus. Clean yourself.

And Vanessa dabs at her thighs with the towel.

Like you mean it, whore, says the cop. In a minute I'm going to flip
you over and frisk you and I don't want to smell the stench of the guy
you've just fucked. I want his sperm wiped clean.

And Vanessa spread her legs a little, hunching herself over, dabbing
at her pussy with the towel. Theirs, she says, in a small voice.

What? says the cop.

Their sperm, says Vanessa, louder, looking up into the mirrorshades.
Their come. There were two of them. Brothers. At the same time.

Turn around, says the cop, after a moment. Plant your hands on the
hood. Bend over.

It's hot, says Vanessa, gingerly placing her hands on the bright red
hood.

Do it, whore, says the cop. She kicks Vanessa's legs apart as she
plucks the swagger stick from her belt.

You do this often? says Vanessa. This how you get your -

The cop grabs the back of Vanessa's head and mashes it into the hood.
Let me tell you how this is, says the cop. She lays the swagger stick
on the hood next to Vanessa's face and never taking the one hand from
the back of Vanessa's head plucks a set of handcuffs from her belt and
whips them open. This looks like just another bust, the cop says. No
one's going to stop. No one's going to slow down. The cop rings one of
Vanessa's wrists and drags over the other and rings that one, too.
Nothing out of the ordinary, right here in broad daylight. And when
it's over and done, she says, you won't do a damn thing. You won't say
anything to anyone. You can't. Who'd believe you? Besides. And the cop
bends over Vanessa, pressing her to the hot hood of the car, her
gloved fingers knotting in Vanessa's hair. Besides, says the cop. I
think you like this. Don't you. Don't you.

Vanessa's eyes are fixed on the thick black swagger stick, lying just
inches away from her nose. Bring it on, says Vanessa, her voice rough.

Ordinaily, says the cop, hiking herself up, I let them lick the stick
first. Ordinarily. She picks it up, twirling it lightly on the hood
before Vanessa's face. But I think you didn't do a very good job
cleaning yourself. The cop draws the tip of the stick along Vanessa's
back, rumpling the loose car coat. I think you're still wet. The stick
drops then to nose against Vanessa's thigh, down and along the bare
length of it to the hollow of her knee. I think you're wet and ready
for it. The cop lets go of Vanessa's head and draws her cuffed hands
out of the way, flipping up the little black skirt. Squeezes Vanessa's
ass with her black-gloved fingers. I think, says the cop, I think you
can take it straight.

Vanessa closes her eyes as the tip of the swagger stick brushes her
pussy.

Oh, yes, says the cop, her voice barely audible over the traffic
flying past them not five yards away. Oh, yes. I think so.

And Vanessa groans as the swagger stick works its way inside her.

See? says the cop, licking her lips. See? Wet and loose. Just like I
told you. Whore. Wet and loose. Wet and loose. She holds the stick to
one side and a little behind her, by the jutting handle, and she jerks
her wrist a little as she shoves it in and out, and in and out. No one
knows, murmurs the cop. No one cares. No one can tell. What I'm doing
to you on the hood of your own goddamn car. No one. Whore. You like
that? Do you? You like that?

Work it, says Vanessa, her voice rough. Work it.

The cop grabs the back of Vanessa's head again and bangs it into the
hood, forcing the swagger stick and wrenching it around with her other
hand. Vanessa roars, her hands thrashing against the cuffs. Fuck, she
screams, fuck! You like that? says the cop. Fuck, stop! Please! You
like that? Do you? Whore. Please. You like that. Don't you. Please
stop it. Oh, please.

The cop jerks the swagger stick out of Vannesa and steps back. Raises
one black-gloved hand and wipes her mouth on the back of it, where the
glove is open, baring sweat-slick skin. You like it. Maybe, says the
cop, maybe I should stick it up your ass.

No, says Vanessa.

I should do that, says the cop. You've been fucked there before.
You've been fucked up the ass, haven't you.

No, says Vanessa. It's too. Too big. Too hard. Please.

You'd like it, says the cop. You would. Whore.

Please, says Vanessa.

And then the cop tosses the swagger stick onto the hood, near
Vanessa's head. Lick it, says the cop, her voice quiet again, hard to
hear over the roar of traffic. Lick it clean. You made it filthy. It
reeks. Lick it clean.

Vanessa swallows. Closes her eyes. Lifts her head a little, squirming
on the hood, to hike herself over. The end of the swagger stick is wet
and gleaming, a milky sheen. A smear mars the glossy red finish of the
hood where it struck. Her eyes closed, Vanessa licks the swagger
stick.

The cop reaches out and Vanessa flinches at the touch of the gloved
hand on her bare thigh. Kiss it, says the cop, her voice crooning.
Kiss it. Kiss it. Stroking Vanessa's skin with one gloved hand,
gently, her thigh, her ass, under the car coat and the camisole along
her back. There is a flash of light, and another. Vanessa looks up.
Stop, says the cop. Don't look up. I didn't say you could look up.

Vanessa, breathing heavily through her nose, her dark eyes shining,
wet, does not look down.

There is another flash of light. God, says the cop, tucking her
palm-sized digital camera back into her shirt pocket. You are a piece
of work, aren't you.

Are we done here? says Vanessa.

The cop shakes her head. Before I let you off with a warning, says the
cop, I have to finish frisking you. Stay there.

The cop kneels behind Vanessa, her gloved hands stroking Vanessa's
legs, her ankles above the black sensible shoes, her calves, her
shins, along her knees back and front, her thighs. All along her
thighs. Her buttocks, her hips. Back to her thighs. Reaching up and
under, stroking with black leather thumbs that are now glossy and wet.
Vanessa's pussy opens easily, and the cop smiles as she licks it.

Driving so fast down the Loop, seventy-five miles an hour though you
slow down a little like everyone else when you see the flashing lights
in the back of the unmarked cop car. A woman, handcuffed, bent over
the hood of a red convertible, the cop kneeling behind her, frisking
her - the cop's face? the woman, legs spread? - No. Couldn't possibly.
Anyway, you're driving too fast. It's past. It's gone.

Vanessa grits her teeth and closes her eyes and presses her forehead
against the hood of her car and sets her feet in the gravel and balls
her hands into fists that strain against the handcuffs and she says
ranh! and unh! and Oh, oh, oh fuck, oh fuck -

The cop stands up behind her, and licks her lips, and raises one
black-gloved hand and wipes her mouth on the back of it, where the
glove is open, baring sweat-slick skin. Then she takes her keys from
the belt where they hang by the black nine-milimeter pistol and she
unlocks one cuff. Stand up, she says.

Vanessa, slowly, shakily, stands and turns around, rubbing the bare
wrist. Then she holds out the other, cuffs a-dangle, as she reaches up
to rub her temple. The cop shakes her head. You keep them, she says. A
warning. Drive safely, or.

And the cop reaches past Vanessa, who carefully stands very still, and
the cop picks up her swagger stick and slots it still wet into her
belt and marches back to her unmarked car without once looking back.

Vanessa takes two careful steps to the door of her car. Resting her
bare hand on it, she reaches in, cuffs a-jingle, and grabs the towel,
spreading it back across the driver's seat. Carefully, she opens the
door and climbs inside. Starts the motor. Sits there a moment.

The cop has not moved.

Fuck it, says Vanessa under her breath. Fuck you.

She guns the motor. Gravel spits. She roars into the left-most lane in
front of a big luxury SUV who blares his horn and stands on his brakes
as the Miata slips across in front of it into the next, empty lane.

Vanessa's hands are trembling on the wheel. Damn it, she says. Goddamn
it.

The cop watches her go, wiping the end of her swagger stick on a clean
white handkerchief. Then she switches off her cherries and opens a
black leather notebook on the seat next to her. Flips a few pages in.
Pulls out a small yellow pencil. Under the heading August, she makes a
sixth hash mark. Closes the notebook. Tucks the pencil away.

Next, says the cop.

                                                  ::
                                                  
                                            as falls cuyahoga,
                                      so falls cuyahoga falls
                                             an object lesson.002
                                                 
                                                          --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.
"The Lesson of Sodom (According to Lot)" by Momus.

.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+