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Message-ID: <35001asstr$1012500602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sam Cornell" <cornell525@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Honey. I Mean Real Honey (FFM, FF) by Sam Cornell
Date: Thu, 31 Jan 2002 13:10:02 -0500
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Disclaimers:

If you shouldn't read this - don't.
If you don't want to read this - don't.
If you want to make money out of this - don't.

Honey. I Mean Real Honey (FFM, FF)

by Sam Cornell

Six weeks since the Christmas party. It was a great one. Well, the do itself 
was a little mediocre. Top night club turned over to an investment bank for 
a weekday evening. All the suits trying to disco likes it's 1976. But I 
guess you know what I mean. I had fun. Me and someone else. I don't know if 
she regrets it. But isn't that what Christmas parties are all about - 
thinking you're really having fun then waking up in the morning with a 
crushing sense of shame and embarrassment?

I haven't been in England that long, but it's always been a policy not to 
date (by which you can read screw) anyone I work with. Boy or girl. I 
wouldn't say I've struggled to get to be one of the youngest VPs the 
company's got ("and a woman too" as some people probably say) but it's a 
house of cards, and once you've marked yourself down in some inappropriate 
way, you'll find yourself near the top of the list when it comes to 
redundancy. That's just the way it is, and hey, London's a pretty big city, 
why restrict your hunting ground to where you work? Plus it's fun with 
people you don't know.

Which is all very well until you find yourself actually attracted to someone 
you work with. Then where does your tidy little rule go? It begins to seem a 
little fussy when every time you come into the office you have to bring a 
spare pair of knickers because you're getting so wet during the day.

And it gets more complicated still when the person you're attracted to is a 
woman. I suspect my reputation at work is frigid bitch, which is good by me 
because unknown to them I get to spend my weekends fucking men and women and 
no-one's there handing down judgment. But no way I want to be known as 
frigid bitch dyke. That would confirm way to many prejudices.

So you get the picture. Ironically, it wasn't even a question of lust at 
first sight. I thought Sally was pretty, sure, but that went for plenty of 
the girls at work, and there was nothing about them to have me considering 
breaking my rules. What was always striking, I'd have to say, is the color 
of her skin. Turns out her father's Jamaican and her mother's from London. 
Result - honey skin, absolutely stunning, like something gorgeous and edible 
has been melted into a pot and turned into woman. A little shorter than me 
(so not too short then), a trim figure with perky little titties, and dark 
curly hair about down to her shoulders.

But then I started to appreciate her a little more fully. She favored skirts 
that came down to just above her knee, and I thought "great calves, great 
knees, great legs!" Or the time she was working on a filing cabinet just 
outside my office, and she's squatting down and I can see all the curves of 
her ass, and I'm wishing it's ten at night and we're the only ones there and 
I can tease the material up, over the swell of her cheeks, and explore her 
honey body thoroughly.

Once you're imagination's caught, that's it, you're a prisoner. So I'm 
fluttering very time Sally's anywhere near me. I have a crush. One time I 
find I've followed her into the bathroom. She hasn't seen me. She goes into 
a cubicle. There are plenty of others free, but I choose the one next to 
her. What am I thinking? What am I going to do? Climb onto the seat and look 
over, saying "Hi Sally, don't mind me, I just wanted to see your pussy"? So 
I hear her clothing being moved, lifted, pulled down. My knickers are 
soaking wet, and I've slipped my right hand inside them.

Then I hear her start to pee. Now, never, ever, once, has that got me going, 
but I find myself excited by the thought of this hot young girl doing 
something so private and personal next to me, while I caress my slick 
button. I have an image of her sitting, probably a little bored, her 
knickers around her ankles, and then I find myself coming, almost choking 
myself as I struggle to keep silent. It's the closest I've come to a fit in 
my life, and then she's flushing and she's out. It's ten minutes before I 
can trust myself to move.

That's it, I thought, if you're diddling yourself over the girl going to the 
toilet, you've got to do something about it. But what?

Another problem (nothing but problems, see?) was the fact that Sally, I 
knew, was rampantly and happily hetero. Not a slut, but a normal twenty-one 
year old South Londoner who enjoyed taking boys home every now and then. How 
would she react if Sam, the frigid twenty-eight year old Yank (frigid but 
hot, I like to think) came on to her? Right, she'd be running her own solo 
version of the London marathon. I simply couldn't think of any way to even 
begin to make a move.

Until the office party. I guess the reason why they so often end in disaster 
is they represent an opportunity to achieve one of the year's heartfelt 
desires. You've always fancied that girl in the typing pool? Drink two 
bottles of wine and you'll just know she fancies you back.

Nothing so disastrous or artless for the frigid Yank. Drink a little, watch 
what goes on, get ready to make the most of any opportunities that come your 
way. Let Sally be the one to do things she regrets.

She is PA to a guy called Richard, they're sharing a table, so I spend a 
long time talking to him. He probably thinks I'm interested in him - ha, fat 
chance. I slip a couple of sly digs at Richard's expense and Sally laughs. 
I'm just one of the girls really.

Later I see Sally is talking to Donna, my PA. Another opportunity not to be 
missed. I order a bottle of champagne from the bar and join them. The girls 
are impressed and grateful. I say it's to thank Donna for her hard work 
during the year, but if she wasn't sitting next to that hot little thing she 
wouldn't get a glass of water from me.

So we're having a laugh and maybe Sally's thinking Sam isn't quite such a 
frigid bitch after all. The odd minor indiscretion at Richard's expense 
(he's long gone) can't hurt my cause. Trouble is, Donna's enjoying my 
company too, and although she's a looker in her own right, I'm not 
interested. What to do? While Sally slips off to the bathroom (I resist the 
temptation to follow) I talk about various work issues. That's enough for 
Donna, and as soon as Sally's back she announces she's off. My heart stops 
when she asks Sally if she's coming too, I point out the half-full bottle of 
champagne (a little desperately, I suspect, but Donna probably thinks I'm 
sad and lonely anyway) and Sally agrees to stay.

We sit and talk, I turn on my it's-an-important-client charm, and I can feel 
Sally enjoying herself. even if she probably just thinks I'm lonely, bored 
and letting my hair down for the first time.

The bottle's empty and if this were a typical pull I'd suggest we head back 
to mine, but that's too obvious for Sally - I can't run the risk of "she 
tried to pull me" rumors circulating around the office tomorrow. So I 
suggest we move on to Minsters, a monstrous cattle market on the edge of the 
City. "Come on, we're having fun, my treat," that sort of thing. Sally looks 
at her watch. A large part of her says "go home, now". But she is having 
fun, and she's a party girl, and the other large part says "party on". What 
I'm sure none of her is saying is "hey I could have sex with Sam."

"Don't worry about tomorrow, Sal. I'll square it with Richard. If I lean 
over his desk low enough he'll agree to anything." Sally laughs. She has a 
great laugh, like she's really having fun. It's not often I get turned on by 
a laugh.

"Yeah, why not?"

***

Minsters is heaving with the post-Christmas party crowd. This is where I 
have to be most careful - Sally is probably planning to cop off with some 
pissed suit, leaving me alone with one horny pussy. I focus my attention on 
her, at the same time showing suitable interest in the men.

In fact they're a ropey lot, all hair gel, unbuttoned shirts and loosened 
ties. The number of times I've heard London men (by which I mean anything 
from Vietnamese to Brazilian - this is a pretty cosmopolitan place) complain 
about how difficult it is to get laid while they dribble beer down the front 
of their shirt. And you wonder why I tend to prefer girls.

Anyway, I notice him because he stands out from this norm. His friends are 
all off their faces, yes, but he's a little bit more buttoned up. 
Good-looking, blonde, quite tall, well-dressed in a slightly unusual way. 
And fairly young, about the same age as Sally, which is helpful.

When I reckon he may be looking, I nudge Sally and point him out. Sure 
enough he clocks these two nice young things looking admiringly in his 
direction. Sally holds his gaze I see. No flies on her then.

We carry on talking and giggling in a way that is unbelievably girly for me, 
giving blondie the occasional eye. I start to get impatient - is he going to 
make a move or not? When I realize the answer is not, I change the plan. 
"Let's chat him up," I suggest to Sally, "see the look on his friends' 
faces." She doesn't even hesitate.

Of course as soon as we're over there his friends all think they're in with 
a chance with one or other of us. I tell them if we'd wanted to talk to 
dickheads we'd be talking to them. There's a few catcalls but they're too 
drunk to come up with anything worthwhile. A couple persist a little, but 
Sal and I brush them off lightly. She's as single-minded as me, tho I can't 
imagine she has the same end game in mind.

He's German, Karl, which explains the buttoned up bit. A dealer with a Swiss 
bank, but not a typical dealer. A real gent, polite, charming, friendly. 
Good-looking enough to persuade me I can go to bed with him. What I don't 
want to happen tho is for him to decide "I'm pulling the young one" leaving 
me with nothing after all my effort. Fortunately he's flattered enough from 
having our attention, and Sally too is showing the customary girl-girl 
loyalty, possibly mixed in with a little respect for someone who is 
effectively her boss.

I give it half an hour, and decide to move on. "Let's go back to my place. 
Drink some champagne, smoke a little pot." I can see Sally look a little 
surprised at this latest revelation. Karl, of course, is well on for going 
home with two keen young women, but Sally still has that "I have to be going 
home soon and it's a long way" look. I talk quietly into her ear. It's 
close, intimate contact and it gets me hot for what I want so badly to do. 
"Come on, this is fun. The company will pay for your cab home. Or there's 
the spare room if you like." Again, I suspect, the fact she should keep the 
boss happy is informing her thoughts. I love power, I really do. She agrees.

***

Back at my apartment (Docklands, penthouse, balcony over the river, 
woodburner which is now going nicely) I realize Karl is pretty blasted, but 
in a tight German kind of way. I start to get a little edgy - I've come so 
far, please don't let it go wrong now. My biggest fear is that Karl and Sal 
will make out, leaving me to either miss out or leap in like I'm desperate. 
So I ask Sal to help me with the champagne, and while we're in the kitchen I 
ask her.

"So, what do you reckon? Shall we?" She looks a little puzzled, maybe 
concerned. "Come on, Sally, don't tell me you've never tried it - two girls 
one guy." She swallows, deep. Obviously she hasn't. Now what I really want 
is two girls no guy, but I'm sure that would be too much of a leap in one 
go. I decide to play fair. "Hey no pressure. I did it back in college once" 
lie - many more times than that, and not just at college "and...it can be fun. 
Look - whatever you want, Sal." She looks out at Karl who is trying, badly, 
to roll a joint. Then she looks back at me. I know she's thinking about 
sharing a bed with me, seeing me naked, showing me her naked body, and I can 
feel all those familiar reactions, the glow in my pussy and the aching in my 
tits. She lingers on me a little, I think.

"Why not?" she says, and laughs. She's so natural.

Karl doesn't know what's hit him. He's still fumbling with the joint when 
Sally sits on his knee, and once again I can appreciate the swell of her 
ass. Just to show who's in charge I lean forward and kiss him full on the 
lips. He's a little mechanical, a little German, but as his drunk mind 
realizes he's actually going to fuck these two women he gets way more 
passionate.

Sally, I'm pleased to see, isn't wasting much time (I view this part as the 
hors d'oeuvre) and is massaging Karl's cock gently through his trousers. I 
can feel his hands reach up, brush past my aching tits, and then he's 
fondling Sally's tits through the material of her little black dress. I get 
a lot more excited at the thought I'm soon going to be seeing her body.

She's more of a performer than I expected. She pulls back from Karl, and 
slips her hands under the shoulder straps of her dress. I catch her eyes 
straying to me and I wonder "is she doing this for me as well as him?" She 
slides her straps down her arms, reaches behind for the hooks of her 
strapless bra, and then there they are, her honey tits the same golden color 
as the rest of her honey body. She's got lovely nipples too, narrower and 
longer than the norm, pointing out a good inch and crying out to be chewed 
like crazy.

Karl stops kissing me and turns to the task in hand. I'm out of the action 
now, but that's fine by me, I can do what I want while at the same time 
being a fully invited guest to the party.

Sal moves around so she is straddling Karl's legs, giving him full access to 
her tits. He seems to be biting quite hard but she's loving it, urging him 
on. I suspect she's enjoying the audience. Her hands reach down, a few 
delicate moves and she has sprung Karl's cock free of his trousers.

Now as the years have gone by I've found men less and less attractive, but 
one thing I think I'll always love is sucking cock. There's something about 
the smell, the taste of cock, the feel of it as it pushes past your lips, 
the invasion of your throat, the brush of pubic hair against your face. So 
I'm down there before Sally can steal my prize, I lick gently around the rim 
of his cockhead, the thrust he gives me warning that it won't take much and 
that's definitely not part of the plan.

I'm also conscious how close I am to Sally's pussy, only inches away, barely 
covered by the thin material of her dress and her knickers. I can smell her 
honey musk, and the temptation to lift her clothes aside and bury myself in 
her cunt is almost irresistible. Almost. Everything has its time.

So I'm very delicate as I take him between my lips, enjoying the salty 
taste, the feeling of rigid flesh in my mouth. I work him slowly, gently, 
before I'm worried about going any further, and I pull away, a thin line of 
saliva still connecting me to Karl's cock.

Karl is still snacking on Sally's tits, which is fair enough, so would I 
have been. I'm getting impatient now, there's not enough body parts to go 
around and I want to move onto the main attraction.

I stand behind Sally, squat down a little, and reaching over her shoulders 
and around her head I grab hold of Karl's head and kiss him hard, my tongue 
still salty from the taste of his cock. I don't think he notices. The real 
purpose of my maneuver is to press my titties against Sally's back, feel the 
hotness of my crotch pressing against that pert little ass. She doesn't pull 
away, in fact I'm sure I can feel her pushing back, encouraging my nipples 
to drill into her back. (Except I'm still fully clothed of course).

I figure she's up for pretty much anything by now, so move away from Karl's 
face, my lips brushing her shoulder and the exposed top half of her back as 
I drop down. I don't think Karl notices anything but I'm sure Sally's 
wondering where the hell I'm going. To heaven, honey, to heaven.

As I say, Sally is sitting straddling Karl's legs, towards him, away from 
me. Just how I like it. Her black dress has ridden up to let her legs part, 
and the hem sits just at the top of her firm golden thighs.

So I'm squatting down, about level with Sally's ass and Karl's knees. The 
anticipation builds. I'm going to do it. I'm going to get away with it.

I gently tug at the hem of Sal's dress, freeing it from where it was trapped 
against Karl's legs. It's floating free now. Then up, my fingers lightly 
brushing her thighs. I'd clocked earlier she wasn't wearing any pantyhose, 
and the dress was so tight there wasn't any chance of knickers. Sure enough 
I see the dark secret line of her ass crack dividing the twin mounds of her 
butt cheeks, and at the top the thin black material of a g-string plunging 
into her crack, the place I too want to disappear into.

I cup her cheeks, gently rubbing my fingers over the smooth flesh. Then I 
urge her forward, towards Karl. Fuck him, girl, fuck him, then I can get at 
you properly. They respond, and she moves above him, lowers herself down, 
and begins to build into a gentle rhythm.

I almost have Sally in the perfect position now. I reach up to her waist, 
and gently urge her to lean a little forward. That's it. My throat catches.

I don't know why, I really don't, but for me the single most erotic moment I 
can enjoy is when a young woman's ass opens up for me. Call me disgusting, 
call me a pervert, but I adore, I simply faint, when a hot girl exposes her 
dark, secret and (let's be quite frank here) smelly little hole for me. It's 
like the most private shameful thing revealed, laid bare to my view.

Of course her g-string runs like a narrow black strip down her crack, partly 
obscuring my view, but I can make out the edges of her crater either side of 
it and one or two wispy black hairs. Slowly, fearful Sally will object to my 
moves, I reach down and lift the string to one side. I sit back. Half of 
what turns me on is that she knows what I'm doing, she knows that frigid 
bitch Yank boss from hell is kneeling behind her, staring at her vulnerable 
little anus. Will her face be burning, embarrassed in case the odors and 
traces of a long day will be a little too obvious? Or does she love it, 
revel in it, desire me there, want me to be between her cheeks, proud, 
willing, sharing, yeah this is me, this is my ass, my tight dirty smelly 
ass, shit and all?

Sally reaches behind with both hands and draws her cheeks further apart, 
opening the blackness of her canal up for me. It is an offer, an invitation, 
and I damn near swoon.

Sal is a good clean girl. There is almost no odor, nothing to see, just 
enough evidence to remind me that I am about to lick this honey's asshole. 
Then I am there, licking, my tongue pressed against the firm ridge of her 
anus, my tongue exploring inside as far as possible, opening her up, 
searching.

I could stay pressed against Sally's ass all night but there are other 
naughty little thoughts running through my head. Karl hasn't come yet, which 
might be surprising given how close he felt when I went down on him, but is 
maybe less so bearing in mind he's drunk, Sally is probably as wet as 
anything, and he's not the widest feller on the planet. Maybe he needs a 
little more resistance.

I reach around Karl's balls, and pull him down and out of Sally's cunt. (It 
occurs to me now it was a little like having a couple of life-sized dolls at 
my disposal. Maybe that's what you get when you go for the younger more 
innocent types). I drag Karl's cock back the few inches that separate 
Sally's cunt from her asshole. I really don't think he has a clue what's 
going on. He is sticking up now, up her crack, between her cheeks. Part of 
me resents his presence - this is my ass. But I want him to come, and this 
is the hottest way I can imagine. I take his cock and gently rub the head 
around Sally's anus. She rocks a little, teasing, suggesting she's wants him 
in her ass but is not making it easy. His cock is wet from her cunt, and her 
asshole wet and a little loosened from my tonguing. I press him against her 
target, she rocks backs slightly and the head pops in. I hear her groan at 
the invasion.

Karl responds to the tightness of Sally's butt and starts fucking her with 
new energy. Her face is half-turned around and I can see the classic 
combination of pain and ecstasy that is caused by a good ass-reaming. 
There's not much I can do but I reach around Sally, over the black dress 
that is now rucked around her waist, and slide my fingers either side of her 
slick honey button. I don't want her to come, just make certain her 
ass-fucking hots her up even more.

Karl's speeds up even more. It's quite a sight, that thin greasy pole 
burying itself in Sally's sphincter, then he is thrusting hard, slowly, and 
I know he is shooting his cum deep inside her ass. But she hasn't come yet, 
and nor have I. Good, that's the way I want it.

In the way of drunken shagged-out men he is immediately motionless, almost 
unconscious, so Sally has to lift herself up to remove his intrusion from 
her anus. Funnily enough, despite my love of cock-sucking and Sally's ass I 
am not too fussed about the sight of his member as it comes out of her. My 
gaze is targeted on her asshole, a little stretched now from its fucking, 
almost wounded. I gently lick around the rim, soothing, calming, tasting 
traces of Karl's cum along with the more usual flavors. All the time I 
continue my softly softly fingering of her clit. Sally sighs, and relaxes 
back onto my mouth. She likes my tender ministration to her violated little 
hole.

After a minute or so I surface. "I hope you don't mind Sal but I don't want 
Herman the German here in the morning. I'd like to get rid of him now. 
Okay?" I see those chewy nipples are still sticking out urgently - my honey 
girl hasn't come yet and she can't care less about the sleeping man. She 
shrugs. No suggestion she should be going too, I'm pleased to note.

Karl is still barely awake when I turf him out the front door of my block. 
When I get back to the apartment Sally is sitting in front of the woodburner 
rolling a joint. She has put her g-string back on, but that's it. I assume 
it's an invitation to finish off where we left off.

"You okay honey?" I ask, using my private nickname for her for the first 
time.

She smiles, wickedly. "Nearly." I sit opposite her, a foot or so away. We 
are intimate. She looks at me slyly. "You often fuck women?"

I'm a little taken aback by her directness, and a little part of me (which I 
shoo away) says she shouldn't talk to me like this. The answer I plan to 
give is "No". What I say is "Sometimes." I figure someone so direct can 
probably spot bullshit a mile off, and only half way through our evening I 
don't want to put her off. "Only when they're hot. You?"

"There's a first time for everything, isn't there?"

"First and last?"

"I haven't made my mind up yet." I love to hear her flirting.

"Can I help to persuade you?"

"Maybe." I know she wants it, and I can have it. But she knows it's turning 
me on to have to work a bit.

"What do I have to do?" That's it. My voice has dropped a little. She must 
be thinking she can do anything with me. I think she probably can.

"You could get naked for a start." I undress quickly, her eyes always upon 
me, taking in my breasts, my nipples, and as I pull down my knickers my trim 
dark bush. I spread my knees. My cunt lips feel puffy and swollen and I 
guess she can see how aroused I am by her.

"You're hot," she says. That's it, so simple, I have the seal of approval. 
She leans close to me, her face inches from mine. Her nipples brush my tits 
and I start. But it must be in her time. She slips her arms around my back, 
lightly, and we are as close as two people can be without actually kissing. 
She's taunting, holding back.

"You liked my arsehole, didn't you?" she asks. I nod, weakly. "You liked 
it," she runs her tongue along my top lip, mimicking my rimming, "you liked 
getting your tongue up my smelly bum?" Now her tongue is running along my 
bottom lip. I'm whimpering. "You're dirty, Sam, aren't you?" I am. "You 
liked the smell." She isn't asking any more. One of her hands has slipped 
from my back and she has slid it inside the crotch of her g-string. "And the 
taste. You needed the taste, Sam, you needed to taste my smelly shitty bum." 
And then she's frenching me, frantically, desperately, and I realize that 
she is trying to taste herself in my mouth, and I am drawing her in, 
inviting her in to every crevice to uncover any trace of her own body.

Then she's talking again. The girl loves talking. "I bet you'd like it too." 
She pushes me so I am on my back and she is slightly on all fours over me. 
"The same." Our pussies are close, I reach down and feel her wetness. She 
shudders at the contact. She is not as calm or in control as her words 
suggest. In  fact I wonder if she is talking to hide her nerves. Whatever, I 
don't want her to stop. I feel her fingers brushing my thighs, possible as 
close as this novice can bring herself to go at the moment. "Your arse, 
yeah?"

I manage "hunh".

"Tell me," she urges. "You tell me."

"I'd like you to," I say, feebly hoping this will satisfy Sally. I feel her 
fingers moving closer to the hunger that is my cunt.

"More."

"I'd like you to lick my ass." Her fingers are brushing my pubes, but she is 
still holding back. "I want you to. I want you to kiss my tight shitty 
asshole."

Then she is frigging me, but so lightly, whether from reluctance or skill I 
can't tell, but she is holding me at an incredible level just short of 
coming. Given the way my fingers are slick with her honey she cannot be far 
off herself. But the girl wants more.

"You've got another nasty secret, haven't you Sam?" I have plenty. "The 
washroom at work. You think I didn't hear you moan? Or see you coming back 
to your office still flushed?" The contact on my clit is so soft. "Tell me 
what you were thinking Sam."

I'm finding speech difficult. "You. On the toilet. Your skirt up, and your 
knickers down by your ankles. Your lovely brown legs."

I can feel the contact move away slightly. "That's not it, is it?" she asks. 
"Not for a dirty bum sniffer like you?"

I nod and smile. Sally is smiling too. She knows what I want to say, and she 
is making me say it. She wants to hear it. Suddenly my voice is almost clear 
again. "You were peeing. I could hear you pee. And I thought about watching 
you pee." It's time to stop holding back. It's what Sally and I both need. 
"I wanked my cunt thinking about you peeing."

She nods. I see there is a thin sheen of sweat on her golden skin. Her 
fingers are back around my clit, smooth long strokes. We are ready. We look 
each other in the eyes as we begin to build. "Think about it Sam," she says. 
"You can watch me piss. I want you to watch me. I want you really close."

I join in. "I want that Sally. To see you pissing." I can feel the reaction 
beginning, the extraordinary rush of tension and release. "On me," I moan, 
spasming against Sally's fingers. She is coming too, her face contorted and 
screwed with the power of her convulsions. "On me, on me, on my face." And 
the blood is rushing in hurricane force as I succumb to total lust.

We pause. For seconds, maybe minutes. There is more sweat on that beautiful 
skin. Then we kiss, tenderly, almost chastely. But already my mind starts to 
fill with what we could be doing.

"Sally," I say, "you're taking tomorrow off." She smiles. I love that smile. 
"And quite possibly the day after."

The End (for now)

Please tell me what you think. Thanks, Sam.




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