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Message-ID: <35084asstr$1012911008@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Meme Mispelt <meem17@mwmw.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} <*> *Overheard* 1/2 {Meme Misspelt} (MF oral anal ESP mild bd nc?) 
Date: Tue,  5 Feb 2002 07:10:08 -0500
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DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of adult fiction, and is not intended for minors, any  
persons likely to be offended by explicit erotic content, or for  
distribution in any area where possession may violate laws or community 
standards.  

The author retains copyright in this work; you are hereby granted license 
 to download, print and/or archive this work for personal use only.  
License is not granted to archive, or publish this work by any means in 
any publicly available archive (except ASSTR), or physical form, without 
the author's prior consent. Most especially if you're trying to make a 
buck at my expense, but anyway, please just ask first, okay?

The author loves feedback, criticism, even hate mail: meem17@mwmw.com

Story codes: MF oral anal ESP mild bd nc?


*Overheard*
by Meme Misspelt
Chapter 1


It was Friday, things were slow in the office, and the boss was out.  At 
about quarter after four Craig left his windbreaker draped over the back 
of his chair, and walked out the door, without making any deal of it, like 
he was just going to the restroom.  He slipped down six stories of fire 
stairs and escaped into sunlight and the unseasonably warm late October 
afternoon.  Free!

Usually the subways were jam-packed by the time he left work, but the 
afternoon rush was just barely starting -- the train he boarded was only 
about half-full and he got a seat to himself, where he liked to, at the 
end of the car, facing in, so he could see everyone and play the Game.

The rules of the Game were pretty simple: look at all the women on the 
subway car, and figure out which one you would most like to fuck.  You 
weren't supposed to really stare -- well, except with a real winner, 
sometimes he couldn't help himself -- but the spirit of the game was to 
steal little glances, look for clues, and extrapolate what the woman would 
be like in bed.  

Craig found that it was not necessarily about who looked the hottest 
(although calf-length black boots would often make Craig hard) -- it was 
more subtle, harder to define.

Sometimes a really pretty girl would also look a little chilly, like maybe 
she'd be worried about whether her hair was being mussed the whole time, 
and sometimes he'd get a sense of tremendous sexual energy from a woman 
who wasn't very attractive to him.  And sometimes the Game really 
surprised him, like when he'd seen this woman, nothing special, not his 
type, but somehow, when he looked at her lips, all he could think of was 
what his cock would look like sliding between them.  Or sometimes there'd 
be a young woman, and he wouldn't be quite sure of her age, like she might 
be a little too young for him to think of like that, and the allure of the 
forbidden, even the maybe forbidden, could get him pretty hot.

Craig thought he was basically a nice guy, generally respectful of women, 
and he was a little ashamed of the Game, but he couldn't ever really talk 
himself into giving it up, even when he was in a steady relationship, 
which he wasn't, anyway, at the moment.  It sure made the time pass on his 
commute, for one thing.  But more than that, it gave him an illicit 
charge, as if he were eavesdropping on who the women might be.

Today he grabbed his favorite seat, set his briefcase down on the floor, 
and unfolded his newspaper.  The paper was key to the Dirty Game; it hid 
the tent of his erection, if he got one, and he could easily scan the car 
while pretending to read something at the top of the paper.

Warm weather late in the season was great for the Game; it seemed like the 
women were glad for one more chance to wear something that showed a lot of 
leg.  It made for the best kind of tricky Game, the one where there were 
too many good choices and it was hard to settle on just one.
     
As he usually did, he started at the opposite end of the car and worked 
towards himself.  It heightened the anticipation, somehow, imagining that 
the winner might be right beside him, easy to see, maybe even checking him 
out a little, as he strained to see all the other women.

There was a young Asian woman at the far end of the car.  He couldn't get 
a good look at her figure, but she had kicky little white ankle boots, and 
she wore her hair in a saucy cut.  She was sitting next to a friend Craig 
couldn't see, and he liked the way she moved as she talked, little hand 
gestures, shrugs.  She laughed a lot.  Craig imagined her underneath him, 
her hands fluttering at her side, then reaching around his shoulders, her 
fine black hair splashed in an arc against his pillow as she tossed her 
head from side to side.  He started to get hard.

A little nearer was a blonde in college-student casual, jeans and a light 
red jacket.  She was close to being too frostily pretty, but she had a 
stud in her nose and three piercings in the ear closest to Craig, which 
went a long way toward making her seem less uptight.  She was sitting 
alone, reading a book; Craig tried to make out the title, but couldn't.  
In the absence of evidence for or against, Craig fantasized that she had a 
tongue stud, too.  He imagined her kneeling down in front of him, 
unzipping his fly with the long delicate fingers that held the book, and 
pulling out his cock.  She would flick her tongue up and down his length, 
the wet soft flesh spliced with the hardness of that little metal bead.  
Craig decided she was the front runner.

Then he spied a dark horse candidate.  Tall, a little gangly, in a 
slightly prim blouse and skirt combo, she kept her knees pressed firmly 
together, her posture straight.  Her long brown hair hung straight. Was 
she as repressed as she looked, Craig wondered? Or was she trying to keep 
tight hold on her smoldering sexuality?  Craig thought she might be the 
type of woman who would like being tied up.  He pictured her on a grubby 
bed in a dingy motel room, the sheets crusty with dried cum, manacles on 
her wrists and ankles spread-eagling her, a ball gag muffling her moans.  
She was shaved, her lips puffy and open, wet with desire she couldn't 
control, her breasts larger than they looked in her blouse, stiff-nippled, 
gently rising and falling as she gasped and panted.

And finally, nearest him, in the seat just opposite, he found contestant 
number four.  She was a few years older than Craig, mid-thirties, with a 
very trim figure under her expensive-looking dark business suit.  She 
wasn't movie-star glamorous, but very cute, with pert, angular features. 
She had blazing red hair, a milky complexion, and wickedly green eyes.  
Those eyes sparked right back at him, and her red lips mouthed the word 
"pervert," and then flashed him a dizzying, salacious smile that made his 
cock lurch to even greater hardness in his pants.  He lowered his eyes to 
his paper, embarrassed at being caught staring, feeling a blush rise on 
his cheeks.

A few seconds later logic caught up with his embarrassment.  
"Waitaminnit," he told himself.  "Guilty conscience, Craig.  She can't 
have said 'pervert,' you must be mistaken, boy-o.  I only gave her a 
causal glance. She couldn't possibly know that I was thinking of how those 
small breasts would feel under my fingers."

*And why couldn't I?*

The voice was in his head, a contralto purr.  It was gently chiding, 
teasing, but also playful.  And sexy as hell.  Craig shook his head, as if 
to clear it.  Nuts, he told himself.  Maybe I should quit this.

*You're right about your friend there,* the voice said again.  *She _does_ 
like to be tied up.  She's quite thoroughly owned, though, and I'm afraid 
you're the wrong gender to be her mistress.*

An image flashed unbidden in his head, the brunette sprawled on the dirty 
bed, her head trapped between the redhead's legs as she knelt over her.

Her laughter was like a ripple of music in his head.  *No, not quite my 
scene,* She chuckled.  *Not today, anyway.*

Craig finally dared to look at the redhead again. She'd be looking 
somewhere else, doing something, she wouldn't be talking in his head.  
He'd come to his senses --

But she was staring straight at him.  "Pervert," she mouthed again, and 
*Pervert* she said in his head.  She gave him another of those unnerving 
smiles.  *Not that I really mind.  What was it you wanted to do to me 
again?*

"This is crazy," Craig told himself, a little frantically.  "This isn't 
possible.  I'm hearing voices, this isn't good, this is crazy."

*Oh, come on,* she said.  *You were much more fun before.  You had your 
hands on my tits, remember?  You must have already unhooked my bra, you 
sly devil. My nipples were hard against your palms.*  Her tongue darted 
out to flick at her lips, a motion so quick he wasn't quite sure he'd 
really seen it.

Craig swallowed.  "Okay," he thought.  "I move my hand in a circle, 
pressing hard against you.  I catch a nipple between my thumb and 
forefinger, I tug and pinch a little."

*Mmm.  Harder.*  She arched her back a little.

--Unbuttoning two buttons of your blouse, pulling it open, I lower my 
mouth to your chest.  I grab your nipple with my lips and flick my tongue 
across it.  I slide my hand underneath the fabric up and down your side, I 
knead your breast.

*It is kind of small, isn't it?" she asked a little wistfully.  "Too 
small?*

--You know what they say about more than a mouthful.

She giggled again.  *That's a good answer@  I shove my hand down your 
pants, wrap my fingers around your cock and squeeze.*

--I bite your earlobe.  My tongue darts into your ear, and I blow hot, 
moist breath after it.  'You are so sexy,' I whisper.

*Thank you!  I pull my hand out of your pants -- *

Craig felt a flicker of disappointment, as if her touch had actually been 
withdrawn.

*...and unzip them.  Let's get that cock out into the open air.  I love to 
stroke the head like this -- *

--Sucking your tits, biting the nipple just a bit, hands sliding down to 
grab your ass --

*I lower my mouth to you.  The head of your cock is in my mouth, but I've 
pulled my tongue away, you can only feel my breath.  I don't have a tongue 
stud like that slut down the car, but I don't have herpes, either.  Am I 
good enough to give you a blow job, or do you really need the extra 
stimulation of some metal?*

--Oh god, oh please --

*So what are you going to do for my pussy, lover?*

--I'm pulling down your zipper, teasing, stroking up and down your slit 
through your panties

*I close my lips around your shaft, and I love your cock head with my 
tongue.  Do you like it when I tickle right there, just under the head?*

--I feel your wetness even through the panties, pulling them aside now

...and Craig could suddenly see it, actually see it, a beautiful, 
beautiful cunt, framed by soft golden hair, lips engorged and dewy. He 
could smell her musky aroma.  It wasn't like a fantasy, it was more as if 
he were in two different places at the same time, with two sets of 
sensations overlapping in his brain.  Across the aisle in real life, her 
eyes still locked with his, she spread her legs a few inches.

*Sucking you deep now, sinking you into my mouth, my teeth just barely 
grazing the root of your cock, you're filling my throat.

--Slipping a finger into you, you're hot and wet, and clenching around my 
finger --

*Mmm.  Let's take a few seconds to get out of these clothes, shall we?*

...and she was still sitting across the aisle from him, a playful little 
smile shivering on her lips, but she was also rising up from the bed where 
they lay together, arms crossed to pull the blouse over her head.  He 
loved the contrast of those small dark nipples, so hard and straight on 
the gentle swell of her breasts, the taut lean belly. She turned away, 
like a stripper, to pull her pants and underwear down in a single smooth 
motion.  She turned back to him, arms crossed over her head, legs spread 
wide, swung her hips in a little bump and grind.

--God, you're beautiful --

*Do I look good enough to eat?*

--C'mere!

He was still sitting on the train, the paper falling forgotten across his 
lap, but he also lay back on the bed.  She pulled his pants down, and he 
sat halfway up to shrug out of his shirt.  She pumped her hand briefly on 
his dick, then turned to she straddle him in a sixty-nine position.

He arched his head up and introduced his tongue to her cunt with a long, 
leisurely bottom-to-top stroke, pushing in between her lips just a tiny 
bit.  Her mouth returned to his cock, bobbing up and and down on him.

*Fingers too, please.*

He slid one finger into her pussy, then a second.  His lips clamped down 
around her clit, tugged back and forth, and he began to thrust his fingers 
into her, twisting his hand, pushing against the walls of her cunt.

She sucked at him wildly, nibbling, licking.  She pulled her mouth away 
and grabbed his dick with both hands, leaning lower to tease his balls 
into her mouth.

Craig lapped her cunt like a man dying of thirst while his fingers fucked 
into her with increasing force.  He wondered, would she like --?

*Oh yess,* she hissed, *finger my ass!* and so his middle finger, slick 
with her juice, pushed gently against her anus, slipped through the tight 
collar of flesh, one knuckle deep, then two.  *Oh, yeah, fuck me* her 
voice grew huskier, less playful.  His thumb slid into her cunt, and his 
hand rocked back and forth, double-fucking her while his tongue lashed her 
clit.      

*Oh, fuck, fuck me, I'm going to...*

And she clenched hard around his finger, mashed her pussy down hard 
against his face... --

...and her eyes were half closed, her jaw slackened, and she shuddered 
once, twice, spasmodically.

*Oh, cum, cumming, cumming!*

She fell heavily against him, panting for a few seconds, her hands still 
curled tightly around his cock.

*I want you in me now.  I want you to fuck me.*

--oh yes --

And she rose up, turned around.  She rose high on her knees and rubbed his 
dick against her clit, then arched and slid him into her --

--oh fuck, you feel so good

And she did.  When she squeezed his cock from base to tip in a ripple of 
cunt-muscle flex, it wasn't quite like anything he'd ever felt before, 
like nothing he'd imagine. It took him almost over the edge instantly.  
Some small distant part of his mind reasoned that she must be sending 
physical sensations directly into his mind the same way she sent her voice 
into him, but most of him didn't care what was "really" happening; most of 
him was just swimming in the raw sensation.  He was a piston, a machine 
thrusting up into her while she writhed above him, clenched around him.

She looked so sexy, breathing raggedly, eyes half shut, and he felt his 
peak rising in him, an unwelcome rush.

--oh no, too soon, too soon --

*We can't have that, can we?* she giggled.  *Let's make it l-a-a-ast.*  
She pulled up and off of him.  His cock flopped against his belly and his 
pulse slowed a little bit.  The "real world" reasserted itself, like focus 
being pulled from long range to close up, he felt the bench underneath him 
and against his back, heard the rattle of the wheels against rails.

The train pulled into a station and slid to a long shuddering stop; the 
doors opened and a mass of commuters started to file in.  One man started 
toward Craig's seat, where he sat, a little dazed, his newspaper strewn 
around him, but the woman got up with a quick, almost cat-like motion, and 
darted around him to sit next to Craig.  The man snorted, annoyed, but 
didn't complain.  She pressed a warm thigh against him and helped him 
gather up his paper, keeping about half of it on her own lap.

"Hi, Craig," she said, in the same warm voice with the same naughty 
teasing edge.  "I'm Trish."

*I play your "Game" sometimes, too,* she continued.  *But I have an 
advantage.  I can see everyone's fantasies.  Want to share?*

His cock lurched in his pants at the thought, and he could feel her 
reacting to his response, like some kind of feedback loop.

*I'll take that as a "yes."*

She leaned against his shoulder, as if she were dozing, and slid her hand 
carefully under the newspaper to put her hand in his crotch and started to 
knead his cock and balls. *Feel me up, will you?* she asked.  *Now let's 
see...I think I like your bondage girl best.  Cynthia is her name...*

Things were a little more complicated, a little more awkward in the real 
world, but even more exciting.  He snuck a hand under the precarious pile 
of newspaper, to stroke a finger along the inside of her thigh. He slid 
down the zipper of her slacks one-handed, slowly, jiggling it to persuade 
it to follow the curve of her pubis.

*Cynthia doesn't like men, and she _hates_ sucking cock -- bad experience, 
let's not go there -- but in her favorite fantasy -- she works as a 
secretary in a law firm -- and in the fantasy she delivers an envelope, a 
thick manilla envelope to her boss...*

He slipped two fingers in through the fly.  Her panties were silk, and 
they were soaked.  She was probably lucky her slacks were dark, he 
thought.

*What, you think that's coincidence?*  She squeezed his cock hard.  *Shut 
up and listen.  He makes her wait while he opens it.  Pictures spill out 
across his desk -- Polaroids, some glossy enlargements.  They're all of 
Cynthia, she's naked in most, tied up in some of them, in one she's in a 
sling, hanging in the air, fucked in the pussy and in the ass by two women 
with strap-ons...you like that, don't you, naughty boy?*

It was close quarters inside the tight fabric of her slacks, but Craig 
finally got his fingers under her panties.  There was a dizzy moment of 
deja vu -- the softness, the texture of her lips was just as he 
"remembered."  He felt her legs spread a little wider, as he slipped just 
the tip of a finger into her.

*And he doesn't say anything for a long time, he just stares at the 
pictures while she stands there, terrified and ashamed.  And finally he 
orders her to strip.  "Take those clothes off, slut," he barks.  "Now."  
Cynthia is wearing her very nicest suit, it's a month's salary to her, but 
she shrugs out of the jacket and just lets it fall to the floor.  She 
keeps her eyes downcast, she doesn't look at him as he gets up from behind 
his desk.  Her fingers tremble as she unbuttons her blouse and drops it.  
She's shaking a little as she unhooks her bra.  She hears his footsteps as 
he walks toward her, around her, but she still doesn't look at him.  She 
crosses her arms over her breasts, she's too scared to continue.*

Trish slipped her fingers down his waistband, she tangled her fingertips 
in his pubic hair, her nails barely grazing his throbbing cock.  Craig 
moaned.  His own fingers travelled up her cleft, found the hard little 
knob, circled it, teased it.

 *"Did I tell you to stop, slut?" he growls.  "Get that skirt off."  And 
finally, she unhooks her skirt, lets it drop in a puddle around her. She 
knows what he is going to see.  He makes a small sound of surprise as he 
sees it. She hears another rustle behind her, and knows her boss has taken 
his cock out of his pants.  "Bend over, slut," he says.  "Let me get a 
good look at that thing."*

Trish turned her head up toward him, and whispered the next words out 
loud, right into his ear in a blast of hot moist breath.  "She leans over 
obediently, like she's touching her toes, displaying her ass. She's not 
wearing panties, of course.  She's wearing this harness her mistress 
sometimes makes her wear.  A dildo in her cunt," and the way she snaps the 
"t" when she says that word about blows Craig's mind, "and another one up 
her ass." Then she snuggles her head down on his shoulder again.

*The harness isn't very tight,* she continues.  *All day long, every time 
Cynthia moves, she fucks herself, and it's like her mistress is fucking 
her by remote control.  She can't cum, not until she's given permission.  
But now her boss knows, he knows what a submissive slut Cynthia is.  He 
marches her down the hall, his hands on her waist, naked in her 
double-fucking harness, unsteady on her too-high heels, with his cock 
pressing hard against her ass, into the conference room, and all the male 
lawyers are there, and she knows they can smell her when she enters the 
room, how wet and horny it makes her to be naked in her harness in front 
of them, for them to all know what an obedient pleasure toy slut she is.  
It's so hard not to cum, but she can't, she's not allowed.  She tries to 
be as still as she possibly can, to stop the friction, but she's 
trembling, and the dildos slide in and out of her, just a fraction of an 
inch, and the front of the harness rubs her swollen clit.  She's _so_ 
close.*

The train began to slow again, and Trish gently pulled his hand out of her 
slacks, and her hand out of his pants.  She stood up, swaying a little as 
the train stopped. She didn't zip up.

"This is where I get off," she said.  "Are you coming?" 

...and *cumming?* her voice echoed in his mind.


-- Meme Misspelt
-- http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/meme_misspelt/www/

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