index


Message-ID: <37689asstr$1028571005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel)
Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole
Date: Mon,  5 Aug 2002 14:10:05 -0400
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

Please take a moment to look at Mat's Erotic Calendar at:
http://Calendar.atEROS.com
=========================================================   


           A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole 
                      (je suis toi)
                   -- by Mat Twassel

I had a hard time sleeping last night. Sexual thoughts of  
Annie.  In college Annie and my wife Laura were sorority   
sisters. I'd dated Annie a couple of times but we'd never   
slept together, in fact, I'd never even kissed her, though   
I'd badly wanted to.  Back then, for a week or two I  
couldn't think of much else but Annie's wild red hair and  
wide eyes and well-behaved little breasts.  We were both shy  
people, but I went so far as to think we had a future  
together.  When  Annie phoned to break our last date I was  
crest-fallen.  "Can I ask how come?" I'd said.  "I don't  
know," she'd said, "Maybe we're too much alike. But my 
roommate Laura thinks you're a cute guy.  I bet you'd like 
her, too." I did. That was five years ago.   

Now Annie was visiting us, staying for a few days. She'd  
broken up with her husband, Laura told me, and she was  
traveling around the country to rub off the hurt. 

Annie didn't seem too hurt to me, but we didn't talk much.  
Mostly she talked to Laura, sometimes seriously, sometimes  
giggly, sometimes whispers.  I think they wanted to talk 
about the horrible man, and maybe I made them nervous.  

"He was ..." Annie started to say, and then she looked at me, 
and then she said, "Awful," and then she giggled and spilled 
her after dinner wine in the lap of her dress. 

"Now see what you've done," Laura accused me. "Why don't you 
go in the study before anything else happens." 

I went to the library and sat at my grandfather's big desk 
and wrote in my journal and thought about Annie taking off 
her wine-stained dress. An hour or two later Annie came in 
with a cup of tea. "This is for you,"  she said, and she 
handed me the steaming cup. It seemed to me her fingers 
were trembling. I thought about asking her to stay for a 
moment, but I didn't know how to put it. 

"Won't you have a cup?" I said. 

"Oh, no," she said. "I'd surely spill," and she giggled and 
touched the front of the tight gray jogging pants.  "I 
wouldn't want to soil your wife's clothing," she added, and  
I suddenly had the feeling she wasn't wearing anything 
underneath.  I blushed. 

Turning from my chair, Annie stopped at the edge of the desk 
and picked up the glass paperweight. I couldn't help but be  
aware of the smooth curve of her hip a few inches from my 
arms. I tried to remember if maybe that paperweight was  
something Annie had given Laura and me as a wedding gift.  

"It's nice," I said foolishly. 

"Yes," she said. Then she put down the paperweight and  
picked up my journal.  

"That's, uh, my journal," I said quickly. 

"Oh," Annie said half-turning towards me. "Is it private?" 

"Well, uh ..." I said. 

"Can I read it?" Annie asked. "I promise to be careful with  
it." 

The journal has some intimate thoughts, things I hadn't  
even shared with Laura. I don't know why I didn't say no.  
Clutching the journal to her breast, Annie quickly left the  
room. 

That night I dreamt Laura and I were driving to Arizona. We  
stopped in a cheap but not uncomfortable motel, and an ivory  
light smoothed her moon-silvery skin. I was on my back, my  
phallus gleaming with the wet of her sex, but when I awoke  
in the middle of the night I couldn't actually remember  
having made love. 

I wondered if Annie was awake in the guest room reading my  
journal. 

When I fell back to sleep I dreamt of cars and trucks  
cruising a desert highway, their headlights skimming the  
lonely asphalt. Soon Laura's fingers trembled across my  
back.  

"What do you think it would feel like falling asleep inside 
of Annie?" she asked as she continued her stroking. I  
pressed myself into the bed, and her soft voice merged with  
the sounds of night traffic. "Do you wonder what kind of  
moans she makes when she comes?" Laura whispered. "Or how  
her cunt feels when it clenches? How especially snug it is?  
Do you wonder whether she ever cries when she fucks, or if  
she laughs, or what sex words she uses?" 

I awoke aching with want.  

I tossed and turned and at the same time tried not to wake  
Laura, who was sleeping so sweetly on her side of our bed.  
I got up to go to the bathroom but had to wait a long time  
for my erection to subside before I could pee properly. 

In the hallway outside the bathroom I stood for several  
moments staring at the closed guest room door. I wondered  
if Annie was awake in there, or if asleep what she dreamed.  
If I'd had my way, she would have needed to pee or  
something, would have met me in the hallway, would have  
walked up to me as simple as could be and tilted her head  
upward and pulled my mouth down into an endless kiss. I  
tried to remember some of the dangerous things I'd written  
in my journal. Dreams. Desires. Speculations. Secrets my  
wife Laura had never shown any interest in. 

Back in bed, back under the light blanket, I began to touch  
myself. I touched myself as lightly as possible, just the  
barest hint of touch, and I imagined it was Annie's hand,  
and after a while I imagined I was having Annie's thoughts as  
she touched herself, as she imagined me touching her: 

   "Oh," she says, "My fuck-hole feels so good when you do  
that."   

   A forefinger under the crest of my cock, I pause,  
surprised I have had her use a word like "fuck-hole." 

   "Well, you make up flower-lovely French-sounding words  
like je'picoo for Laura's cunt," she says, and she pushes  a 
finger slowly and deeply into her sex. "Make up a word for  
mine." Her fingers travel down the spine of my cock miming 
the traffic's dawn-sleepy drone. Moonlight seeps through the 
slitted drapes. I harden my hand, not being able to get  
enough of her. I can never get enough. But I don't make  
myself come.  

   Then I sleep deep into morning and Laura and I make  
love. I simply roll into her and it is so sweet, the best  
it's been for months and months. But no, it's just the  
final dream. In fact Laura politely refuses, saying it  
always makes her sleepy all morning and she won't be able 
to get anything done, and she has too much to do, what with 
a guest in the house and all.   

   Annie is not up yet. While Laura pours us coffee at our 
kitchen counter I stand behind her stroking her bottom and  
teasing her that she might have passed up the fuck of the  
century. She turns to me all smiles. "I'll keep that  
comment in mind," she says, grinning impishly.  

   Then Laura turns me around. I see that I was mistaken.  
Annie is up. She's sitting at our little kitchen table,  
sitting there so still and pretty and perfectly naked, her  
prim breasts lovely in the morning light, her reddish curls  
soft and wild, her eyes looking demurely down upon a page of  
my journal set before her, wide open. 

   Laura hands me a cup of coffee, steaming hot, and then  
another, and then she looks at me, her eyes twinkling with  
inquisitiveness, and in the most matter-of-fact voice asks,  
"Have you thought of a name for Annie's fuck-hole yet?"   

   Before I can even begin to think of a response, Laura  
abruptly kneels down next to me, fishes my penis from my  
jammies, and takes all of me quickly into her mouth. The  
coffee is trembling in both cups. I glance over at Annie.  
She seems more interested in my journal than in what's going  
on in front of her, although I notice that her nipples,  
softly pink, have fattened up. Still reading the journal,  
Annie idly brings her finger up to touch one nipple, then  
presses the fattened pout of it into the puffy flesh around,  
and then she looks up at me, to watch me come.  Just  
before everything spills, I wonder if this is the beginning  
of something, or the end. 

 

============================
A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole
Mat Twassel
============================


Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.com

-- 
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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+


  index