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From: "storyace" <storyace@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Ugly; a monster's story M/F, M/F,  wife
Date: Tue,  4 Feb 2003 16:10:06 -0500
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Ugly; a monster's story by Ace

Author: storyace, ace

Title: Ugly; a monster's story

Part: 1 of 1

Summary: a dark story of a disfigured man's futile search for
love.

Keywords: M/F, M/F,  wife



A note about this story; I wrote this 2 years ago, but never
posted it. I find it an erotic and compelling tale, but I doubt
it will be popular.

I'd very much like to hear opinions about it, good, bad, or
other.

Thanks, Ace

mail; storyace@hotmail.com

The rest of my stories are at;
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/www//
and; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/
[in plain text]



I was only 16, and still a virgin when I had the accident that
left me disfigured forever.

A shotgun blast that removed half my face and my left arm below
the elbow.

Some people say my chosen profession is as ugly as my face.  I'm
a smuggler; a smuggler of human beings.



We have been a lot in the news lately, the coyotes as we are
called.  We get a lot of bad press, but we're not all completely
evil.  I make sure my clients get to their destinations, or their
money back.

I have good reputation now. I've been in this business for more
than 20 years.  Clients come to me, and they know that they will
have to pay dearly for my services.  Sometimes it's all they can
muster, but my job is dangerous and I'm not in it for the thrill.
I feel that my profession is honorable, and I feel no guilt about
what I do.  But having said that, I do my job for money, and like
every professional, I expect to be paid for my services.

Defying the United States Immigration and Naturalization Service
is my joy in life. One of my only joys, since love is something
that I will never have.

I'm ugly.  How ugly?  People cringe when they see me.  Polite
people pretend not to notice but in their eyes there is
revulsion.  Babies cry, less decent people tell me that I should
cover my face when I'm in public.

A lot of people come through my office here.

Sometimes, we come to an arrangement for passage.  Sometimes not.
A lot of people come through here, and sometimes there are women.
Normally the women of families traveling together; Wives,
daughters.

This woman came in. a young woman.  A beautiful woman.  Her name
was Yolanda.  Uncharacteristically, she came alone.
"My name is Yolanda Rodrigues."  She said to me, "You may
remember my aunt, Elisabeth Rodrigues.  Fifteen years ago you
took her and my uncle across the border.  She has sent me to
 you."

Elisabeth Rodrigues. How could I ever forget?  The first woman I
ever had, the first one who was not a prostitute.

She was married; she had two small children and a husband with
her.  They didn't have the money for passage.  They had about
half, but not enough.  They tried to bargain me down, but even
then, my heart was as hard as my face.

"I will take you," I'd told them, "And my work is guaranteed.
But you have to meet my price.  I'm sorry, but that's how it is.
Perhaps one of you should go first, find work and save some
money."

"But we're so poor, sir.  You are so rich.  Surely you can help
us"

 I had heard this little speal a thousand times. Everyone was
trying to get something for less. Sometimes it was just a
bargaining position, they had plenty of money.  Other times, it
was true, the people really didn't have enough money to meet my
price.

I had ceased to care.  The fact was, there were more people who
needed my services than I was able to help.  Therefore, I'd had
decided long ago to help those who were able to help me.  In
other words, those who could meet my price.

There's no use debating the merits or demerits of this policy;
that's how I felt, and that's how I still feel.  My services are
in demand; I want to help people, but there are too many, there
are millions.  I am only one. And I am a professional.

But this time, the little speech angered me.  These people had
the one thing I would never have; Love.  The small family was
wealthier than I could never be. I could become as rich as John
Paul Getty, and I would never attain what they took for granted;
love.  You could feel it in the air when they entered the room;
love from the man for the woman, the woman for the man, both of
them for the children.  They were a wealthy family, in my eyes.

"You say that your poor, and I'm rich.  But I would trade places
you in a moment.  In fact, it I will make you this offer; if I
could have the love of your woman for four days, I will take the
four of you across the border and deliver you to your
destination.  Safe and comfortable."



To my surprise, they actually discussed it. I had thrown the
proposal at them out of anger and jealousy, I hadn't been really
serious. They spoke in Portuguese, which I don't understand.

"There are other possibilities," I told them, interrupting their
discussion. "There are those who work for a lower price than me."

"Yes, we are aware of that sir."  The man said "But we have been
warned of them.  We are told only to trust you; you will do as
you say, when you say you will do something, you will do it.  The
others, we have heard some very bad stories.  We cannot take a
chance."

My competition is not evil as many make out.  There are some that
are, but there are other people whose work is not completely bad.
They are not as good as me, but they are about half my price.
They do not guarantee; first you pay, if the movement doesn't
succeed, it's your own risk.  But they aren't like they are
portrayed in the movies, taking the money from the customers and
killing them in the desert.  That would not be profitable.  We
all work by referral.

 I was very surprised when they accepted my offer; I actually
regretted having made it. After I reflected upon it for some
time, it occurred to me that if they would accept my offer,
either the woman was a whore, or I had just made her one.  Then
what was the difference between her and the prostitutes that I
saw regularly?  And the fact was, it would take me nearly a week,
end-to-end, to make preparations, move them to their destination,
and return. If I took a job normally, I would get paid enough
money to keep two prostitutes for a month.  At Mexican wages, of
course.

Some of these prostitutes, they are not bad women, not to me.
Some of them are my friends now. They cannot love me; I'm under
no illusions about that.  But they treat me kindly, and give me
good service for the wages I pay them.





We discussed the details; he shouldn't see his wife for the
entire four-day period; neither shall the children; he may call
once a day to be sure that I'm not abusing her.

And I should not abuse her. That was the deal.  She was to be my
woman for four days, and then I would fulfill my end of the
bargain.  My word was my bond; they knew that, it was my
reputation.

Those of you in the normal world probably do not understand the
value of reputation in mine.  Reputation is everything; it's all
I have. My trucks with the hidden compartments, my safe houses,
they are easily replaceable.  But my reputation, once soiled, can
never be replaced.  My reputation is my business. That's why
these people had come to me. That's why all my customers come to
me.

The man took the infant from the woman, and taking their young
daughter by the hand, left my office.

These people were not peasants; they were dressed too well, even
if their clothes were worn.  Their English was very good.



 Her name was Elizabeth, and during those four days, she did try
her best to honor her side of the bargain. But the reality is,
love cannot be traded, love cannot be sold.

Oh, sex is no problem.  Sex can be performed, but love is more
subtle, it does not bend to the will of man.

Elizabeth cooked for me, she washed my clothes, she cleaned my
house.  She performed the duties of wife.  Yes, all the duties of
wife.

That first night, I had sex for the first time with a woman who
was not a prostitute. Not normally a prostitute, anyway.

She was extremely nervous, as you would expect.  She went to the
bedroom, and undressed, and covered herself with blankets before
I entered.

The expression on her face as she regarded my horrible visage
coming through the door was ambiguous; I often thought afterwards
that she should have been a poker player.

I knew she was horrified inside, as were all human beings are at
the sight of my face.

I had resolved that by the end of the four days, at least she
should not hate me.  Love was out of the question, I'm not a
fool.  But if I could keep house with this good woman for four
days, and at the end she should not hate me, that would be
something.  Something small perhaps, something insignificant to
you readers, whole of body and mind. But for me, something to
cherish.

 Gently, reverently, I removed the blankets, uncovering her body.
I was only 25 years old at that time, and she was at least 10
years older.  Her body had born two children, two children had
suckled at those breasts.  But to me she was phenomenally
attractive. My own mother had abandoned me when I was born;
perhaps that will explain why I found Elizabeth so beautiful.
She was a mother, functional and loving.  A mother who would
sacrifice everything for her man and for her children.  The
mother I never had for myself.

She didn't have the full breasts of an adolescent; nor the
drooping sleeping bags of an old lady. They were fine breasts,
medium-sized and with enough flesh in them to give them shape.
But her nipples were large and dark.  The nipples that had
already done the work that god had intended them for, but that I
intended to use for my pleasure, nonetheless.

She closed her eyes, and tried to relax as I ran my one hand over
her torso.  I had not yet uncovered her below the hips.  I was
saving that, both for my own pleasure and to allow Elizabeth to
become accustomed to what she had resolved to endure.

 Her skin was very smooth and fairly pale for a Brazilian woman.
She was very lean; her hips were wonderfully slim.  Later, when I
uncovered the rest of her body, I would see what a lovely small
ass she had.

The stretch marks from her two pregnancies were visible, but only
if you looked closely.  Her hands were very soft, and I realized
over the next day or two that she was unused to manual labor
herself.  These people had had servants in their home. She would
wash and clean for me, but in fact, she had not done that for own
family.

I caressed her breasts, running my fingers gently over them,
appreciating this woman's fine body.

 I had shaved myself closely, in preparation for this treat.  I
now brushed softly across her belly, across her breasts, across
her nipples, with my cheeks.  At first with my smooth right
cheek, then with my lips.  And then with the most sensitive part
of my body; no, not my penis.  The mottled scar tissue that made
up the left side of my face.  The touch of her smooth skin
against my scar eased my pain.  Her touch was like a salve upon
my wound.  And as she shuddered with horror and loathing, I
shuddered as well; as the tensions left my body and my mind.

I knew what I was doing was wrong.  Evil.  The only reason I
desired her was for her goodness, her purity.  The very purity
and goodness that I now defiled as I caressed her smooth cheek
with the scared stump of the end of my left arm.  She didn't open
her eyes, and she knew not which of my appendages was caressing
her.

 By the end of her stay with me, she would be able to bear my
touch.  But on our first night, it was all she could do to keep
herself still while I had my way with her.

She was passive as I spread her legs and explored her sensitive
parts with my rough fingers; as I crudely worked my penis into
her insufficiently lubricated orifice.

But there was some response after a minute; I felt her fluids
enter, easing the situation. She was patient with me as I screwed
her, fulfilling her side of our indecent arrangement gracefully.
She stroked my back and head, and made no complaint. I came.





The young woman who had introduced herself as Yolanda had a
strange shape.

She was short; about five foot two inches.  Her hips were very
narrow, and her breasts appeared to be too large for her small
body.  She was very well groomed. Her straight black hair was
very short, but thick.

She wore no jewelry; her clothes were simple, and new.

She was wearing no makeup.  She had large dark eyes, high
cheekbones, and a cute square little chin.

"Do you have a passport?"  I asked her.

"No.  I have no papers at all."

There was something unlikely about all of this.  Frankly, I
didn't believe her.  She didn't look like someone who was on the
run; she didn't act like somebody who was desperate.  Still, I
kept my doubts to myself, for the time being.

"Tell me exactly what you want from me, miss."

"I." she hesitated. "I want you to take me across the border."

"With no papers whatsoever?"

"I. yes."

"That's a very expensive proposition these days."

"How expensive, exactly?"

"It depends on the details.  How far north of the border I am to
take you, whether you go alone, or as part of a group.  But I
charge between 5 and $10,000 for that type of job."

The expression on her face was hard to judge.  She didn't look
particularly shocked at the figures.  But somehow, she just
looked shocked generally.

"I. I don't have that much money."

"Well, I'm very sorry.  Perhaps you should just invest in some
false ID, and try to cross on the bus."

"You . you came to an agreement. with my aunt."

Her large chest was heaving, and she seemed to be supporting
herself against the wall.  I thought she was some kind of INS
agent sent to entrap me at first.



"How do you know about that?  Did she tell you herself?"

"Yes."

That seemed very unlikely.  Elisabeth was a Catholic woman, I'm
sure her time with me was her darkest secret. But Yolanda clearly
knew of it.  Just mentioning it seemed to fill her with anxiety.

"Are you proposing the same arrangement?"

"Yes."  She replied.  It squeezed out of her in something between
a whisper and croak.  She was trembling visibly, and she appeared
barely able to stand unaided.

"You must think an awful lot of yourself if you think your charms
are worth that kind of money.  You're a very attractive young
woman, but $5000 is a very attractive sum."

"Please.  You must help me.  You must accept!  It's taken me a
long time to find the courage to come here.  You mustn't send me
away now."

I really wanted to screw her.  There was something about her that
reminded me very much of Elizabeth.  Despite the fact that her
story was full of holes, there was something real about her,
something I wanted very badly.  It wasn't just those oversized
knockers.  Young girls with big knockers are available in town at
bargain rates these days.  But there was something special about
Yolanda.  Besides, business was slow this week.

"Very well then.  Take your clothes off."  I told her.  At least
I could be sure she wasn't a cop if she went through with it.
Well, if she was a cop, and she went through with it, it might be
worth the price.

Her eyes were closed, and her jaw was set.  But she hadn't moved.

"Go on, Yolanda.  Take it off.  Start with that shirt."

Slowly, and without opening her eyes to look at me, her fingers
worked the buttons.  It was a long sleeved checkered shirt, like
a man would wear.  As she removed it, she revealed smooth olive
skin, a flat belly, a reinforced white bra.  Her breasts were
magnificent, even if they looked as though they should belong to
a larger woman.

"Take that bra off."  I ordered her.

She had to push her chest forward to reach behind her back and
unhook.  It was a memorable sight.

"Now come over here."  I told her.

I was sitting in a chair at my desk.  She stepped towards me, but
stopped just out of reach.  I crooked my finger at her, beckoning
her closer.

"Closer girl, closer.  I'm not going to chase you around the
room."

Finally, she was standing with her feet between mine, and my face
was at her nipples.

I stroked the side of her breast with the finger of my good arm.
She shuddered, and I noticed that her nipples were standing hard.

I'm not really into oversized breasts.  But one must take what
one can get.  She had a smell, fresh and girl like.  I ran my
hand over her upper body, her hips and her lower back as well as
her breasts.  Her skin was wonderfully smooth and tight. I
couldn't see her face from my sitting position, but she didn't
move.  Her own arms were slack at the side of her body.

I pushed the chair back and stood up.  Her eyes were closed, and
her mouth was parted slightly.  Her breathing was short and
shallow.  I took my own shirt off, and putting my hand between
her shoulder blades, gently pulled our bodies into contact,
cherishing the pressure of her warm full breasts against my
chest.  I leaned forward to kiss her.  She didn't resist.

She seemed to be frozen; she didn't participate, but she didn't
stop me in any way.  I violated her sweet young mouth with my
tongue, I held the back of her neck roughly in my hand, I groped
her ass through her blue jeans.

"Take your pants off."  I told her.

Slowly, the young woman complied.  There was obviously a lot of
conflict in her.  She didn't want this, but she had to do it.  I
wasn't convinced about why she had to do it, but she did.

"And the underwear."

Her pubic hair was jet black, her short legs were smooth and well
shaped.

"Look at me."  I commanded her. As I had commanded Elisabeth
those years before.

Horror and fascination; that was her expression as I approached
her.  I kicked off my shoes, unbuckled my belt, and dropped my
jeans to the floor.

"Lie down on the cot."  I told her.  She complied, not removing
her fascinated gaze from me.

It was very strange; she was strange.  She was clearly horrified
by me, like any normal person would be.  Yet she seemed to be
excited by the horror.

She trembled as I touched her.  There was fear and revulsion; but
was it possible?  Could it be that there was also some desire?

She closed her eyes when I kissed her.  I could understand that,
the sight of my horrible face so close to hers must be
unbearable, fascination or not.

I ran my good hand over her wonderful smooth skin. She was so
young, so fresh.  I had not had a treat so fine since my one love
had left me 15 years earlier.  Elisabeth; the only woman I had
ever loved, although I knew that love would never be returned.

My hand found Yolanda's cunt.  She spread her short pale legs
willingly, and I stroked her there.  She was damp, and as I
pushed my forefinger inside, I discovered that she was actually
wet.  Never, never in my life had I been responsible for the
early flow of a woman's juices.

I stared into her big lovely eyes, and she stared back. She was
so very beautiful. Dangerous, perhaps, but irresistible to a
lonely man like me. I tasted her juices from my finger; sweet. I
lowered my face to her groin.

Her smooth pale thighs against my face were wonderful, her taste
was better than anything I could recall. Her fingers pulled at my
hair, she moved her hips involuntarily.

I moved upwards, positioning my decadent cock at her sweet young
opening; her lips opened to admit me, and my penis slid smoothly
upwards into her beautiful little body, with that incredible
feeling of belonging, that welcome goodness of  coupling with a
woman.

She was very beautiful, even more so when I was in her; I held my
body in light contact with her big breasts as I began to pleasure
myself, sliding my penis in and out of her, reveling in the
ecstasy of sex with such a girl.

She opened her eyes, and looked at me; the monster she was
coupled with, the disfigured man with whom she was sharing this
most intimate act. Her eyes were beautiful beyond compare; so
large, so clear. They closed again, unable to bear the sight of
me for long.

And then something surprising happened.

She had an orgasm.  In fact, I think she had two.

Many of the prostitutes I screwed faked orgasms; it was part of
the service.  The difference with Yolanda was quite noticeable.

I had a most wonderful orgasm myself.  Good God, I could actually
persuade myself that this young beauty had enjoyed having sex
with me.  The greatest hookers in Tijuana had not been able to
persuade me of that.

Yolanda dressed herself quickly, and left, barely speaking a word
to me.  She was clearly disgusted with herself; she had desired
something horrible. She had had sex; and enjoyed having sex, with
a horrible disfigured man twice her age. I could well understand
that she was distressed.

I called out to my houseboy who was waiting outside; I told him
to follow her and report back to me.



Elisabeth, Elisabeth.I wondered where she was, how she had made
out in the North. I hoped she was happy and well. I hoped her
husband was healthy and able to care for her still.



Manuel returned after about a half an hour.

"She walked down past the cantina and got into a late model Buick
with an American number. I followed her on my motorbike, she went
to the "Fiesta" hotel. Here's the car number." He gave me a
paper. I gave him $20. Manuel is a good boy, he will go far.

It didn't take me long to solve the mystery.  I made a call to a
private detective up north who works for me from time to time.
It only took him 20 minutes on his computer to track down the
owner of the car and phone me back.  Ten minutes after that, I
had Yolanda's driver's license photograph by e-mail.

Her name was not Yolanda.  It was Belinda.

Belinda Rodrigues, daughter of Elisabeth. But why? Why was she
here? To entrap me, after all these years? No, she didn't need to
fuck me for that. She only had to pay money, marked bills or
whatever.

Belinda. I tried to remember the little girl.  Her mother was
burned into my mind forever, but I remembered little of the
others.

Then I remembered an incident. An embarrassing incident that I
had put from my mind.



I was feeling unhappy about the bargain I'd made with Elisabeth
and her husband. I had traded some valuable work for a farce.

"Come over here!" I'd told Elisabeth, who was in the kitchen
preparing our meal.

 "On your knees."  I'd commanded her.

I cringed internally remembering how I'd treated her that
afternoon. I was a true monster, I had shamed myself.

I held her by her thick black hair and looked into her soft brown
eyes.  But my heart remained hard;

"I want you to suck my dick, woman. Go on, take it out and do
 it."  I'd ordered her.

Tears welled in her eyes, and she didn't look at me as she
complied.

She soon held my hardening penis in her hands, but hesitated to
follow through with my demand.  Elisabeth had the most beautiful
mouth, and I wanted her to wrap it around my organ; I wanted to
dominate her, use and abuse her.  I was paying heavily, and I
intended to get what I was paying for.

"What are you waiting for, woman?  Do it, do it now!"  I
demanded.

And as Elisabeth's lovely lips slowly engulfed me, I had looked
up.  The little girl was standing there, watching.  Belinda.  The
shock on her face was terrible to see; her mother on her knees,
sucking the dick of the horrible stranger.  Belinda had turned,
and run.

I apologized to Elisabeth later.  Not about Belinda, I hadn't
found the courage to tell her that her innocent young daughter
had witnessed her humiliation.

I apologized for treating her as I did.  Without respect.  She
responded by opening her heart to me slightly; she told me that
she had never done what she had done for me with any man before.

I asked her if it had been terrible for her.

"No."  She answered me. "A woman should please her man, and you
are my man for these days.  I will do as you wish, and I will
accept the experience as a lesson."

Exactly what kind of lesson, I don't really know.





Yolanda, Belinda, returned the following day.

She was nervous, like a snake entering the den of a mongoose.

"Ah, Yolanda; I was just thinking about you.  Take off your
clothes."  I said to her. "Can I get you something?  A cold
drink, coffee?"

"Coffee. would be nice."  She said, standing like statue near the
door.

I filled the kettle and lit the flame before turning to look at
her again.  She hadn't moved.

"Strip, Yolanda!  Now!"  I told her.  Looking somewhat shocked,
she began to comply.  I sat down in my chair, and watched her.

It wasn't what I really craved; I didn't want to be a monster. I
would have liked to try something more like seduction, but that
wouldn't have had much hope of success.

"If you want me to fulfill my part of our bargain, Yolanda,
you'll have to fulfill yours.  Get down on your hands and knees.
Crawl over here.  Good girl.  Take out my dick.  Go on.  Do you
like it?  There's nothing wrong with my dick, it's only my face
and arm that's horrible.  Put it in your mouth, then.  Deeper.
Suck on it.  Lick it.  You're a very pretty young girl, Yolanda.
What are you doing on your hands and knees, sucking the cock of a
disgusting horrible creature like myself?"

She made no reply, she simply busied herself at her task, staring
up at me sorrowfully with her lovely huge brown eyes.

A relationship, that was my fantasy; but young Belinda on her
knees sucking my cock would have to do.

I didn't want to order her, but that was how she wanted it. Her
hot eager mouth working at my organ was incredibly pleasant. She
could have her fantasy of forced sex, and I could still enjoy
mine of consensual sex.

"All right, that's enough."  I said after a time, "That was very
nice, the water is boiling.  Relax on the bed."

I put my dick away, and we had coffee together without saying
much.  Belinda sat on my bed naked, and I put my coffee to the
side from time to time in order to be able to stroke her young
body or fondle her large breasts.

I found the situation very interesting; Belinda was nervous,
perhaps even terrified.  But she was also quivering with sexual
tension; the girl was turned on like hell.

I finished my coffee, and then I casually removed my clothes.  My
penis was still hard.

"Lie back, Yolanda.  And spread your legs."  I instructed her.

She did as I instructed, staring at me continuously with her
frightened but fascinated stare.

Licking a woman out is something that I've always missed.  It's
just not something you do with a prostitute.  Who knows how many
have been there before you?

Yolanda/Belinda was extremely responsive.  I had to hold tightly
to her thigh with my good arm as she bucked up-and-down
involuntarily.

That familiar look of fascination and horror played across her
face again as she watched me put my penis to her vagina once
more.

I am a good judge of people, and I had figured out now what had
brought Belinda here. She was a strong and willful girl; but she
needed to be dominated, at least for a little while. She needed
to pretend she was being forced to do this, that was her twisted
fantasy.

She tensed wonderfully as I entered her, as if trying to keep me
out, but in reality only increasing my pleasure. Then her back
arched, and her pelvis rose to greet me.

I fucked her at a steady pace, and she looked at me for longer
this time. For me, that was an incredible experience; no one
looked at me without distress, and certainly no woman had ever
looked at my face while having an orgasm before. To look into her
wonderful eyes and not see utter horror there was better than the
pressure of her young body against my cock. To kiss her, and hold
her in my 1 � arms as I made love with her was the most intense
experience of my life. Because she was with me by her own desire,
because despite the fact that I knew it was a perversion, she
wanted me.

She looked into my good eye as she tensed and groaned, wrapping
her limbs around my tortured body, forcing me to release myself
with her.

She lay still on the bed afterwards, her pretty eyes closed, her
ample chest heaving gently, as I poured us more coffee.

I sat on the edge and offered her the cup.

"Why have you come here, Belinda?"  I asked her.

There was real fear in her this time.  Not that fantasy horror
movie fear she had been exhibiting earlier.

"You know who I am."  She said.

"Yes.  You don't really need to be smuggled into your own
country, do you?"

"No."  She replied.

"You came here to see me.  You've had a dark fantasy for your
whole life; to be dominated by the monster.  Do you remember
seeing me with your mother, Belinda?"

"Yes."  She replied, quietly.

"You're a lovely girl, Belinda.  You must have a wide choice of
men."

"Yes, I do.  But somehow I never find the one."

"I don't think it's me, Belinda.  I wish it was, I would give my
good arm if it was.  But I'm just a fantasy to you.  The reality
is that I'm twice your age, and a criminal. We had great fun,
Belinda, and we can keep having fun as long as you like."

"I have to be back at work on Wednesday."  She told me.

"Take some coffee in your mouth, then suck my cock."  I ordered
her.

She did as I said, and her hot oral cavity brought the blood back
into my penis.

"Kiss this." I told her, offering her the stump of my left arm.
She did it; she did it and she liked it.

She spread her voluptuous young body out for me, and I entered
her again, entered a woman for the first time with no coercion,
no payment. Just because she wanted me to. Never mind that it was
a perversion on her part to want me, the point was that want me
she did.

Belinda kissed my scared face as I loved her with a passion such
as I never knew could exist; the girl came, and came again, the
nipples on her big breasts standing like the proud soldiers of
her perverse arousal.

My cock ached with the power of my own arousal; I'd never known
anything like it. I was making love to a beautiful young woman, a
woman who wanted me.

It was a wonderful three days.

Belinda is married now, and mostly happy I think.

But she still gets down to Tijuana to see me every now and then,
to relive her monster fantasy.  I'm always ready, I'm always
waiting.  She's fascinated by me, and by her own strange desire
for me. She will never love me, but there's nothing that can stop
me from loving her.

It hurts terribly, but in the nicest way.

Ace, 2001/2003
mail; storyace@hotmail.com

The rest of my stories are at;
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/www//
and; http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/aceinthe_hole/
[in plain text]

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