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Message-ID: <40792asstr$1044839403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25
Subject: {ASSM} Fugue (MF mast rom)
Date: Sun,  9 Feb 2003 20:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Fugue

(MF mast rom)

(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html 




She leaned back against the back of the couch, lifting the glass of
Chardonnay to her lips and taking a sip, watching the pale liquid
form sheets on the inside of the wineglass. 

He leaned back on the hotel bed and reached for his drink, swirling
the glass, making the ice clink in its bath of mini-bar scotch
before taking a sip. 

The house was quiet without him, she thought.  He always seemed to
have something on, the radio, the television, even when he brought
work home from the office.  It was a trait both endearing and
annoying, especially at night when they'd sit together in bed while
he tapped away at his laptop with a college basketball game on the
television, the sound turned low, the roar of the crowd competing
with the click of the keyboard. 

The room felt empty without her, he thought, reaching for the remote
and hunting for a game, flicking through channels until he found
college basketball on ESPN.  He thought about how annoyed she looked
sometimes, watching him divide his attention between a game and
whatever he was working on.  Paradoxically, it helped him
concentrate, it helped him think, it kept his mind from straying too
far from his work. 

I wish I could have gone with him this time, she thought.  It wasn't
the first time he had to travel across the country for a week, and
it certainly wouldn't be the last.  But this was a special week for
them, with both their anniversary and Valentine's Day falling within
this span of days.  She'd traveled with him before, paying her own
way, sightseeing and shopping while he sat in conference rooms and
offices, but money was tight after she was "downsized" from her job.
Besides, she had two interviews scheduled, and they'd both agreed
that they were important enough for her to stay in town while he was
gone. 

I wish she could have come with me, he thought.  He enjoyed taking
her along on his trips, coming back to the hotel to see the things
she'd bought, to hear about the sights she saw.  It was difficult to
be so far from her, especially on this special week, a week he
always looked forward to.  A nice dinner out for their anniversary,
the look on her face when he brought her flowers or a special gift,
the taste of wine on her lips when they kissed in a candlelit
bedroom, the way their bodies fit together afterwards.  He knew that
she had to stay in town, though; she needed to find herself another
job if only to escape the current emptiness of her days. 

She took another sip of her wine and put her feet up on the coffee
table, closing her eyes as she wondered what he was doing right now.
Probably still at dinner with his business associates, or maybe
back in his room, listening to a game on the television while he
tapped away at his laptop.  She thought about calling him again, but
they'd already spoken twice that day, once before breakfast, and
again after he'd gone to lunch.  The morning conversation bordered
on phone sex, something she always felt was so tawdry, but she
couldn't help herself.  She must have dreamed about him, though the
phone's ringing had pushed the memory of the dream from her mind,
leaving her with just a pang of disappointment when she realized
that he wasn't in bed with her. 

He took another sip of his scotch and kicked off his shoes, closing
his eyes as he wondered what she was doing right now.  Probably just
starting dinner, or maybe puttering around the house, cleaning out a
closet or painting the bathroom to match the new tiles they'd had
installed.  He thought about calling her again, but they'd already
spoken twice that day, once that morning when he woke her up, and
again after lunch, when she'd called him on his cell.  That first
conversation had made it hard to concentrate during the morning
round of meetings.  She said that she'd dreamed about him, but what
really got him going wasn't what she said, it was the way she said
it, in that slow, husky, morning voice of hers.  It was all he could
do to keep himself from changing his ticket and flying home that
day. 

She remembered how she'd greeted him at the door when he came home
after his last trip, in just a pair of heels and a smile.  He'd
dropped his bags and held her, their lips pressing together, his
tongue finding hers.  As they kissed, she could feel him growing
hard inside his trousers, pressing against her thighs as her pebbly
nipples rubbed against his Burberry trenchcoat.  She had taken his
hand and led him to their bedroom as he undressed along the way,
leaving a trail of discarded clothes that led from the front door to
their bed.  She'd lit dozens of candles, and as she lay back on
their bed she watched his flickering shadow on the wall as he yanked
off the rest of his suit. 

He remembered how she'd greeted him at the door after his last trip,
naked except for her high heels, her smile lighting up the room.  He
dropped his bags and held her, his hands running over her soft skin
as they kissed, pulling her closer, pressing her against his
hardness.  He couldn't get undressed fast enough, and he could have
easily taken her on the polished wood floor of their foyer, but she
had led him to their bedroom while he wrestled off his clothes, a
hundred candles flickering around their room.  She laid back on the
bed and watched him undress, the light of the candles reflected in
her big brown eyes. 

It was making her horny, thinking about that night, how he'd entered
her, pressing his body against hers as he began to thrust, feeling
his hips move against hers, his lips on her nipples, his hands on
her waist.  She'd daubed a bit of Austrian dessert wine on her
areolae, just enough to make them taste sweet without making them
too sticky, and the look on his face as he tasted them was
priceless.  He licked and suckled them greedily, his hips moving
faster, filling her, pleasing her, loving her.  She reached for her
wine glass and dipped a finger in the Chardonnay, opening the top of
her robe and circling her nipple with the moist fingertip, feeling
it stiffen against the chilled liquid. 

It was making him horny, thinking about that night, how he knelt
between her creamy thighs, pressing his hardness inside her and then
stretching out on top of her body.  Her nipples felt funny against
his chest, just a bit sticky, and as he began to thrust inside her
he'd leaned his head and took one between his lips.  The sweetness
surprised him, made him wonder what she'd done, but then he saw the
bottle of wine on the night table, that sweet Austrian white that
she loved to sip with a plate of fresh strawberries.  Despite the
scotch he'd been drinking, he could still taste the wine, and he
felt himself harden in his trousers. 

She traced the lower curve of her breast with a wine-moistened
fingertip, wishing it could be his hand on her instead of her own. 
She missed his gentle touch most of all, the way he worshipped her
body, sculpting her curves and hollows with his fingers, softly
kissing her in all the right places.  Opening her robe the rest of
the way, she ran her hands over her breasts, the gentle swell of her
belly, down her hips, along her thighs. 

He squeezed himself through his trousers, wishing it could be her
hand instead of his own.  He missed her gentle touch most of all,
the way she loved to please him, sliding down his body, her breasts
pressing against his thighs as she gently stroked his hardness,
softly kissing the tip.  Loosening his trousers, he reached into his
boxers, wrapping his fingers around his shaft. 

I'm so wet for him, she thought as she dipped a finger in her sex. 
She teased herself, bringing her nectar up to her pearl and circling
it, trying carefully to avoid touching it directly.  She placed her
other hand on her breast, cupping it, squeezing it, feeling the
tension in her belly begin to grow. 

I'm so hard for her, he thought as he felt his member.  He teased
himself, squeezing his shaft, trying to resist the compulsion to
stroke himself.  Pulling off his trousers and boxers, he placed his
other hand on his sac, cupping it, fondling it, feeling the tension
in his loins begin to grow. 

She held off as long as she could, resisting the urge to touch her
button until the tension became excruciating.  When her fingertip
made its first contact it felt like an electric charge arcing from
her clitoris, through her belly, down her thighs and up her spine. 
She squeezed her breast again and began to move her hips, rocking
them back and forth as if he was actually inside her. 

He held off as long as he could, resisting the urge to stroke his
hardness until the tension became almost painful.  When his fingers
began to glide along his shaft, it felt like an electric charge
surging through his groin, making his thighs tense and his stomach
muscles tighten.  He squeezed his scrotum again and began to move
his hips, rocking them back and forth as if he was actually inside
her. 

She brought her hand from her breasts to her sex, dipping a finger
inside her cleft as she rubbed her button with her other hand,
looking down over her heaving breasts before closing her eyes.  A
finger was a poor substitute for his beautiful manhood, but he was
three thousand miles away. 

He brought other hand up to his shaft, circling the base with his
fingers and holding his skin taut as he stroked himself.  He looked
down between his legs before closing his eyes.  A hand was a poor
substitute for her lovely sex, but she was three thousand miles
away. 

As she pleasured herself she brought up her favorite memory, from
the week they'd spent at that rented cabin by the lake, laying
together on a lumpy mattress, making the creaky old bed squeak with
their lovemaking.  He'd kept her in a state of constant arousal,
unable to keep his hands off her, taking her wherever they happened
to be at the time, in the woods, on the porch, in the kitchen, by
the fireplace.  Behind closed eyelids, she saw him kneeling between
her thighs, feeling his breath on her sex, the touch of his tongue. 

As he pleasured himself, he recalled that week they had spent at the
cabin by the lake, lying together on that old brass bed, almost
hearing the bedsprings complain about their coupling.  She'd kept
him constantly horny, wearing next to nothing, always rubbing
against him, and he couldn't keep his hands off of her, making love
with her everywhere, beneath the trees, on the floor, even on the
kitchen table.  In his mind's eye he could see her kneeling between
his legs, feeling her warm breath on his hardness, her lips on his
shaft. 

It never failed to bring her to her release, that memory of their
week alone together.  Her hands were moving quickly now, one
worrying her swollen pearl while the other plunged in and out of her
passage.  Her hips were moving quickly as well, as if she were
meeting his thrusts, urging him to take her faster, deeper.  The
kernel of pleasure inside her began to grow, spreading through her
body, making her toes curl and the skin above her breasts flush. 
She leaned her head back on the couch and called his name as she
climaxed, saying it again and again as she shuddered on the plush
cushions. 

It never failed to make him come, the memory of that week at the
lake.  His hand was moving quickly now, gliding up and down over his
shaft as he circled the base with the fingers of his other hand. 
His hips were rocking quickly as well, as if he were thrusting
inside her, plumbing the depths of her sex with his hardness, taking
her faster, deeper.  That familiar feeling began to grow between his
legs, spreading down his thighs, making them tense with each stroke
of his hand.  He leaned his head back against the pillow and
whispered her name as he let go, whispering it again as he released
his seed, feeling the warm, sticky fluid dripping between his
fingers. 

She brought the hem of her robe up between her legs, using the plush
terrycloth to blot her moist sex.  Taking another sip of her wine,
she closed her eyes and relaxed. 

He reached for the box of tissues on the table next to the bed,
cleaning up the sticky mess between his legs.  Taking another sip of
scotch, he unbuttoned his shirt and sat down on the bed. 

She opened her eyes and looked at the phone, debating whether she
should call him or not.  She decided to call.  He'd understand.  He
knew how much she missed him when he was away.  She lifted the
receiver and began to dial his number. 

He put down his scotch and looked at the phone, wondering if he
should call now or wait until he was sure she was done with dinner. 
He did a quick mental calculation of time zones and decided that she
probably hadn't sat down to eat yet.  The line was busy, and as he
was putting down the phone his cell began to chirp its ring tone,
the first few notes of Bach's "Art of the Fugue". 


                                  * * * 
 

(c) 2003  Anais Ninja  anais_ninja@hotmail.com 
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html

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