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Subject: {ASSM} Anal Intentions/Banal Intentions
Date: Sun, 22 Jun 2003 16:10:05 -0400
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ANAL INTENTIONS (fF, anal, toys)
WARNING
This is a story intended for adults. If the lawmakers of your
land think you are too young to read such material, then please
go and find something else to do. You may be able to smoke (and
in the long term that really will seriously damage your health),
get married and even die for your country, but if your laws says
you are to young to read this stuff, then you are too young.
Also, if you are to believe my father after he discovered my
stash of girly pics hidden under the floorboards of my bedroom,
reading (and what comes from reading and looking at) such things,
will harm your eyesight).
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This is a tribute to my friend Sam Cornell and her uninhibited
stories. It is both parody and tongue-in-cheek, and you probably
already know how much Sam likes tongues in cheeks.
Within 24 hours of reading my story on SEWG Sam added her own
brief story, Banal Intentions which is appended at the end.
To appreciate the connection to my story, if you've not already
done so, you might first want to read Sam's "Entente Cordiale"
posted on ASSM recently. The link is:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/
Year2003/42519
ANAL INTENTIONS
(fF, anal, toys)
By Pee J
Copyright 2003
pee.j@NOSPAMvirgin.net Please remove the 'NOSPAM' before
e-mailing.
Samantha Cornell found herself gently easing from sleep into
semi-consciousness. That delightful feeling when you
instinctively know that it is the weekend and no alarm is going
to shatter the warm reverie.
She had partly thrown off the continental duvet, a sort of
comforter adopted by the Brits, and was lying half face down,
half on her side, the soft, duck-down duvet clasped to her body
like a lover. She felt warm and cosy as she snuggled closer.
Slowly the events of the previous night began to creep into her
consciousness. She'd decided a week was long enough to be
celibate and had phoned that young, very young French girl,
Therese, and persuaded her to come out for a meal though Sam
being Sam had more than just a meal in mind.
To Sam's surprise Therese had quickly agreed providing it was
just the two of them. She made it clear that she wanted Sam to
herself, not with Sam's somewhat older friend Sandy, who had been
with them when they last met. Therese was young, skinny and
blonde and had that Gallic air of apparent indifference. Sam
took her out for a really nice dinner and then brought her back
to her apartment.
Sam was a fortunate young American woman. She'd made something
of a name for herself on Wall Street and had been invited to work
in London. Not London Ontario, not London Arkansas, Kentucky,
Ohio, Texas or West Virginia, but London, England. She was a
high earner, had a smart penthouse apartment overlooking the
River Thames, a flash European sports car neatly stashed in the
apartment's basement car park, the complex all fenced in and
controlled by security guards. She called herself the Yank at
the Court of King James, King James Court being the name of the
block where she lived.
She'd even gotten used to the weather. It was not nearly as bad
as she'd been led to believe. Firstly, in winter there was hardly
ever any snow, and it hardly ever got stinking hot in summer.
Nor did it rain that often either. The other myth that London
was always shrouded in fog was unfounded. True, sometimes on
early fall mornings, mist would form over the river, but
generally that burnt off pretty quickly.
Not surprisingly there were some downsides. The apartment did
not have air con. It seems the Brits did not go in for such
niceties. Considering such things a necessity Sam had installed a
couple of portable AC units, but she found she only used them
occasionally as the weather rarely warranted it. Probably, that
was why the Brits didn't bother either, though almost all modern
cars now had it.
Sam enjoyed working in the Square Mile, the City, London's
financial centre, dominated on one side by St Paul's Cathedral
and on the other by the formidable Tower of London, known for its
Crown Jewels (behind bars), being incarcerated in (in times
past), beheading (not that now either), Beefeaters (very curious
garb for a soldier) and ravens (the so-called guardians of The
Tower).
At first she had been intrigued by the odd sounding names of some
of the streets: Cheapside, Barbican, Poultry, St Mary's Axe and
Threadneedle Street. Even pubs known as Dirty Dicks and
Cheshire Cheese. She had soon discovered that there was even an
Old Lady of Threadneedle Street, and when she enquired someone
enlightened her that it was a name given to The Bank of England,
located in that street.
In the eighties and early nineties, the City had been severely
car bombed by the IRA, causing massive destruction and
disruption, but the financial institutions had soon made
alternative arrangements for temporary offices outside the City.
At the same time a 'Ring of Steel' had been set up around the
City, and all vehicles were police checked on entering the Square
Mile. After 9/11 these were reassuring precautions.
There were other downers in London, first the traffic and then
public transport, both horrendous, with the authorities bringing
in Bob Kylie who sorted out New York's transport problems, but in
true Brit fashion they had tied one hand behind his back making
an impossible task, well, more impossible.
For all that London had lots of compensations. Just like New
York there was a big ethnic mix. Not Hispanics and
African-Americans, but Asians (East Indians to you) and an
occasional black person, and yes, that is the politically correct
way they're refered to. If you felt out of place or homesick
there was always McDonalds or Starbucks, so at last the Brits
were learning something about fast food and coffee.
Of course, there was the massive selection of cultural
opportunities, but what Sam like most was the huge choice of
pretty young things who swarmed into the City every morning to do
the bidding of their more lofty male and, these days, female
financial masters.
That meant availability and choice - and that was very much to
Sam's American liking. She had contrived all sorts of ways of
first luring then snaring these fresh-faced girls. Sam had soon
realised that the peaches-and-cream complexion was very much to
her liking. There was even one occasion when she had
deliberately crashed into a bike-riding girl so she could get to
know her, well, seduce, actually. The incident has cost her an
expensive Mont Blanc pen, but that's another story. Generally
she found the English girls and their continental and Asian
counterparts, not too averse to being persuaded that girl on girl
sex, even when coupled to her own perverse peculiarities, could
be really quite irresistible. Irresistible when Sam was doing
the persuading, at least.
One thing that stood out with these young girls was their almost
total lack of inhibitions. The younger they were, the less
inhibited. And that suited Sam nicely, very nicely, thank you.
Last night, though, things had not gone according to plan.
They'd come back from the restaurant and to ensure Therese was
fully compliant, she had plied her with more drink and just as
Sam was about to make her move, Therese had passed out.
When it became clear that she was out for the count, Sam, with
great disappointment, realised that her night of passion had gone
down the tube and fetched a blanket. It was going to be too much
effort to try and get Therese into the guest room, or into her
own bed for that matter. She would have to stay on the couch.
Just as she was about to cover her up she thought she should
remove Therese's tight jeans. Typically French, Therese always
dressed well. She had designer hipster jeans and a very pretty
crop top, leaving a delicious gap between top and jeans, exposing
a navel pierced with an emerald-stone pin.
She wondered how old Therese really was. She'd told Sam she was
eighteen, but Sam was doubtful. Still, this was England where
the age of consent, for both heterosexual couples and gay men was
sixteen. As for sex between girls there was no law at all.
There was an apocryphal story that in the 19th century a statute
had been placed before Queen Victoria as head of state, to sign
her assent regarding the age of consent for all types of couples,
but the Queen had sent it back saying that sex between women was
impossible and did not exist, and the clause was supposedly
removed. Since then there had been no legal minimum age of
consent between females. Of course, if an older women exploited
or abused any young person she could be had up for sexual
assault, but such cases were extremely rare.
The minimum age for consuming and buying alcohol in the UK is
eighteen, but Sam was far from convinced Therese was even that
old. Still, in restaurants no one seemed to care, never asked
for ID, and in any case there is no such thing as official ID in
the UK. Therese had consumed at least two-thirds of their
expensive bottle of Chateau something-or-other. Her usual bored
attitude had given way to exaggerated French expressiveness.
Sam undid the silver-link belt, popped the button on the jeans
and pulled down the zip. The exposed pale-pink bikini panties
looked so inviting. With considerable difficulty she pulled down
the jeans and removed them. She looked longingly at the vee
nestling at the junction of Therese's legs. It was irresistible.
She stroked her way down between the thighs and was rewarded by
a barely audible moan. The material was partly transparent and
the outline of Therese's trimmed pubes was clearly evident.
Reluctantly, Sam dismissed any thoughts of any further sexual
play with the girl. In this state. it would be no fun in it at
all. It was the chase and the seduction that were the thrill,
getting them to do things they would normally find horrifying,
things they would normally never even consider. But then most of
the girls she brought back would never have even considered going
with another girl - until they met Sam that is.
In the end Sam had given up on any idea of sex and had crawled
into her own bed and in spite of her frustration quickly fell
asleep.
Now, in the morning, in her semi-conscious state, eyes firmly
shut and without having any intention of even trying to prise
them open, she thought she heard a noise outside her bedroom
door. She vaguely remembered last night and assumed that Therese
was going to the bathroom and with that lapsed back into a doze.
As usual, Sam was sleeping in the nude, and with the duvet partly
pushed away she could feel gentle wafts of air over her back and
particularly over her bottom. Sam loved bottoms, she loved her
own and she loved the pert bottoms of pretty girls. She adored
what she could do to them and what she could get them to do to
her and even to her friends like Sandy. Things, that before they
met Sam, they would have considered disgustingly obscene and
dirty.
As her doze slowly stirred into what passed for consciousness,
the soft air she felt flowing over her was delightfully sensuous.
She became aware of a feather touch on one of the cheeks of her
bottom. Then another and another. She had no idea what was
making these sensations. What she did know was that she liked
them. There was a second kind of touch different to the first,
soft but slightly firmer. At that moment she realised that it
was Therese and she was being given both butterfly and lip
kisses. For Sam, in her drowsy torpor, the feeling was
exquisite.
Silky hands were caressing her waist and then the outside of her
bottom. For Sam there could be no better way to be woken. She
just lay and luxuriated in the heavenly sensations.
The hands pushed her shoulder so she was now lying on her front
with her hands above her head. She felt the hands on her wrists
and before she even thought to resist, they'd been tied to the
headboard. Not that Sam minded, for once in her barely wakeful
state she was enjoying being passive instead of her usual role of
predator.
She wondered what would come next. In anticipation she spread
her legs slightly. After all, she thought, as the dregs of sleep
began to disappear, I want to make it easy for her - whatever she
has in mind.
The caressing of her bottom became more persistent. The hands
were all over the cheeks of her ass. She widened her legs more.
She could feel wetness beginning to form. She wondered if it
would be visible to Therese, she hoped so. She kept her eyes
tightly shut to enhance the blending of reality and fantasy that
was rapidly accruing in a corner of her sexually-charged brain.
She felt two fingers of one hand on each side of her labia, then
form a single entity as it reached the crack of her ass. She
wriggled in expectation, but the finger just slid up the crease
never coming in contact with her rosebud quivering in
anticipation. Just for once Sam was not in control. Someone
else, Therese, was dictating both the action and the pace.
Something Sam was not used to at all.
Three more times the action was repeated. Each time, Sam began
to realize, Therese's fingers were getting nearer to her asshole
- that little brown ring that led her into so much trouble and,
at the same time, gave her so much pleasure.
Then, with her frustration bubbling over, she felt the fingers on
her slit. They slipped between the engorged lips by now slicked
with juices. To Sam's utter disappointment they failed to
contact her clit, instead they paused at the entrance to her
tunnel and one finger slowly began to enter. Then, maddeningly,
before it got beyond the first knuckle it was withdrawn,
continuing it's journey into her ass crack, even more maddeningly
stopping just short of her little rosebud.
Dragging out the agony Therese kept repeating the procedure,
building up the frustration to almost unbearable limits. Just
when Sam had about reached screaming pitch, Therese just brushed
Sam's clit. It was barely a touch at all, but it sent jolts
charging though Sam. Not only was her clit now being included,
but this time, not one but two fingers were fractionally pressed
inside her hole. Then the finger reached the very edge of her
anal ring.
This was enough to set her hips bucking as she sought to get the
close contact she craved. Therese was having none of it. She
repeated her actions several more times until Sam was pleading
for relief. Sam could hear moans and groans and it took her
awhile to appreciate they were sounds being made by herself. She
could also hear chuckles. It was clear that Therese was
thoroughly enjoying Sam's discomfort.
Evidently Therese was getting her own back for when she was here
last, and Sandy, old enough to be her mother, had been here too.
It had taken barely half-an-hour of their first meeting for Sam
to get them both licking each other's assholes. Then, to crown
it, Sam had peed on Sandy's ass as Therese was licking it. Sam
had really gotten off on it but after such humiliation it would
be hardly surprising if Therese, now at least, wanted to make Sam
agonise.
Finally taking pity on Sam, on her next pass she circled and
brushed her clit and when her fingers went further, she plunged
two fingers in hard and then thrust repeatedly. Sam screamed, at
last the teasing was over - or so she thought. Then the
thrusting stopped and the fingers slowly crept to that puckered
ring, bringing with it lubrication.
Sam was sure that Therese would penetrate her now. But Therese
was not ready. Her middle finger poised on the very entrance to
her anus and just rested there. Then Sam began to feel a very
light pressure. Then it stopped. Then began again. Gradually
it established a rhythm, and although the frequency increased the
pressure didn't. No matter how hard Sam thrust back at Therese's
fingers, she permitted no penetration at all, the pad of the
finger giving minimal pressure, not even entering a millimetre.
With Therese's repeated pressure, Sam began to relax more. No
longer was she clenching her anal sphincter. She knew it would
soon begin, Therese would ass fuck her with her finger. She knew
that was what this was all about.
Finally she was not disappointed. The finger began probing and
soon that tight little juiced-up muscle had been invaded.
This was what Sam had been waiting for. It had been a long time
coming, but she knew she wouldn't last long. Then when a second
finger joined the first, Sam knew the final slide down the
slippery slope that ended with heavenly bliss was beginning. She
felt the kisses and licks around her cheeks always getting closer
to those pervading fingers languidly pumping against the hips
thrusting back at her.
Then, at the split moment before the point of no return, Therese
withdrew her fingers. Blind, screaming frustration seized Sam
and she strained at her bonds but that only served to tighten
them. She became aware that Therese was still kissing and
licking her bottom, but this time they were on the edge of the
crack, then her hands were forcing her cheeks apart.
Heaven in heaven, she felt Therese's tongue rimming her rosebud,
not only that but she was trying to force her tongue inside. The
moment she succeeded the dam burst and Sam convulsed into massive
orgasm, making her thrash about on the bed while poor Therese
tried to remain in contact.
Sam sensed that Therese had lost the battle to continue tonguing
her, but she also sensed that maybe there was more to come. With
the final embers of her fiery climax subsiding she again felt
pressure on that little anal ring. Whatever was there had
obviously been already lubricated. The pressure grew and
something was forced inside. It felt quite big, it was in deep
and it felt very good. She expected to be ass fucked with it,
but instead he heard an odd noise, one she should could not quite
place. At the same time whatever was inside her was swelling and
with each of the sounds she heard, the thing got bigger and
bigger. She wished she could turn round to see what it was, but
she was too securely tied.
It was now so big that Sam thought it would split her. Then,
this enormous thing inside her stopped swelling. She realised
that what she had heard was a hand pump working. It was hardly
the first time she'd been ass fucked by men as well as women, but
never had she felt anything like this. It brought an incredible,
filled-up feeling. She wondered if it was a strap-on but she was
not sure that pump up ones existed. She realized that it had to
be an inflatable anal plug, the sort that can't be removed until
the air is let out.
During these couple of moments of inactivity, various thoughts
careered through her over-stimulated brain. Then, so briefly
that she could not be sure she actually felt anything, it seemed
to buzz inside her. Just as she was thinking that it had been
her imagination, it happened again, a slightly longer duration
this time, but definitely a buzz, a low-frequency vibration.
Sam didn't care for strap-ons; she thought them faintly
embarrassing to use on her conquests, but now some sort of toy
was being used on her and she could do nothing about it. The
little bursts of vibration became more frequent and as they did
so they became more and more pronounced, carrying on until they
reached a level of high intensity.
For Sam this was turning out to be an outstanding session of
lust. Entirely out of character she found having all control
removed was proving to be an indescribable turn-on.
Therese, sliding her fingers onto Sam's clit proved to be the
final straw and she lurched into the inevitable climax.
Her orgasm finally abated, Sam, exhausted and sated, collapsed
mentally and physically. Sam the predator from across the Big
Pond had finally been snared by a European kid and had found out
what it was like to be the victim.
She had discovered something about herself too - she'd actually
liked being on the receiving end as much as she liked dishing it
out, well, for this time, at least. It also proved beyond doubt
that you can never entirely trust the French!
Still, this was Britain and the last time the French had invaded
was 1066. Now here she was, an American in England being
invaded up the ass by a French butt plug. She doubted if the
next French invasion would take so long.
She certainly hoped not, at least not with this particular
Frenchie.
FINIS
With apologies to Sam Cornell.
Pee J
Copyright 2003
pee.j@NOSPAMvirgin.net Please remove the 'NOSPAM' before
e-mailing.
Any comments would be much appreciated, but, just to be safe,
better not tell Sam.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
The following short story was Sam's repost just 24 hours after
reading my story. If mine is a parody of her work then hers is a
pastiche.
Banal Intentions
By Sam Cornell
Copyright 2003
Sam walked into the crowded bar. Tall, slim, rich, American, with
a perfect bottom, heads turned. Sam looked around for any tall,
slim, poor English women with perfect bottoms.
Then Sam saw her. Perfect. With a perfect bottom.
Sam kicked the poor English girl's ankle. The girl turned
angrily, ready for a fight but seeing that Sam was such a
hard-working Armani-dressing money-making power-bitch, and also
an American, she let Sam buy her a drink instead.
The girl was very shy, really quite inexperienced, despite having
such a nice bottom. Sam bought them both Champagne.
"This is boring," said Sam. "Let's go back to my apartment."
The girl looked confused. She was out with her friends. They all
thought she was straight. She thought she was straight. Yet this
hard-working Armani-dressing etc American was asking her home.
But, she did have a perfect bottom. "Ok."
In the cab the girl was very nervous, and reflected that it was
only because Sam was such an impressive and American person that
she had even agreed to be there at all.
"Would you like a drink?" asked Sam when they were tucked safely
away in her gorgeous penthouse apartment with its river view, "or
shall we get straight on with the bottom sex?"
The girl blinked nervously. It was one thing agreeing to
mindless sex with a strange woman, quite another to mindless
bottom sex.
"Ok," she said.
Despite being so shy and inexperienced the young girl did
everything Sam said, and any faintly astute geopolitical observer
of the two horny young women coupling might have found something
of the Bush-Blair in their relationship.
The girl had a mind-blowing, bottom-loving orgasm, despite or
maybe because of being so shy and inexperienced.
Sam didn't bother.
The End - until another perfect bottom comes along.
Copyright Sam Cornell 2003
Cornell525@hotpoint.com
Sam Cornell's stories can be found at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/samcornell/www
including 'Streets of London', the one with the cyclist and a
Mont Blanc pen.
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