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Message-ID: <43650asstr$1059437405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Emily van Haankden" <emilyvhaankden@care2.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Friend of the Family Wank {Emily van Haankden} (Fm mast scat)
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 20:10:05 -0400
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This is a work of ADULT fiction. It is contains 
highly graphic depictions of extreme sexual 
behaviour. It is not suitable for children 
under the age of 18.
------------------------------------------------
----------------------

Story Codes: Fm mast scat

Friend of the Family Wank
----------------------------------------------
by Emily van Haankden

Making yourself comfy in someone else's bedroom 
is always a bit weird, but I didn't want the 
headache -- wipers endlessly on driving through 
grey November drizzle, concentrating too hard 
on the motorway -- to spoil the evening, so we 
all agreed it was best if I had a bit of lie 
down for an hour or so. 

I drew the curtains, took some aspirin, lay 
down on top of the covers, undid the top of my 
jeans, slipped my hand down, and slowly lost 
myself in my favourite fantasy of the moment: 
Jack bending his little boyish botty over my 
head and huffing and puffing till he shits over 
my face; big soft light brown Mr Whippy swirls 
of creamy pooh, filling my mouth and covering 
my nose and eyes in stinky mess. Sometimes 
nasty is too nasty, but sometimes nasty is just 
nice. I didn't last long, and as my orgasm 
subsided, I drifted off into a light head-
healing sleep.



Mathew stood above me, all nervous, diffident, 
excuse me please Miss, mug of tea in his hand. 
I waved the tea towards the bedside table.

"Are you feeling any better?" Mathew was a 
girlish boy, still with an unbroken voice. 13 
at a guess. Pencil thin figure, with barely 
controlled curly brown hair, soft full lips, 
and bright hazel eyes. What a little angle.

"A little"

He handed me the tea. "Your hands are cold ... 
here, come and rub my temples".

He didn't know quite what I meant, so I took 
his hands and placed his finger tips on the 
sides of my temples, and showed him how to 
gently message my aching brow in delicate 
little circles. 

Massage is a funny thing. You can rub yourself 
in the same place, in the same way, but it's 
just not the same if someone else does it. 

I sighed back into the pillow as his cool 
fingertips pressed soothingly into the fuzzy 
pain inside my head. I tingled as he washed my 
face in his warm breadth, leaning his face 
above mine as he focused with childish 
intensity on his task.

I cooed and whispered how very nice it was, all 
the time softly pleading that he do it gently 
and more slowly. Boys are so easily assume 
trying hard equals doing it hard, but then, as 
something else was becoming hard, I could 
forgive him.

The tent pole pushing up the centre of Mathews 
trousers pointed at me with juvenile keenness. 
I let him stop massaging me, and patted the bed 
for him to sit beside me. He did, and as he did 
so, he did that guy thing of looking me up and 
down along my prone body. 

Something caught his attention, and his eyes 
lasered in on my groin. Oh dear. I'd left the 
top of my jeans undone, and Mathew was gazing 
at the crimson frilly mesh of the top of my 
panties peeping out of the open Vee of my jeans.

I lay my hand on the top of his thigh, and gave 
it a friendly squeeze. "Thank you, that was 
lovely ... do you give a lot of massages?"

"No" he popped, blushing.

"You should, you have lovely hands, show me 
them" He held out his hands. I inspected them 
and then took one hand in mine, and give it a 
little squeeze, before resting it casually on 
the top of my chest, so that the back of his 
hand was lying on my bosom.

We talked for a few minutes, my hand on his 
thigh, his hand in mine resting on my breast. 

Mathew had a relaxed and easy charm with 
adults. His dad's a hotel manager, and Mathew 
had hung round people in social environments 
all his brief life, and it showed. 

I moved my hand so it was just touching the 
side of his erection with the side of my thumb --
 nearly but not quite accidental, and asked if 
he had a girlfriend. He said no, so I asked 
about his sexiest teacher. 

He went all shy. 

I coaxed him, telling him teachers have sexiest 
pupils, and perhaps he was her sexist pupil. 
The thought, of course, hadn't occurred to him. 
Kids think teachers live in cupboards and only 
come out to teacher, whereas, it only feels 
like that sometimes. 

He talked with a bright face about Miss 
Bateman. I asked him what was sexy about her. 
He was all coy, unable to quite explain what 
was it that made her the linchpin of so many of 
his fantasies. So I asked him to describe her. 
Very long blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, nice 
smile.

I asked him about he boobs, what sort of tits 
did she have. He blushed and turned his head 
away, but I caught his eye. "Well?" 

"Well ... sort of like yours"

"What do you mean?" The poor love, he was 
squirming now.

"er ... well, kinda small but ... er ... well she's 
got very ..." he hesitated over whether he should 
use a dirty word in front of a grown up. 

"Yes..."

"well she's got very tall nips like you" he 
said in a rush. I laughed. Like this you mean. 
I pulled the front of my tee-shirt to my neck 
to show my little flat boobies with there large 
dark areola and tall nipples.

"Ohhhhh WOW!" the startled boy cried. 

I glowed ... my tits don't often get a WOW. 

I placed my hand back on this thigh, but this 
time the palm of my hand covered the pointy 
tent in the poor lad's trousers. I pressed it 
flat. Instinctively he pushed against my hand.


I'd like to say I knew exactly what I was doing 
at this point. It wouldn't be true, but I'd 
like to say it. 

With me, it's not just getting carried away, 
it's the addictive thrill of doing something 
naughty, something wicked. The door was half 
open. I felt sure I could hear if anybody came 
up the stairs. I could play with fire and get 
away with it. What a total dirty rush.

I hadn't met Mathew or his parents before, they 
were friends of Lindsey. But when you teach you 
get good at judging people, and I judged Mathew 
was up for it, and not just his cock. A lad 
like Mathew, well he revels in being the man, 
is flattered by being taken as an equal, and 
would never say no to a bit of backroom hanky-
panky. Not a bad lad, just one who wants to be 
on the inside.

I cupped the back of Mathew's head with my 
hand, and lead him down to my breast. I 
stretched up into his pretty mouth as he sucked 
at my left tittie and then bobbed over to the 
right one. I gripped his cock through his 
trousers, and gave it a slow but firm rub. 

The boy slavered over my tits, my hand on his 
head guiding him to divide his attention 
between both hot nipples. My whispers imploring 
him to be gentle even as he was overwhelmed 
with excitement and lust and novelty and 
surprise and everything! I would be lost to his 
clumsy passion if I didn't take control. 

With the slightest change of timbre, a school 
teacher told him to stand up. Years of 
obedience training paid off, and he stood on 
shaky confused legs. 

I decided to dispense with foils and duels and 
to get to the point. We had are oasis of 
privacy, but who knew for how long. 

I unbuckled at his belt and tugged his trousers 
down to his knees. His tiny sky blue little 
undies - the kind only mummies buy - came too, 
and a perfectly formed cock sprung with bouncy 
enthusiasm. 

Mathew was no Jack when it came to being well 
hung. It stood, and I do mean stood, nearly 
vertically, four inches high, thin, veined, 
with an open fat purple head, a fringe of wispy 
pubic hair, and a pair balls so low hanging 
they almost looked like a pair of novelty items 
suck on as an afterthought. (Though quite a few 
of my girlfriends think that's true of all 
men's genitals.)

I glanced up at Mathew and it was obvious that 
he had no idea was happening so fast to him. 
How very delicious. 

I ducked down - me sitting on the edge of the 
bed, my tee shirt fallen back to cover myself 
again, him standing in front of me, trousers 
down, in his parents bedroom. 

I took his cock in my mouth and started to give 
it a good firm no nonsense blowjob. This wasn't 
a time for a subtle beautiful experience. This 
was time for a quick nasty bit of sex in the 
gloom of a wet November afternoon. 

Mathew groaned loudly with feel of my mouth on 
his cock. I snatched my mouth away and give him 
a stern "SScccchh!" before returning to the job.

There is something so splendid about 
controlling a man through his cock; times ten 
when controlling a boy brimming with wonder at 
what's happening to him. 

Of course, the trouble with boys is ... they're 
just so much shorter. So to spare my neck, I 
sit up and continue to give the dazed but happy 
youth a handjob, lifting up my tee-shirt again 
to give him something to aim at.

I pump his cock till my hand is nearly a blur 
and my wrist is aching, and I'm just about to 
switch hands when he shoots his load all over 
my tits and tummy. Big white lumps of spunk 
slide down my front as Mathew tries to muffle 
his down shouts of pleasure. I quickly lick my 
hand clean and wipe the cooling spunk off my 
boobs and out of my belly button off with 
tissues, before all of my clothes get stained, 
then walk briskly to the enjoining bathroom. 

Someone is coming up the stairs. In heart 
stopping panic I check Mathew, but he's already 
had the sense to pull his trousers up. Lindsey 
appears at the door. "They were just wondering 
if everything is OK up here" Every syllable 
drips with double entendre and sarcasm.

"Yes Yes" I shoo her away, cross she'd made my 
body dump half a ton of adrenalin round my 
heart with no obvious way of using it. 

"We'll see you both soon then" and leaves with 
a wink.

Suddenly I feel pretty grotty and sordid. 

Mathew just looks at me as I dab tissues at the 
spunk stains on the carpet. And then notice a 
streak of spunk must of gone over my shoulder 
and rained on one of the pillows. 

"Who sleeps hear?"

"Mummy"

"Well I bet she'll be thinking of you tonight" 
as I tried to remove the worst of the stains. I 
sit down, still a bit flustered.

"You'd better go down, Mathew. I'll be along in 
a minute." He skips off, genuinely pleased he 
can go back to being a boy again. I sit and sip 
at the half cold tea - yuck - and wonder 
whether being so stupid is worth the risk.

And then I go downstairs, and I see Lindsey's 
eyes are twinkling at me, and it dawns on me 
that she set the whole thing up, and I can't 
help my face breaking out into a big cheesy 
grin, and I can't look at her, because if I do, 
I'll just giggle. Oh yeah, it's worth it.

----------------------------------------------
by Emily van Haankden
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