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Message-ID: <43857asstr$1060733405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: bradley_stoke@hushmail.com (Bradley Stoke)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: 12 Aug 2003 20:55:11 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Naked Compromise (Bradley Stoke) (MF)
Date: Tue, 12 Aug 2003 20:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Title: {ASSM} Naked Compromise (Bradley Stoke) (MF)
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: MF 
Short Summary: Siobhan struggles between her naturist principles and her
lust for a textile.



Story: Naked Compromise (5,733 words)

Siobhan is a principled naturist. Not for her the vanity of clothes or the
distraction of shaving her legs or pubes. But when she meets Niall, she has to  
consider for the first time the option of Naked Compromise. 
 


For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www
           


Naked Compromise
================



It was obvious to Siobhan that Niall was only partly 
interested in the relative merits of Milton and Dante but the 
subject gave him something neutral to discuss as they 
walked away from the professor's study where they'd just 
been attending a seminar. She was amused to see Niall 
avert his gaze so studiously from her body to her face. This 
was one of the most fun aspects of being a naturist. Not 
that she was a naturist because she was in some sense an 
exhibitionist (although there must be an element of that in 
all naturists). It was her views and beliefs that had 
convinced her to eschew the tyranny of clothing. Textiles 
always had difficulty addressing naturists, but at least Niall 
was trying. And he was so sweet, too. In the seminars, 
she'd often observed him discreetly scrutinising her naked 
body. It especially amused her when she crossed and 
uncrossed her legs. That hilarious expression on his face! 

Of course, there were other people in the seminars. And 
not all of them were as circumspect as Niall. The professor 
had initially been quite reluctant to allow Siobhan to attend 
her seminars in the nude, but as Siobhan reminded her, she 
didn't seem to have any problem with the male naturists, of 
which there were two in Seventeenth Century Literature.

"But it's different for a woman?" the professor had 
objected.

Siobhan was sure that if she'd been a lot less attractive or a 
man (particularly ones as scrawny as Seamus and Rory), 
there'd have been no problem. It was funny that the more 
attractive a person was, the more their nudity seemed to be 
a dilemma. Siobhan didn't care. She was a naturist. And 
always had been. Well. Since Sixth Form anyway. 

"I'm sorry," Siobhan remarked to Niall as they stood 
outside the Junior Common Room where she could see 
some of her friends sitting around a table, "I just don't 
agree that Milton shared the same view of the cosmos as 
Dante at all. After all, he was some kind of protestant." She 
smiled. "Anyway! I have to be going! I'll see you at the 
next seminar."

"Or perhaps before?" asked Niall in a hopeful voice.

God! This textile was trying to hit on her. Siobhan was 
partly flattered, but she had to be sensible. Niall was at 
least as different in his lifestyle to her as a prod from an 
RC. What would her friends say if they saw her with a 
textile? 

"Well, maybe at the lecture," replied Siobhan 
diplomatically, as she pushed open the door of the JCR and 
pointedly waved at her friends. 

Niall was clearly put out by Siobhan's evasiveness. He 
hovered for a few moments at the door, clasping his folders 
and course-books to his chest, while Siobhan strode past 
the tables and chairs towards where her friends were 
sitting. As she walked by, wearing only sandals and 
carrying her satchel over her shoulder, she was sensitive to 
the eyes of all the textiles she passed by. They caressed her 
with their gaze, making her feel both self-conscious and 
proud. No doubt they were trying to spot a glimpse of labia 
in the bush of her pubic hairs or otherwise trying to satisfy 
their voyeurism. Why should she care? Everyone should be 
naked. Then nobody would ever feel ashamed of their 
bodies. Except fat people. Or old ones. Well, almost 
everyone anyway. 

"Hiya Sian!" greeted Siobhan as she sat down next to her 
friend who was sitting opposite Patrick and Sean. All of 
them naturists, of course, and quite happy to be sitting 
apart from all the textiles in the room, who never seemed 
to take their eyes off them. Patrick glanced up at her and 
smiled, his puffy blue cheeks straining from the energy, 
and then returned his attention to Sean who was his usual 
tense and wiry self, unable to do more than nod his head at 
her before returning to his earnest conversation.

"Hiya Siobhan!" responded Sian, who Siobhan could see 
was heartily bored with her friends' conversation. "You 
heard about Eamonn?"

"Eamonn? Why should I care about him?" Eamonn was 
Siobhan's last boyfriend. He had been such a 
disappointment. Not that he wasn't that bad looking. Well, 
better looking than Sean, and his emaciated body, with his 
skin's tendency to erupt in boils and zits. And nowhere 
near as fat as Patrick. Why did fat people insist on 
becoming naturists? Was it because they couldn't find any 
clothes to fit? In bed, though, Eamonn was such a drag. 
Good the first few times, but then the sex got briefer and 
less frequent. And sometimes he couldn't get it up at all. 
That was no fucking good. And as the sex got worse, 
Siobhan couldn't really see what else she'd liked so much 
in him. Although he had attractive limpid blue eyes. And 
his teeth were remarkably regular.

"He's only gone and started going out with Sheila!" Sian 
explained, grinning in anticipation of Siobhan's response.

"Holy Mother of God! That English bitch!" exclaimed 
Siobhan angrily. Once upon a time, Sheila and Siobhan had 
been really close friends. At least, in the first couple of 
terms of the first year. They went everywhere together. In 
fact, Sheila had been Siobhan's first friend at university, 
when she had arrived there, far from home, lonely and 
anxious. It wasn't easy being a naturist amongst all these 
strange textiles, and she didn't feel like getting to know any 
men quite so soon. Even naturist ones. And then she met 
Sheila, sitting alone and uncomfortable in the corner of the 
JCR, with a copy of 'Crime and Punishment' to keep her 
attention off other people's attention. And from then on, 
she and Siobhan spent almost all their waking time 
together. That is, when they weren't studying or going to 
lectures and seminars. And she soon got used to Sheila's 
funny English accent, which she was sure was posher than 
it needed to have been coming from Sutton, in Greater 
London.

"And what's more, Siobhan," continued Sian, enjoying her 
friend's discomfort, but placing a reassuring hand on 
Siobhan's bare knee, "Sheila's persuaded Eamonn to go 
smooth."

"Smooth! Sweet Jesus! You're kidding me. Eamonn would 
never go smooth. He was so sound."

"I swear on the Holy Bible, Siobhan. Anyway, it's not 
something he can keep hidden is it? It's all shaved off. All 
round the pubes." Sian instinctively placed a hand on her 
own unshaven crotch, the reddish brown hair curling 
around her vagina, but succeeding rather less well than 
Siobhan's in disguising what was hidden beneath. 

"And under his armpits too?"

Sian laughed. "Simon Peter wept! Siobhan! Not everyone's 
as purist as you. Smoothies don't shave everything off. 
Bejasus! It's not like a religion or anything. It's just how 
they want to be. Seems a lot of hassle to me shaving down 
there. But even amongst those of us who're not smoothies 
might want to shave their legs or under the armpits, you 
know."

"Naturism isn't just about not wearing clothes!" huffed 
Siobhan. "It's a whole natural philosophy. And that goes 
for shaving as much as anything else."

Sian stroked the hairs on Siobhan's thighs. "Well, you can 
get away with it, Siobhan. Your hair isn't all curly and 
wild. I shave my legs, as you know, and I don't think that 
makes me any less of a naturist than you!"

"Pooh!" responded Siobhan. "It's the principle that matters. 
Vanity shouldn't come into it at all! So. Sheila and Eamonn 
are an item. And Eamonn's gone smooth. Just like Sheila." 

The cow! Siobhan remembered when she first saw Sheila's 
shaven pubes. It wasn't long after she'd started shaving 
under the arms and on her legs. Things she'd never have 
done when she and Siobhan were best friends. That was 
almost the last straw. It was like a betrayal of everything 
that was dear to Siobhan in their friendship. At least they 
were proper principled naturists. Not just people who didn't 
wear clothes. Siobhan had such dear memories of Sheila's 
pubes. She remembered when they pressed tight against 
each other: they were both much the same slim build and 
height, and the pubic hairs would tangle together, 
Siobhan's dark brown pubic hair, so much a part of her as 
the dark freckles on her face and shoulders and breasts, and 
Sheila's thick bush of light brown hair, ever so slightly 
darker than the hair on her head. And although she'd 
definitely not gone as far as shaving off her head, (That'd 
be too kinky by far!), she no longer had the waist length 
tresses that she'd loved running her fingers through. Now it 
was styled and cut level to her chin. In fact, if you'd put 
clothes on Sheila, you couldn't guess she was a naturist at 
all!

"I'm sorry it had to be me to tell you about Eamonn," 
remarked Sian, clasping Siobhan's hand in hers. "But I 
guess someone had to. You're not upset are you?"

It was obvious to Sian that she was, but Siobhan shook her 
head. She wasn't sure what upset her the most. That her old 
boyfriend was seeing someone else. That he was seeing her 
old best friend. Or that, like Sheila, he'd shaved off his 
pubic hair. Siobhan thought that shaved crotches were 
undignified at best on a woman, but on a man? Merciful 
Father! That hairless cock and balls. Christ in Heaven! And 
would he shave his chest as well or just down by his 
pubes? The whole idea was disgusting. Gross, in fact! 
Siobhan would never ever compromise her naturist beliefs 
in such unnatural ways!

However, it wasn't long until Siobhan got to meet Eamonn 
in his new smooth guise. She'd gone to the student bar, the 
Michael Collins, with Sian and Liam, Sian's boyfriend, and 
there was Eamonn sitting at the table the naturist students 
usually monopolised, all by himself, except for a pint of 
Stout and a newspaper. While Sian and Liam got the 
drinks, Siobhan went over to sit next to Eamonn.

"So, is it true, what I've been telt? You've gone all 
smooth?" She asked sitting right next to him and glancing 
down at his crotch.

"Well, it's true, it is," admitted Eamonn, indicating the 
slightly blue stubble around his pubes. "And the chest and 
legs as well, you know."

"It's down here that I'm interested, Eamonn," continued 
Siobhan, but nonetheless aware that his hairlessness 
stretched from his chin to his toes. Mary Mother of God. 
What was wrong with hair? "In other respects you might 
want to look like a professional cyclist, but here, between 
your legs, you're something different again." She put a 
hand on Eamonn's groin, under the table, while Sian and 
Liam were chatting to the garrulous barman. It felt very 
strange. Slightly clammy, in fact. And it looked even 
stranger. That length of white flesh dangling down with not 
a hair on it. And even the balls. Siobhan put her hand 
underneath them and felt how smooth and hairless they 
were. She also noticed with some satisfaction that 
Eamonn's penis was beginning to awaken and become 
more erect.

"Jesus, Siobhan! What are you doing? What would Sheila 
think if she saw you?"

Siobhan smiled. That would be interesting. "How do you 
get the hair off your scrotum? You don't shave that, do 
you?"

"Not shave exactly. Sheila plucked them out with tweezers. 
But Siobhan? Take your hands off!"

Siobhan ignored him. She seized the stiffening penis in her 
hand under the table and vigorously tugged at it. "Well, 
Sheila's not taken any life out of it, has she? I suppose now 
it's smooth it can slip in the back way more easily. Or 
doesn't Sheila let you do that?"

"Not yet she doesn't. But we've only been together for? 
But Sweet Jesus! Can't you stop?" Eamonn's penis was 
now fully erect under the table as Siobhan tugged at it with 
one hand while stroking his testicles with the other. It was 
nice to feel a man's stiff cock again, even if it was claimed 
by someone else. 

"You obviously like it, Eamonn."

"That as may be, but ? eurggh! You've not been showing 
much interest since we... since we? ahh! Since we split. 
And now. Just when I'm getting it together with Sheila 
and? And? Here's Sian and Liam."

Siobhan smiled and turned round to face her friends as they 
sat opposite, but kept one hand on Eamonn's erect cock 
while the other hand was free to hold her glass of lager 
shandy. Neither Sian nor Liam could actually see Siobhan 
yanking at Eamonn's cock, though they may have 
suspected something from his expression and his relative 
incoherence. Siobhan wasn't sure how long she could keep 
masturbating her ex, but she was amused by the situation 
and, despite himself, Eamonn was clearly aroused by it.

And then she knew for sure, as her hand and wrist were 
splattered by damp warm gobbets of sperm and, like a 
deflated balloon, Eamonn's cock shrunk in her fist. Sweet 
Mary! No wonder she'd dumped him. Eamonn had no 
fucking stamina!

Liam and Sian were too enrapt in each other to notice the 
peculiar sight opposite them, as Eamonn wiped off the 
sperm from his thigh and crotch with the back of a hand 
which hadn't been shaved like the rest of him, and Siobhan 
rubbed her hand against her own thigh underneath the 
table. Although making sperm was sort of the point of it 
all, Siobhan was never too sure what to do with the stuff 
when it had come out. 

There was then a nervousness between Eamonn and 
Siobhan as they sat next to each other, not sure what to say 
and showing rather more interest in their respective drinks 
than normally. Siobhan hoped that she could somehow 
break into Sian and Liam's conversation, but their self-
absorption that had been so helpful earlier now seemed like 
an exclusion zone. But just before Siobhan felt able to re-
establish conversation with Eamonn on a more neutral 
tone, Sheila entered the bar and strode straight towards the 
group. Seeing Eamonn and Siobhan sitting so close 
together, she immediately sat between them in the space 
that Eamonn willingly made for her.

"Hiya Siobhan!" Sheila greeted, smiling at her in a way 
that really seemed more gloating than friendly. "So you've 
heard. Me and Eamonn are an item!" She squeezed her 
boyfriend's bare thigh. "What do you think?"

Jesus! What in sweet heaven should she think? "I see you 
made him go smooth."

"Smooth? Bloody Hell! Always the politically correct. So 
what if he is? What difference does it make?"

Siobhan looked Sheila up and down, from her hair, now 
cut around the ears and showing off her array of earrings, 
down to her knees under the table. All bare. Not a bit of 
hair. Not under her arms. Not on her legs. And not at all on 
her crotch. Sweet Jesus! You could see the lips of her 
vagina as clear as the red lipsticked ones on her face.

"It's just not natural. Naturism isn't just about nudity."

"Shit! The same old record. Naturism's what you make it. 
Look! If it troubles you so much, feel my crotch. See how 
nice and smooth, it is. See how much better it is than 
having all those long curling strands you're so fond of."

"No thank you, Sheila! What do you think I am?" gasped 
Siobhan, rather disguising the fact that she actually quite 
wanted to feel what it felt like. She still had a memory of 
running her fingers through Sheila's pubic hair when she 
had some, and of feeling the labial lips and clitoris beneath. 
How different would it be without hair?

"I've got a thirst on me another drink would really help 
quench!" remarked Eamonn, perhaps more to diffuse the 
bitchiness than because he was truly thirsty. "What shall I 
get you, Sheila? And you too, Siobhan?"

"No. I'll get them in," volunteered Siobhan, more to get 
away than because she was feeling especially generous. 
"What about you two?" She asked Liam and Sian.

And so she was soon at the bar: self-conscious in her 
nakedness, surrounded by textiles, and wishing the barman 
wasn't so bloody chatty with his other customers. And 
every now and then glancing back at Eamonn and Sheila, 
who were holding each other's hands and gazing into each 
other's eyes. Siobhan was hating Sheila at that moment. 
Smoothie bastard! Taking her ex and making him go 
shaven! Had the girl no sense of common decency? She 
studied Sheila's long back from her long thin neck down to 
her arse, slightly obscured by the edge of the table, and her 
slightly upturned breasts with their small button-like 
nipples. Even now, she couldn't deny that Sheila was pretty 
good looking. Not that that made her feel any the better.

"Hello, Siobhan. How are you?" suddenly asked Niall, who 
appeared beside her, with a note in his hand and a slightly 
shy smile on his face. "Is this the bar you usually go to? 
You don't go to the pubs in town?"

"Hiya Niall! No, the pubs aren't often so sympathetic to 
naturists as the Michael Collins. How are you?"

"I'm here with my pals," Niall explained, indicating his 
textile friends, sitting at a table, all male and all rather 
noisy. Not company towards which Siobhan felt especially 
attracted. What would they think about a naturist? 
"Normally we go to the Shamrock in town, but it was 
Ewan's birthday so we thought we'd stay at the college."

"Ewan?"

"He lives on campus."

"Oh!" said Siobhan, not at all interested. 

"You can sit with us if you like. We're a friendly crowd."

Siobhan wasn't at all tempted, even though she was rather 
dreading spending the rest of the evening with Sheila going 
all goo over Eamonn. Wait till he goes off the boil, then 
she'll know better. "I'm sure you are. But I'm with my 
friends."

"Well, at least let me buy you a drink."

Siobhan hesitated, but then perhaps against her better 
instincts accepted. But she made sure that Niall bought 
drinks for Sheila and Eamonn as well.

As the two students stood by the bar, watching the barman 
chatting about the racing while he slowly poured a round of 
beers, Niall regarded Siobhan nervously. He smiled. 
Siobhan smiled back. She was still amused by his shyness 
and his not knowing where to direct his eyes when 
confronted by a naked woman, but she fancied that his 
slight awkwardness came from a desire to show the proper 
respect rather than any disapproval.

"There's a new Yves Irac film at the Playhouse," remarked 
Niall. "It's set in Nineteenth Century France during the 
time of Napoleon the Third. I think it might be based on a 
novel by Emile Zola."

"Oh, you mean 'L'Assomoir'? That's got some good 
reviews."

"It's subtitled though."

"I prefer that. You don't want the mouths moving one way 
and some American voice over the top."

"Do you want to see it? I mean, we can go together. Any 
day you like. I'm sure we don't need to book seats or 
anything. Would you like that?"

Siobhan smiled. Niall was so sweet. And, glancing back at 
Sheila and Eamonn, whose tongues were battling together, 
and no doubt Sheila's hand was stroking Eamonn's cock 
just like she had, Siobhan felt like a break from her usual 
friends. Even if it was with a textile. And Niall seemed 
pretty genuine. It almost certainly wasn't just to win some 
kind of bet with his friends, like some textile bastards who 
thought all naturists were easy lays.

"Yeah. Why not? Tomorrow night?"

Niall was clearly rather startled by Siobhan's favourable 
response. "Yes. That'd be good. Tomorrow night. Yes. We 
must. You say when and where."

Siobhan almost immediately regretted her acceptance after 
she'd accepted the drinks from Niall, and he went to join 
his friends and she joined hers. What sort of idiot was she, 
going out with a textile? But she chose not to stand him up, 
although he'd scarcely have been the first one to receive 
that treatment. But when she arrived at the JCR where 
they'd agreed to meet, she was not pleased to see that he 
had chosen to wear clothes. In fact, not just any clothes, but 
he'd obviously put some thought into putting on rather 
smarter clothes than he usually wore. No jeans. No 
sweatshirt. No trainers. He was even wearing a jacket with 
lapels, over his shirt and trousers. Jesus! The only thing 
missing was a tie!

Siobhan chose not to upbraid him quite so soon. She didn't 
want to start the evening off on the wrong foot. But surely 
he might have had some idea how embarrassing it was for 
her as a naturist, wearing only her sandals and carrying an 
ethnic cloth bag, to be escorted by someone wearing 
clothes. What would people think? In fact, Siobhan rather 
fancied that he was somewhat surprised that she chose to 
extend her principles beyond the campus. But, of course 
she would. It wasn't exactly illegal, even if there were still 
the odd places that wouldn't allow naturists on the 
premises. She vaguely understood when churches and 
cathedrals took such an attitude. After all, some quite old 
people went there and they had some pretty strange ideas 
about nudity. But also some shops, pubs and restaurants 
were rather restrictive. But a trendy place like the 
Playhouse? No problem. She'd been there plenty of times 
before, though admittedly not with a textile.

As Siobhan and Niall walked away from the bus stop along 
the slightly damp streets towards the theatre, Siobhan felt 
quite uncomfortable at the stares that were directed at her. 
Normally when she was with friends, the stare was 
distributed amongst her company, so she didn't feel singled 
out, but here, with a textile, she felt strangely naked and 
unclothed, even though that was what she obviously was, 
as she walked by Niall in his jacket and trousers and who 
was still studiously keeping his eyes off her naked freckled 
skin and on her face and eyes.

"You're looking a bit uncomfortable," Niall remarked after 
one of a series of comments about modern French cinema 
went unanswered. "What's the problem?"

Siobhan couldn't hold back any longer. "You are!" she 
answered abruptly.

"Me?" answered Niall, looking genuinely upset. "Why? 
What have I done? I mean. I'm sorry if? I don't know? 
But what??"

Did he have no idea? "Didn't you think that it might 
embarrass me to be walking along with someone wearing 
clothes? Don't you think people looking at us might not 
think we're a bit kinky or something? You wearing clothes 
and me not?"

"But I didn't realise that you wouldn't be wearing? you 
know? that you would?"

"What do you think I am? Some kind of part-time naturist? 
Do you think I'm only naked at college? Do you think I 
only take my clothes off for seminars and lectures?"

"Should I have?? Should I be? not wear anything? Be 
like a nudist like you?"

"Well, of course. What do you think? If any of my friends 
saw us together, I don't know what they'd say. It's really 
really awkward for me to be walking around with someone 
with clothes on. I really thought you could have made the 
effort."

Niall stopped in his tracks, clearly distressed, pressing a 
palm against his temple and scrunching up his mouth. "I'm 
sorry. I just didn't? I just don't know anything about 
nudists?I thought that it made no difference?"

"Well it does! And, Mother of God, stop saying 'nudist'. 
I'm a naturist. Don't you even know the difference between 
nudists and naturists?"

"Well no. I didn't. I just didn't think it mattered. So. Should 
I take my clothes off and go round nude like you?"

"What good would that be? The damage is done now. And 
besides where would you put your clothes? You've got 
nothing to carry them in."

After a few minutes of silent pacing down the streets, lit by 
the early evening sun, the two of them arrived at the 
Playhouse. Fortunately, the outburst was soon forgotten 
after a couple of drinks in the Playhouse bar, both before 
and after the screening of 'L'Assomoir'. The two conversed 
about areas of mutual interest, of which Siobhan found she 
had a remarkable number in common with Niall. They both 
enjoyed Nineteenth and early Twentieth Century Russian 
and French novels. They both watched the same television 
documentaries on history and archaeology. They both had a 
guilty fondness for quite cheesy dance music. Soon 
Siobhan was laughing more freely and more happily than 
she had for a long time. Who could have imagined that a 
textile could have made her feel more free than any of her 
naturist friends?

As they wandered back from the Playhouse towards the 
area of town where Siobhan rented digs in a large 
Victorian building, Niall broached the very subject that had 
caused their dispute in the first place.

"Do you forgive me now for, you know, not being? you 
know, for wearing clothes and so on??"

Siobhan wasn't that easily mollified. "As long as you don't 
make the same mistake next time."

Niall looked suddenly discomfited. "You mean, if I'm to 
see you again I've got to be? I've got to go around naked 
like you?"

"Well, of course!"

Niall frowned. "I don't think I can really do that."

Siobhan stopped walking and looked at him. She was torn 
between her uncompromising views and her new affection 
for Niall. So far, he was a lot better than Eamonn. And 
even further ahead than Sean or Patrick or Liam. Or any of 
her other boyfriends or conquests. But it went against the 
grain to be seen with a textile. "I'm not sure I can accept 
that, Niall. Give me one good reason why you wouldn't 
take your clothes off for me? It's not a problem for me. 
Why should it be a problem for you?"

"I'm not a nudist. Sorry. Naturist. It's just not something I 
believe in. Any more than I'm a vegetarian or a protestant 
or an anarchist. And besides, I'd be really embarrassed. I 
wouldn't want people looking at me. I don't want people 
looking at my cock ? genitals."

"Mary Mother of God! I'm sure your cock's no different to 
any other cock that anyone's ever seen. If I had that attitude 
about my cunt? Or my tits. Well, it's just not right. Nudity 
is the natural state. That's why I'm a naturist. If you can't be 
a naturist, I just don't know if we can see each other again."

Niall seemed quite crestfallen by Siobhan's 
uncompromising stand, but he sighed and directed the 
subject elsewhere. While Niall discussed the subject of 
alcohol abuse in the Nineteenth Century as portrayed by 
Emile Zola, Siobhan was still inwardly fuming. She'd more 
or less decided that if Niall wasn't going to take his clothes 
off, at least when he was with her, then, well, then that was 
that. And there was nothing more to say. And they might as 
well call it a day. But at least she'd show smoothies like 
Sheila who had the right principles. And Eamonn, of 
course. She'd show him too.

But when they arrived at Siobhan's digs, it didn't quite go 
as planned. As she stood at the doorway, hand in hand with 
Niall, about to say goodbye, or, as Siobhan had planned, 
'au revoir' in keeping with the French film they'd just seen, 
somehow the words dissolved into nothing and they were 
wrapped arm in arm in the shadow of the porch, lit up only 
indistinctly by a street lamp. As Niall's tongue grappled 
with hers, and her bare skin pressed against his trousers, 
which were so obviously bulging with his desire, and she 
felt the indentations of his shirt buttons against her breasts, 
it became obvious that this evening wasn't going to end 
quite so soon.

"So? Do you want some coffee? You know, before you go 
back?"

This was Niall's opportunity to say that he had to catch the 
last bus back to his own digs, which were on quite the 
other side of the city, but when he assented it was obvious 
to Siobhan what would be happening next.

And indeed that's exactly as it was, when the two of them 
entered Siobhan's small bedsit on the second floor, past the 
bedrooms of all the other students, some of whom were 
still awake, and all thoughts of coffee were forgotten as the 
two of them resumed the cuddling and intimacy that they'd 
started outside the building. Soon, Siobhan knew all the 
fillings in Niall's mouth, as his hands traversed up and 
down her naked back, and he pressed his body against her 
front. And Siobhan was strangely conscious of his erect 
penis under his trousers, which she could feel even though 
her hands were elsewhere. This was something she wanted 
to find out more about.

As, of course, she did. "Come on, Niall! Off with your 
clothes! I should have told you. There's a rule in this place. 
And that rule is: 'No clothes'. Especially not if you're a man 
and so really really hot!"

It was only after Niall had finally divested all his clothes, 
which he did in a strangely awkward manner, that Siobhan 
saw one very good reason why he might be a little bit 
embarrassed to be seen in the nude. Niall's penis! Well, the 
Devil be Damned! Niall's penis was by far the largest 
Siobhan had ever seen. OK. So, it was fully erect. And that 
meant it was going to be pretty big anyway. But this 
monster was as long as her forearm. Almost. Or perhaps it 
was. Long and stiff and round and swelling. The veins blue 
and throbbing. The glans proud and hooded. Would it even 
fit inside her?

It didn't quite fit in Siobhan's mouth. At least not that 
easily. But she gave it as good as she could: the huge glans 
pressed against he tonsils as she ran her lips up and down 
and up and down its length. It was hot and strong smelling. 
But, unlike Eamonn, Niall's penis didn't lose its way too 
soon. It stayed as hard and stiff, if not stiffer, while her 
saliva dribbled down its length, as it had before she'd 
touched it. The strong odour blew out of her nostrils. Niall, 
meanwhile, had swivelled his body around so that his 
tongue was at her clitoris and he was licking at her labia 
and within the vaginal folds, through the thicket of hair, 
not perhaps as expertly as some of her lovers, but with 
plenty of concern and attention for her own sexual 
pleasure.

And it worked. Which surprised Siobhan. She wasn't 
normally a girl who came especially easily. A flash of 
blood darkened her vision, as she let the erotic moment 
sweep through her and let loose a cry which she heard only 
indistinctly. As she did later, a whole series of cries and 
yelps and whoops and gasps to which she let vent as Niall's 
penis found its way into her cunt and he thrust away at her. 

Although she was wet (and, God in Heaven, she was wet!), 
even that didn't soften too much the pressure as Niall's 
penis bit by bit, centimetre by centimetre, inch by inch, 
slowly made its way deeper and deeper into her vagina, 
pressing against her stomach, stretching the walls of her 
vaginal cavity. And thrusting in and out, in and out. But 
Siobhan was only partly conscious of the fucking. She lay 
on her back. The fucking missionary position. When was 
the last time she'd been as unadventurous as that? And he 
pushed in and out, in and out, as she squirmed and writhed 
and wriggled, his buttocks pistoning above her crotch, his 
mouth sometimes on her ears, sometimes on her mouth, 
sometimes high above her, as he arched upwards. 

And although she came and came and came, perspiration 
streaming down her flesh, a pool gathering on her chest, on 
her cheeks, underneath her buttocks and back, sliding and 
slipping against the long red hairs on Niall's chest, she was 
almost not aware of where she was and what she was 
doing. She was lost in a whirlwind of pleasure, somehow 
centred on her crotch, as Niall thrust again and again into 
her. And still he hadn't come. How was this possible? How 
could it be that Niall could keep going so long, whereas 
Eamonn would have long since squirted out his little drip, 
and they'd be lying on the bed, thoughts of sex almost 
forgotten in some discussion on naturism and the law.

Finally, Niall did come. And he came with an explosion of 
semen, that squirted into the deepest recesses of Siobhan's 
cunt, and soon found its way out onto the sheets, onto her 
thighs, and dripped down from the huge knuckle sized 
glans in a long sticky trail to Siobhan's knee. Warm. Hot. 
And so much of it!

As Siobhan lay there, Niall above her, his penis twitching 
as it slowly deflated as further goblets of semen eased out 
and fell onto her stomach, she thought about seeing Niall 
again. Could she compromise on her naturism? Would she 
contemplate going out with him even if he chose to wear 
clothes? And having seen the packet he was storing away, 
she wasn't sure she wanted the world to be tempted by 
what he had on offer. She glanced up at Niall, who was 
exercising his penis with the palm of is hand. Jesus Christ! 
It was getting stiff again! The man had more sperm and 
energy to come!

She pulled herself up onto his chest, a hand taking the 
weight of his massive hairy testicles, giving the signal that, 
yes, she wanted more. Blessed Mary! She wanted as much 
more as she could. It felt so fucking good!

Would she see him again even if he chose to wear clothes? 
Christ! She'd even compromise to the extent of wearing 
clothes herself, if that was the only way she'd be sure of 
seeing him again. And, of course, to see and feel that 
fabulous cock of his.



For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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