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Message-ID: <47461asstr$1081973408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "virgosun" <virgosun@internode.on.net>
Subject: {ASSM} Beryl and the Polymorph 2/9 {virgosun} (mf rom slow pett mutant)
Lines: 493
Date: Wed, 14 Apr 2004 16:10:08 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "poly02.txt" begin>

*BERYL AND THE POLYMORPH*

by virgosun (c) April 2004
*******************************
(Part 2)

With the deli van still sick, Beryl continued her 
deliveries, adopting Tempest's idea of blasting on a 
whistle whenever she arrived. Her whistle would summon 
one or other of the strangers, but most often Sylvia on 
her quaintly-named "quadbike". Without Granny in tow, 
she would careen at high speed out to the gate, offer 
Beryl a grin and a how-are-you as she unlocked, then 
roar away again once Beryl was through. Happy faces 
greeted her deliveries, and she always asked after Pro. 
A week after their first meeting, she glanced up at the 
high concrete wall and saw a figure giving a wide, 
exaggerated wave. Laughing, she waved back.

"He was in heaps of trouble over going out that day," 
said Sylvia as she unlocked the gate. "It stirred up a 
real argument about not scaring the locals versus people 
getting fed up with not being allowed out."

"How many of you aren't allowed out?" Beryl asked.

"It's only really Pro and Basil, and Gran's a bit shy. 
Now that Pro's gone out and didn't cause a riot, they're 
probably going to relax and let him out more often. That 
leaves Basil, but he's okay with staying in, he's a lot 
quieter than Pro. He's married and all, got a little 
boy, while Pro's young and single so of course he wants 
to look around." She gave Beryl her mad-cow stare. "He 
thinks you're a bit of all right, you know. If he wasn't 
so busy on the site, you'd probably see him more often."

"Oh?" Beryl gave a laugh. "Hey, I'm spoken for, I've got 
a beau." She blushed ever so slightly.

"I'll let him know," Sylvia smiled. "He reckoned you 
probably did, pretty girls always have fellers tucked 
away somewhere, he says. See ya tomorrow."

Soon, Beryl was getting to know the faces and names of 
the four families. Sometimes Pro was there to meet her 
at the gate rather than the surly Sylvia. And every day, 
the houses looked nearer to completion, and on the other 
side of the concrete wall, industry roared. The cranes 
worked and grew taller, a steel shaft rising in their 
midst.

***

On Fools or Lovers' Day, Beryl received several gifts. 
There was a red rose and box of sweets from George, of 
course, and a scented letter from a secret admirer.

This wasn't the first time that had happened. There had 
been a couple of occasions during school. It was, after 
all, how George had first gotten her attention. Freddie 
Taylor had sent her several love-letters; he was the 
first boy who had kissed her properly on the mouth - 
that was at the picture show when she was fourteen and 
him an enterprising twelve. But he had bad breath, which 
had brought that scene to an early end. Barney Matley 
had shown her his todger when they were eleven years 
old; too bad he was her cousin. She had giggled, and he 
never showed her again for some reason.

Now, somewhat amazed and flattered, she showed the 
letter to her eldest sister, Dorothy. Dot was her first 
port of call for advice when it came to men. Unlike Mum, 
who just sternly said "if he can't keep his hands to 
himself he's no good!", Dot was prepared to talk about 
boys. And Dot knew what she was talking about. Dot had 
gotten married at seventeen, and produced a baby not 
long afterwards.

"It doesn't really matter what you do, just so long as 
you don't let him put it in you!" was Dot's verdict. 
"You can have fun and all, it's the only way to learn, 
just don't do _that_ part of it, because that makes you 
as good as married."

Of course, Beryl hadn't dared show George the anonymous 
letter. It hadn't come from George; the handwriting was 
completely wrong, and as Dot suggested, the whole thing 
exhibited a lot more imagination than George possessed. 
"Roses are red, violets are blue, I find myself thinking 
heaps about you," George's first ever love letter had 
declared. This one was far more succinct.

My dearest Beryl,
(by far the sweetest of any delicacy Crabtree 
Delicatessen has to offer!)
I feel somewhat foolish, needing to resort to such a 
missive to reveal my feelings for you, and despair of 
ever finding the courage to speak up, and admit to you 
how fond of you I have become. I know you already have a 
sweetheart, and wish it were me, but alas, that is not 
the way of things. You always have a smile and nothing 
seems to get you down, and the sight of you always lifts 
my spirits, so the last thing you need is a dreary chap 
like me! I watch you from on high, but even from afar 
your loveliness takes my breath and lifts me higher 
still.
It is my deepest wish that someday you would see fit to 
accompany me to dinner or some such appointment. I am a 
man of the world and am sure that, given the right 
circumstances once you got to know me you would find my 
company most rewarding.
For now, know that you are adored, and be assured I will 
ask for the pleasure of your company in due course.
With all my love, Anonymous.

"Gracious!" Dot gasped. "That's certainly not George!"

"I don't think George could spell anonymous," Beryl 
agreed. Dot looked at her.

"Is that how you spell it?" The sisters giggled.

Beryl considered the letter throughout the day, and 
couldn't hide a speculative smile. _Surely not..._ She 
resolved to give Pro Phillips a darn good talking-to 
next time she saw him, for he was the only fellow she 
could think of who might play such a prank; even so, she 
couldn't be a hundred percent sure he was to blame.

She only had to wait until that very afternoon. The 
display window was almost empty of treats, and the 
shutters were half-drawn against the slanting sunlight. 
She was sweeping, and Mum wiping out the display case, 
when the doorbell jingled and Pro walked in, a big smile 
on his patchy face. He wore his overalls, sunglasses and 
fedora, just as Beryl had first seen him, and carried a 
box in his hands. "Hello, ladies," he declared.

Did Mum take a fraction longer than usual to give her 
sweetest apple-pie smile? "Good afternoon," she started; 
Dot poked her head around from the kitchen doorway and 
did an outright doubletake. "Can I help you?"

"Pro, hello there," Beryl smiled casually, the mystery 
letter looming large in her mind.

"Thank you, ma'am, but there's not much that can help 
me," Pro demurred cheerfully. Which made Mum redden and 
puff somewhat and give her light laugh-off-a-blunder 
giggle. "We of the Enabled families thought it was time 
we offered you good folks of Crabtree Deli something in 
return for your fantastic service and delicious lunches. 
Most everyone thought you got cake-baking sewed up, so, 
girls!"

Sylvia and Tempest shouldered through the door, carrying 
two generous bundles of garden flowers. Beryl laughed 
aloud and Tempest joined in; Sylvia looked so out of 
place amidst the blooms she couldn't help it. Mum beamed 
and dusted her hands on her apron. "Ohh, how lovely! 
Girls, let's grab some vases..."

"I've also got something for Beryl, handcrafted 
meticulously over the course of several hours with help 
from some of the best amateurs I know. Now that I'm here 
I feel a bit silly," Pro said, his grin becoming goofy, 
and the tip of a scarlet tongue flicked out drolly. "But 
I'm the kind of guy who likes to make things, so, for 
better or worse this is for Beryl for riding out every 
day and making my day." Tempest grinned and stomped on 
his boottoe. "And all of usses day." He lifted the box 
onto the counter and Beryl accepted it, lifting a flap.

Inside was a small, flattish cake, smothered in thick 
icing so rich with cocoa it was almost black. It had 
been cut to a heart-shape, and her name had been piped 
on very ineptly in white icing. The rich waft of 
chocolate fragrance made her mouth water. What it lacked 
in style it made up for with intent.

"It's an um-cake," droned Sylvia with a wry grin. 
"Personally, I think he's mad." She jerked a thumb at 
Pro. "Enjoy."

"Fool or Lover? Fool definitely," Tempest grinned.

"Ahh, Beryl, looks to me like you owe this boy a kiss," 
Dot laughed, bringing out a large pitcher of water to 
hold one of the bouquets. "We won't tell George!"

Mum fluttered her eyes shut. "I'm not looking!"

"A feller should dip his lid..." Pro started to say, now 
looking really awkward. Beryl leaned up on her tiptoes 
and planted a quick kiss on his burning cheek, evading 
both his hat and glasses. His skin was smooth without 
any trace of whiskers and smelled of soap, and his blush 
accentuated his uneven complexion. He bowed his head and 
raised the hat an inch courteously, keeping his bald 
pate hidden. His merry laughter bubbled forth. "Well 
thank you, miss, you made a swell's day twice now, what 
with lunch and all."

"Compliments of Crabtree's" said Beryl demurely as Mum 
and Dot laughed along, unable to resist his chuckle.

"Now now," Mum declared sternly to her. "I'll not have 
all the young men in town thinking Crabtree's is giving 
away kisses! Thank you all very, very much - these 
flowers are lovely and will certainly brighten up the 
shop! And believe it or not, we actually do get tired of 
our own cooking here, Mr..?"

"Phillips, ma'am, Pro Phillips."

Mum gave them her thankyous while Dot placed the 
flowers, and Beryl put the cake in the kitchen. After 
they had gone, Mum shook her head. "So that must be the 
fellow Jimmy Simpson from the mill's been talking about. 
He reckons he told him he got splashed with petrol and 
set on fire when he was a boy."

"Yeah," Dot snorted, "but Jimmy'd tell you anything."

Then Mum rounded on Beryl with that skeptical look in 
her eye. "Now why's he giving you Fools or Lovers' 
gifts, pet? How well do you two know each other?"

"Aww, Mum, you heard him, because I take their lunches!" 
And Beryl kicked herself, knowing what her mother would 
say next.

"Then maybe you've been out there often enough, time 
your father got that sorry excuse for a vehicle back on 
the road!"

"It's not like he's my boyfriend! I hardly know him! 
He's just a bit of a joker, George is my boy!"

"I thought he was kind of nice," said Dot, looking at 
Beryl pointedly. Later, with Mum out of earshot, she 
asked Beryl, "What about him? Maybe he sent the letter?"

They were standing out the back, finished for the day, 
while Mum did some final checks inside. Dot had lit a 
cigarette, and offered Beryl a couple of furtive puffs. 
Cigarettes could make a woman look older and more 
sophisticated, Dot believed. Mum frowned upon them as 
unclean and unladylike, but Mum frowned on almost 
anything unless she was putting out her sunny shopfront 
face; Beryl loved having a quick puff with her sister 
although, since noticing how Sylvia smoked like a city 
chimneystack, she reluctantly agreed with some of Mum's 
verdict.

"I don't know," Beryl sighed. "I thought maybe, at 
first, but why then would he give me a secret letter on 
one hand, then a present in front of everybody on the 
other?"

Dot shrugged. "Maybe his sisters talked him into it."

"Only one of them was his sister, the one in the skirt."

"Maybe they know he really is sweet on you, and they 
talked him into the cake after he'd already sent you the 
letter. He seemed like a funny kind of guy, I mean ha-
ha, not...although, funny looking too...Is he blind? He 
never took his glasses off."

"I don't think he's blind, but really sensitive to light 
or something." She paused to enjoy a drag, then handed 
the smoke back to Dot. "George said I look really sexy 
when I do that."

"Did he? I told you they love it. Did he actually say 
sexy?"

"Uhh huh." A frown crossed Beryl's brow. "He says it a 
lot now. When he first said it, that was a couple of 
months ago when we went swimming at the new dam, he was 
really embarrassed. But now he says it all the time."

"Just don't let him...you know. I can spare you a couple 
of smokes for tonight if you want."

"Yes, I know, Mum gave me the speech, again..."

George was taking her to a real restaurant meal tonight, 
then off to the pictures. There was time before she got 
dressed up, though, to grab a butterknife and try a 
slice of the loveheart cake. Beryl had never met a 
chocolate she didn't like, nor did it matter if the 
sponge cake was coarse. Under its layer of icing and 
crusty shell, the cake was filled with chocolate butter 
cream on a bed of choc-flavoured shortcrust; a squishy 
delight that had her crooning with pleasure.

***

She knew she shouldn't have had that rich second piece 
of cake, for dinner did not go down quite as easily as 
it should have. They ate at the hotel restaurant, and 
George ordered beer. He had turned eighteen recently and 
it seemed to have gone to his head. He talked grandly of 
all the things they would do together throughout their 
meal. He wouldn't be an electical apprentice for the 
rest of time. He'd set up a trade business and then 
start making real money. The weirdos on the west side of 
town had all sorts of strange ideas, and workshops, and 
what about that thing they were building? He'd seen one 
guy who looked like he had nettle-rash, only he said it 
was contagious and that was why he couldn't go out very 
often, and strangers like that couldn't mean any good 
for the town neither.

They went on to the picture show, shared a box of sweets 
and a cuddle up the back. She loved the way his kisses 
made her feel. The night had started rather dull and 
slightly bilious, but it was getting better. Once the 
show was over, they went back down to his pride and joy; 
his huge car, which he'd gone all the way to the city to 
buy. "Marry George and you'll marry his car, hope he has 
a big enough bed," and "Hope you like sleeping in the 
garage, Beryl," went the jokes. It was so big it had 
trouble negotiating the laneway to the shop; George 
always parked it out front anyway, because such a 
vehicle was supposed to be seen. It was also well known 
his car left him little spare change from his 
apprentice's wage.

Beryl quite liked George's car. She felt nothing short 
of queenly when she rode with him. And in the dark late 
at night, when they parked under the trees by the river, 
she felt like the queen of tarts, although princess 
would have been more accurate. The front bench seat was 
almost wide enough to lie down across, and well she knew 
that, for week after week this last month, they had 
cuddled and kissed and nuzzled, George's body leaning 
over her more and more, as he had touched her more and 
more.

They would share a cigarette and chat about the movie, 
Beryl curled in the crook of his arm, and then they 
would kiss, and touch each others' bodies, feeling each 
others' warm shapes through their clothes. The first 
time he had touched her breasts sent wicked shivers of 
delight through her. She had felt guilty the next day, 
until her sister had said fun was "okay".

_Just don't let him put it..._

For that reason she didn't really want to touch him 
_there_, in case he thought she wanted him to go all the 
way. She had felt his hardness sometimes against her 
thigh or belly and rubbed against it, couldn't help 
herself, but never put her hand there. For his part, 
George was happy to squeeze her breasts or bottom, and 
that seemed to give him everything he needed. One day 
they would do it, if they married; they would take off 
each others' clothes in a comfortable bedroom, and he 
would make her his wife, and then they would have 
children and be a family.

In her mind's eye she could see Dot grabbing for a 
cigarette while rocking Rhoda's cot. Ted would be in 
soon, wondering what was for dinner, and later he'd be 
off to the races with the lads...day in, day out, 
nothing much changed...

"George? Georgie...not so rough, Georgie! Lean off!" The 
doorhandle was digging into her back, and George made a 
muffled sound from between her breasts. He'd gotten her 
topmost buttons undone and was trying to get her big, 
solid bra to release its hostages. The rear-fastened 
treble hook-eyes had thwarted him many times. The more 
she tried to wriggle upright to a comfortable position, 
the more dazzling the effect on George. At last he 
looked up, a stray beam of moonlight catching his 
naughty-cherub features.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Go steady, the world's not going to end tomorrow! I'm 
not comfy!"

He raised a finger theatrically. "Ah, I have just the 
thing!" Then he delved over the back of the seat, and 
Beryl couldn't resist smacking his rump. In his turn he 
batted at her with a couple of cushions. "There, get 
those under your sexy bum!" he laughed. Then they were 
kissing again, George pulling her knee across his lap; 
and as he did so, his fingers started to wander up under 
the hem of her skirt.

"Hey!"

George gave a giggle, letting his hand slide further up 
toward her britches. "Come on, don't tell me you don't 
like it! Honestly, now," he teased.

No, she couldn't deny liking the feel of his hand warm 
and high up her inside thigh, above her stockings. 
Anything was all right, so long as he didn't...Wonderful 
tingles made her gasp when he touched her crotch through 
her knickers.

"Ohh, Beryl!" he groaned, drawing his hand away an inch. 
There was awe, and puzzlement in his wide eyes. "You're 
not...on the rags are you? It's all wet!"

"It's supposed to be like that, honey!" she whispered, 
giggling, pushing his face toward her breasts again. He 
needed no further encouragement. "That's what you do to 
me!"

"Sure! Ohh, sweetheart!" He pushed up there with his 
fingers again. "Lemme feel you!" He tugged and shoved at 
her pants leg, and the loose elastic let him through.

"Ooh! Ow!" Beryl gasped, body tensing away from his 
hand.

"God! That's where it goes! Beryl!" George's finger had 
suddenly sunk past the knuckle into...somewhere, and 
while it sort of felt nice it also didn't, parts felt 
sore instead of good, and she most definitely wanted him 
out of there. She pushed him away; he shuffled upright 
with a gasp and shudder, bumped the horn, jumped and 
swore. Suddenly guilty, she wriggled upright and 
buttoned her blouse, and yanked her cardigan across her 
front as well. He was wiping his hand on his trousers 
and muttering.

"Guess I better take you home now. I kind of, you know," 
he said sheepishly.

"Oh." That man-thing had happened to him once before, 
and she had giggled then. Somehow, tonight, she didn't 
feel like giggling. She still hurt a bit downstairs. 
"That'd be good, I mean, it's getting late."

He got himself organised behind the steering wheel and 
turned the keys. They didn't say much on the way to her 
home, although when they stopped she thanked him for a 
wonderful Lovers' Day gift and date, and kissed him 
lavishly. He crushed her to him in response, thrusting 
his tongue deep into her mouth to kiss her goodnight.

"'Til next time, Berry-lips! I'll miss you!"

There was a dim light in her parents' room, that went 
out even as she quietly opened the door and George drove 
away. Mum would have put her knitting aside and snuffed 
the candle. It still wasn't eleven, so they hadn't been 
too late; there had been longer nights out, when less 
had happened.

She gathered her nightie and gown and went through to 
the bathroom. He hadn't put his cock in her, but somehow 
she felt guilty...even, violated somehow? She tried to 
tell herself he hadn't known what he was doing, that it 
had been an accident; although the way he'd worked at 
her undies, he'd had some idea of what he was doing, and 
he hadn't asked her permission. He hadn't kept his hands 
to himself!

It was with some trepidation she checked her discarded 
underwear as she stripped for the shower. The linen was 
unblemished, and she didn't hurt any more. She gave a 
quiet laugh, and realised it was the same one Mum gave 
when she was uncertain. Of course it was all right. 
There were times when, (and she felt ashamed to admit 
it), she liked to feel herself down there, and it was no 
worse than that was it?

But touching herself felt good, and this hadn't.

_Oh well, no harm done_, she told herself firmly. It 
wasn't like he had forced himself onto her, like those 
horrendous stories women told in whispers or read about 
in seamy novels. Put it down to experience.
<1st attachment end>


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