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Message-ID: <50064asstr$1104621003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Russell Hoisington" <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} G'Night, Pixie 03/06 {Hoisington} (MF Mf solo oral anal group inc cons M/reluc caution)
Lines: 559
Date: Sat,  1 Jan 2005 18:10:03 -0500
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                          G'NIGHT, PIXIE
                        Russell Hoisington

  ************************************************************

This is an erotic fantasy.  The characters and the situation are
purely imaginary, and this story is NOT intended to be a guide
for actual behavior.  Any similarities between this story and
actual people, or actual events that you should be ashamed of,
are purely coincidental.  If it is illegal in your part of the
world to access and read erotic fiction, or if you are underage,
or if you don't like sex stories, then stop now.

This story is copyright 2004 by Russell Hoisington.  Please do
not remove the author information or make any changes to this
story.  You may post freely to non-commercial (free) sites, or in
the "free" area of commercial sites.  That does NOT mean that
they are in the public domain, nor does it mean that I give
permission for you to use them in spam advertising.  I reserve
the right to determine what is "spam advertising" by MY
definition, not yours or anyone else's.

Thank you for your consideration.

  ************************************************************


                              Three
                            Solitaire

     Shortly after high tide Doug paused and floated in place a
quarter-mile out from shore, held up by the buoyancy of the salt
water and the two life vests.  He was certain that he was in the
area where the boat had gone down.  He dipped his face in the
crystalline water and looked around.  His diving mask would have
helped, but he could see to the sand and coral of the bottom for
some distance.  He'd been searching for almost an hour now and
decided that the boat had been farther out than he thought.  It
had been fighting against a strong wind as he drove it toward the
island.  Perhaps it hadn't made as much speed as he'd thought. 
He was beginning to tire and knew better than to push ahead until
he had rested.
 
     The sun and warm water felt good to his arms and shoulders,
slowly baking strength back into them.   He'd used a shovel he'd
found in the generator shed to carve out a large "SOS" in the
sand near the cabin and had filled it with branches and foliage
and non-repairable junk from the cabin to give it contrast from
the off-white sand.
 
     He'd also found a large wooden spool containing almost a
thousand feet of yellow, braided, quarter-inch nylon rope in the
shed and another spool of red.  He carried a hundred feet of the
yellow coiled around the second life vest  It was more than he
thought he'd need to anchor the vest as a marker buoy for the
boat's location, so he wore one of the razor-sharp kitchen knives
tied to his arm.  It rested in a sheath he'd made from some heavy
canvas sewn together with needle and thread from a tarp repair
kit and was tied in place with some nylon twine around the
handle.
 
     He turned to look shoreward.  Alyson, a sun-browned spot
against the background vegetation, was standing at the end of the
dock and looking toward him.  He waved to indicate all was well. 
She waved and sat down.  Doug had salvage duty, Mary had
shack-cleaning duty, and Alyson had been volunteered to catch
lunch.  The shed had contained two tackle boxes with monofilament
line, but no poles or reels.  Thanks to the storm, branches for
fishing poles were in abundance and needed only some trimming
with the machete by the back door.
 
     Alyson was concerned about the time that they might be
stranded until Search and Rescue found them, but she was showing
a brave face.  No, that wasn't fair.  She was coping with the
situation, probably because neither he nor Mary had shown any
fear.  Concern, yes; but not fear.  Plus he had told her to think
of the reaction of the rest of her schoolmates when she wrote her
essay on "How I Spent My Summer Vacation."  Her first reaction
had been the standard Frustrated Daughter Dealing with Clueless
Parents look, but that quickly changed when she realized just
what those reactions would be.  And it implied that she would be
home by the time school started.  Doug hoped that he was right
about the timing.
 
     He turned to float face down, letting the sun warm his lower
back, too.  His left butt cheek hurt from the splinter it had
found on the privy seat.  He also had a slight, nagging ache just
above his hips.  He wasn't sure if it was from the shoveling or
from sleeping on the floor.  The adults had given Alyson the
single cot, putting her at a distance from the "crawly things"
that might traverse the floor, and a life vest for a pillow. He
and Mary had curled up spoon-fashion on the bedroom floor
together, using the other life vest as a shared pillow, with torn
mosquito netting crudely draped over all of them, held up by a
piece of the rope.
 
     _Mary_.
 
     One of her odd quirks was that the more physical labor she
exerted, the hornier she became, even when she was too exhausted
to do more than lie there and let him do all the work. 
Unfortunately, he'd worked just as hard all day and, while the
concept of a quickie with Mary had certainly had its appeal, his
body and mind were too numb to do more than appreciate the fact
that she was dragging his flaccid member through her wet trench
and massaging her clit with it before he passed out from
exhaustion.
 
     He'd been more in the mood just before he departed for this
swim.  His entry into the cabin was greeted by the sight of Mary
on her hands and knees, digging around in one of the bottom
cabinets and giving him a very exciting "brown eye wink," as
Carson Peck called it.
 
     Carson was into anal sex.  Mary didn't care much for it,
though she'd let Doug use the back door on special occasions. 
Doug usually had to satisfy his occasional urge for it with
Melinda or one of the other wives in the group.  Melinda loved
being speared from below while she was giving one of her famous
blow jobs, and she didn't much care which hole the guy used.
 
     _So with all the variety available in the club, why did Mare
have to try turning me on to Alyson?_  He didn't want to think
about that right now and forced his thoughts back to Melinda's
ass.
 
     A pleasant feeling radiating from his loins was Doug's first
clue that he was unconsciously stroking his erection while he
floated.  Well, it was his own fault if he was still horny.  If
he hadn't thrown that rubber snake from the shed in front of
Mare--_What the hell was a guy alone on an island hundreds of
miles from anywhere doing with a rubber snake anyway?_--she might
have let him use her asshole to reduce his sexual tension. 
Instead she had called him an asshole and told him to go drown
himself.
 
     He slowly increased the speed as he remembered how good it
was to do Melinda in the ass, though not as good as getting head
from her.  It was also fun putting Melinda as the filler in a
three-man-sandwich.  The last time he'd done that, he'd been the
one up her ass.
 
     Mary had been the sandwich filler twice when they were in
their late teens.  He'd participated the first time and had used
her pucker door.  She was deep-throating Harry Baltz--what kind
of cruel parents would saddle a son with a name like that?--while
riding Tony Kim's pole for all she was worth.  Her butt cheeks
would clench together as she slammed down around him and spread
wide as she lifted for another down stroke, inviting him with
that brown eye wink to join in on the fun.  He could never forget
how enticing her ass looked if he lived to be a thousand.
 
     _It had looked just like Alyson's._
 
     It was the most violent cum of his life.  His face slammed
into the water and he involuntarily inhaled.  Despite his choking
and spluttering his orgasm did not abate while his fist continued
to pound his spewing staff.  His hips thrust as if he were
fucking the ocean and could not stop their movement.  Red sparks
ricocheted across the backs of his squeezed eyelids.
 
     Slowly it ended.  Sanity returned, and he began to exert his
own will to control his body.  The coughing stopped.  He felt his
erection in his fist, still as firm as his body was weak.  He
just wanted to sleep for a month to recover, but Boner Boy was
asking for another round.  He released the throbbing shaft and
let his face sag into the water.
 
     Long, white strings were floating seaward in the gentle
current, breaking up into shorter filaments as they went.  He
looked toward the base of his body and asked the head still
pointed toward his face, _Why aren't you dead after that, you
horny sonofabitch?_
 
     He shifted to float upright and threw his head back to gulp
in air.  After a few minutes rest he slowly moved toward the
mouth of the cove to begin another sweep.  Less than a hundred
yards later he saw it, sitting at an angle toward its starboard
side behind a small rise in the sea floor thirty, perhaps forty
feet down.  The hole in the side was a dark gash clearly visible
from the surface.  Debris was scattered about it.  The tree trunk
had floated away.  _I wonder if the rental fee stops when the
boat sinks.  If so, how do I prove when it happened?_
 
     He turned toward the dock and floated upright in the water. 
He gave a long, sharp whistle and watched Alyson scramble to her
feet.  He held the spare vest at arm's length and swept it from
side to side overhead:  once, twice, three times, stopping with
it overhead and then lowering it straight down.  She waved and
scrambled to the cabin to tell her mother that he'd given her the
signal that the boat was found and reachable.  He was going to
dive to it.
 
     He began breathing deeply, preparing the rope to coil out as
he descended.  He slipped out of his vest and clipped it to the
one attached to the rope, the one that would be the marker buoy
to locate the wreck on the subsequent salvage dives.  He gulped
air for another minute, then inhaled and held it, flipped
upside-down, and descended.  He tied the rope to the wheelhouse
railing with a quick clove hitch, then fumbled trying to remove
the knife from its arm sheath.  Taking no chances, he released
the rope and shot to the surface.
 
     He again gulped air while untying the stubborn knot in the
cord holding the knife in its sheath.  When he was ready he
descended again, cut the free end of the rope, and swam for the
starboard locker at the stern that held the diving gear.  They
had one full tank and one partially full one remaining.  It
should be sufficient for them to salvage the boat's contents.
 
     The tanks and other contents of the locker were jumbled and
jammed in place.  He freed a mouthpiece and opened the valve on
the regulator.  It was one of the empties.  He released it and
freed another mouthpiece.  He turned the valve and sucked down
air.  He pulled out Mary's diving mask.  The lens was shattered,
and he released it, too.  There was Alyson's yellow, twin-lensed
mask.  He grabbed it and then found his own beneath that, under
one of her blue swim fins.  A blenny swam out of the jumble,
seemed to glare at him, and swam off with an indignant flip of
its tail.  How had it gotten into the locker?  He put the mask on
and cleared it.  Much better.
 
     He was suddenly aware of just how beautiful the floor of the
lagoon was and took a moment to drink in his surroundings. 
Brightly colored fish, angels and butterflies and damsels,
fluttered about, generally ignoring him.  A low, narrow coral
reef ran for maybe a hundred feet along a ridge to the northeast. 
An impossible-to-describe pallette of living coral polyps, brain
corals, anemones, nudibranches, shrimp, crabs, and fish made it
look as if a paint truck had crashed.  A moray eel lunged from an
opening beneath a brain coral and impaled its lunch with needle
teeth, a reminder that danger lurked with the beauty here.   Doug
turned his attention to freeing the contents of the locker.
 
     Five minutes later he was wearing his goggles, fins, and the
partially-full tank.  The other fins and goggles and the snorkels
were tied together and placed in a sturdy rope-handled pail.  He
tried to descend to the cabins to get his medical kit, but the
short hallway was a jumble of broken planks and debris.  He
didn't want to become trapped.  Reluctantly he backed out and
checked the locker with the inflatable raft.  It was locked!  Who
the hell had locked it?  And where was the key?  He checked the
other lockers and the wheelhouse for items to take on this trip. 
Two spear guns with six spears.  Two of the other six life vests
floating at the top of a port-side locker.  They could be used to
help lift the pail.  A waterproof flashlight that still worked. 
The compass.  The signal mirror.  Another flashlight, which he
left for the salvage operation.  A few other minor miscellaneous
items that fit in the pail.
 
     And all the time that wasn't spent thinking about what he
was doing was spent thinking about his orgasm and the feelings
Mary had awakened toward his own daughter.  He was a
pediatrician, by damn, and he wasn't about to resume thinking
about his daughter, or his patients, as sexual objects.  _What
the hell was Mare thinking?  Or was she trying to say something? 
Maybe hinting, perhaps as part of a fishing expedition?_
 
     He was breathing too fast.  _Calm down!_  The partially-full
aqualung would be needed to finish the salvage, but if it
wouldn't be enough if he ran this one out of air prematurely.  He
clipped the life vests to the pail, cut a piece of rope for
later, and pulled the vests out of the locker.  He rose with the
pail.  At the surface he closed the regulator valve, removed the
tank, and tied it to a short rope section looped around the
marker buoy rope.  He watched as the tank, guided by the marker
rope, descended to the sunken boat, then lifted the mask to his
forehead and peered toward shore.
 
     The fins made it easy to rise higher out of the water.  He
whistled and waved.  He watched Alyson stand, wave, and then turn
to shout something at the cabin.  She was sitting down again as
he stopped kicking and sank to float alongside the pail and the
life vests.  He unclipped the one vest from the marker and
slipped it on.  He took the compass from the pail and used it to
get a bearing to the shack and another to the northernmost of the
inland peaks.  That would make it easier to get to within
sighting distance of the marker buoy.  He attached a snorkel to
the mask strap and pulled the mask and snorkel in place.  He
headed toward the shore at a leisurely pace, observing the life
happening in the watery world around him and telling himself that
there would be no more notice of his daughter's blooming
sexuality.
 
                              *****
 
     Mary released some of her nervous tension when Alyson
shouted that Doug was on his way back.  He looked athletic, sure,
and he was stronger than he looked.  His endurance--well, just
ask any of the women he'd partied with about his endurance.  But
accidents can happen, and at thirty feet down accidents easily
become fatal.  The nervous tension slowly gave way to sexual
tension.  She had to be the weirdest woman she knew.  Everything
made her horny, even being scared by that damned rubber snake. 
She thought of the candles in the drawer.  They'd been useful a
couple of days earlier.  No, she'd just wait for Doug.
 
     She dipped a drink of water from one of the covered pails
and looked around.  The cabin had been filthy, and a great deal
of work remained to bring it up to acceptable standards, but she
could see visible signs of progress.  Most of the grime was gone
from the kitchen now.  She looked down between her breasts at her
body and legs.  No, the grime wasn't gone.  It had just been
relocated.  She needed to be dipped in the cove herself.  Not
that dirt bothered her.  She'd been raised around a few people
who thought cleanliness and hygiene were signs of moral weakness.
 
     She scratched a bite on her leg.  The mosquito netting had a
huge rip in it that made it virtually useless until she could
repair it.  Or she could have Alyson do it.  Alyson wouldn't
complain about the chore if it kept the bugs from biting her at
night.  Her daughter truly was a city girl, complaining about
every little inconvenience and deathly afraid of the slightest
pain.  _Good thing Doug found the splinter in the outhouse seat
rather than Alyson the pain-o-phobic._
 
     _That's not fair_.  She'd watched Alyson sobbing gently to
herself once or twice, but her daughter really was doing her best
to put on a brave face for her parents.  She really was trying to
cope with their situation and really was trying to do it on her
own, without bothering her parents who obviously had their hands
full.  It wasn't Alyson's fault that she hadn't been raised with
the same degree of independence that her mother had been.
 
     Sure, she'd whimpered and complained when she'd been
assigned Go Catch Lunch detail, but it had been habit and her
heart hadn't been in it.  She'd known it was important and did
her share.  Maybe this was a good learning experience for the
girl.
 
     She stepped to the door and leaned against the frame for a
moment, watching Alyson sitting quietly at the end of the dock
with her fishing pole tucked under her left arm.  No music player
and headphones.  No gaggle of friends to talk to.  No television
for diversion.  Just alone with nature and herself.
 
     _Uh oh_.
 
     Mary actually felt herself blush as she turned away.  She'd
finally realized what that small, steady movement of Alyson's
right elbow had meant.  Wasn't it strange that she could gangbang
a half dozen guys and their wives in a group or perform with her
husband for her daughter's voyeuristic curiosity, yet she was
embarrassed watching her daughter masturbate?
 
     No.  It wasn't strange.  Masturbation was a private thing
for Alyson, and even in communal families like theirs, where
almost everything went on, one learned to respect the privacy of
others.  Her embarrassment was from her intrusion on that
privacy, not from Alyson's actions.
 
     She suspected Alyson would never know what it would be like
to beat four boys in a peeing contest when she was sixteen, let
alone defeat two other girls in a screwing contest when she was
fifteen.  She couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a
bad one.  City living--"civilized living" Doug called it--sure
had screwed up her mind.
 
     Mary dipped another drink of water and sat down to decide
what she wanted to tackle next.  Thirty seconds later she had her
answer as she finger-drubbed her aching clitoris with a staccato
rhythm.  She dipped it into her flooded tunnel, which couldn't
have been any wetter if every man in the club had just cum in
her, and dragged more lubrication to make her task easier.  She
wished Doug had been able to drill her the night before, but she
couldn't blame him for being too tired.  She had been too tired
to just roll him on his back and ride him.  Of course, he might
not have let her with Alyson in the same room.  He'd certainly
become eccentric about the girl, the oddest he'd acted since
those inexplicable three months a couple of years earlier.  And
sending him diving without a quickie first because of that rubber
snake had punished her more than it had Doug.
 
     She gave a mental shrug and dragged up favorite memories of
some of their swing parties.  Two minutes later her legs
stiffened and rose from the floor as her back arched and her head
tilted back.   Her body convulsed, and again, and a third time,
at the end of which she began shaking as if she'd grabbed a high
voltage wire.  In another moment she went limp and gasped for
air.  That might hold her until Doug returned.  If not, she'd
deal herself another game of sexual solitaire.
 
                              *****
 
     The fish had been hooked just as she heard Daddy's whistle
saying he was okay and returning.  Alyson shouted the news to Mom
before lifting the fish to the dock.  She lifted the stringer
from the water and then removed the hook from the struggling
fish's mouth. The stringer already had two fish on it. Its third
snap wasn't just rusty, it was corroded and looked as if it might
snap if the fish put much strain on it.  She opened the fourth
snap and ran it in a gill slit and out the fish's mouth, then
dropped the free end with its three fish back into the water. 
She'd discovered that if she lay down on the dock, she could
reach the water to get the fish slime off her hands and did so
again.  Her hands reached just into the water this time.  The
tide was going out.
 
     She sat up again and brushed herself clean.  The rough wood
of the dock made her nipples itch if she didn't brush away the
wood flakes and dried salt.  She dangled her feet in the air
above the water off the end of the dock and picked up the pole. 
She sure was glad that Daddy had found those plastic worms.  She
could thread real worms onto a hook if she had to.  She'd done it
lots of times.  But they were squirmy and icky and smelled bad. 
And they made her hands smell bad, too.
 
     She brought the pole around and lowered the bait into the
water, anchored the pole to her side with her left arm, and began
slowly moving the bait with her left hand.  She had other uses
for her right hand.
 
     She ran her fingertips gently over her sun-browned nipples
again and slid them down her sweating body to the heart-shaped
thicket of soft, brown curls and below.  Well, there sure wasn't
anything _else_ to do out here, and it was an opportunity to be
alone and work off some accumulated irritation.  Daddy was
swimming back and couldn't watch her.  Mom was scrubbing stuff in
the cabin, and if her mother did look out, Mom would see only her
back.  If she were careful she could do herself without
attracting attention.
 
     She slid her middle finger down the crease between her
folds, past the brown curls sprouting near the front to the bare
area around the opening up into her body.  Something made her
recall Timmy Corel asking, "How come you got pussy hair in front
and none around your hole, but Rachael Lopez has got just the
opposite?"
 
     That had led to a big fight over whether Timmy had told
Rachael, or anybody else, what they had been doing.  Or worse,
whether Timmy had told people lies that they had been "doing it,"
the way Mom had told her some boys would lie to each other,
trying to impress each other.
 
     The memory reminded her of the fight her parents had had the
night of the storm.  She didn't want to think about that,
especially since she might have been responsible somehow.  Maybe
they had seen her and were arguing over whether--or how--to
punish her.  She hadn't thought of that, but she didn't want to
think of it now, either.  She just wanted the release while she
had an opportunity to have it.  She forced her mind away from the
problem while she slid her fingertip to wiggle on the spot above
her button.  A tiny sigh escaped as the pleasure hit.
 
     But Mom was trying to get Daddy to do her last night, right
there on the floor beside her cot.  Or it had seemed that way, as
best as she could tell.  She couldn't very well sit up in the cot
and look, could she?  But Daddy had been too tired.  Or she
guessed he'd been too tired.  Maybe it was because she was in the
room?  Memories of their argument started creeping back in and
she forced them away.
 
     Mom sure did enjoy sex.  If it felt as good as fingers, Aly
knew she would, too, once she'd gotten past the agony of the
first time.  But she just couldn't bring herself to endure that
fierce pain, no matter how good it might be afterward.  She
wondered how long the suffering lasted, days or hours or perhaps
just minutes.  A second would be too long for her, she knew, and
that's why she could never go through with it.
 
     Why was she wasting time thinking about this again?  She
might not have another chance for another few days, except in
that smelly old outhouse.  She shifted her thoughts back to what
it would feel like if she had already endured the terrible pain
and were able to have sex now.  She felt the moisture inside her
cunny increase and knew she was well-lubricated now, ready to
receive a real, live, honest-to-God boner.
 
     She thought of Timmy Corel and his erection.  She wondered
once more if it felt like her father's pole, hard but with a
soft, warm outer covering.  Timmy's was about the size of her
middle two fingers together.  She moistened them individually at
the mouth of her cunny, then held them together and eased the
pair into herself in a series of small pushes until the palm of
her hand pressed against the swollen folds.  She wet the edge of
her thumb in her juices and slid it between the hard pebble of
her clitty and one of the folds so that it would rub when she
began stroking her fingers into and out of herself.
 
     Pleasure washed through her in waves, and in no time she was
grunting with the rhythm of the thrusts.  The upper end of her
tunnel ballooned then, so that it no longer squeezed her
fingertips, while the first inch or two tightened its grip on the
intruders.
 
     As her body tensed and her toes curled she began thrusting
harder and faster.  She was vaguely aware that her elbow was
waggling about wildly, but she was almost there and wanted the
sweet release more than anything else.  She felt the roughness of
the boards of the pier against her calves as her legs tried to
draw up under her. Any other time that would have irritated her,
but now she ignored it.  And it happened.
 
     As her legs tried to straighten against the pressure holding
them to the pier, her body tried to snap back out of its forward
curl.  It was like trying to straighten out inside a hollow metal
ball and just as futile.  Her body compressed and then tried to
straighten again.  And a third time.  The fourth time it happened
the ball shattered, and her legs shot out and her spine arched in
the opposite direction.  A massive shudder caused her feet with
their clenched toes to bounce, and again, and again as her body
went rigid, trembled, and then went as limp as washed-up seaweed.
 
     She wiggled the fingers deep inside her cunny and vibrated
her thumb against her hard little clitty, trying to squeeze every
last bit of pleasure and relief from the moment.  Her lungs
resumed working, and she gulped air between bursts of giggles. 
She felt the smile on her face bulging her round cheeks further
outward.  Two more tremors rippled through, and then she was
still except for her heaving chest, her slowly thrusting fingers,
and her barely wiggling thumb.  The purring sound in her ears
turned out to be her humming when she exhaled.  It was the best
release she'd had since she masturbated with Daddy's cum.
 
     And sex, fucking, was supposed to be even better than that. 
Why, then, did it have to be so excruciating the first time?  A
gentle rain began, and she lay on the rough boards thinking about
the unfairness of life.
 
                      Continued in Chapter 4
 
Copyright Russell Hoisington 2004
 
  ************************************************************
 
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Russell Hoisington
State of Confusion

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