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Subject: {ASSM} "Ball"  by deirdre  (mm, mf, ff, anal)  --  reposted by H. Jekyll and PleaseCain
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Date: Thu, 01 Dec 2005 18:10:01 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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"Ball" (mm, mf, ff, anal) 

by deirdre 

***** 

NOTE: We are not the authors of this story. "deirdre" was the enigmatic
queen of Usenet sex stories in the mid-1990s. She posted 156 stories in
just over two years, using an anonymous remailer and apparently *never*
corresponding with anyone. She was last heard from in late April 1996.
We will repost all 156 stories, with comments by her, in alphabetical
order, between now and the 10th anniversary of her "retirement." In the
coming months, we will announce a "deirdre-fest" for next Spring.
Meanwhile, enjoy! 

To contact us: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com, or PleaseCain@aol.com. 

*****


an65862@anon.penet.fi Tue Apr 30 03:49:35 1996 

This is one of seven new stories I'm posting for Spring, 1996: Ball,
Cheerleader, Date, Denial, Four, Mall, and Witch.  Enjoy. -- deirdre 

Disclaimer: my stories, like the private sex fantasies of many people,
often depict "breaking some rules".  Do not read this story if you
believe fantasy stories should never depict situations undesirable in
real life.  Be warned that you may not be comfortable with the sexual
situations.  Do not read this story if you are less than 18 years of
age. 

Permission granted to repost, to make available online, and to publish
in low-cost CD-ROM archives of alt groups if attributed to deirdre. 
Permission granted to publish in periodicals and anthologies of this
type of material if attributed to deirdre and an author's payment is
sent to AIDS research in the name of deirdre. -- deirdre 



Ball by deirdre, 4/3/96 

It was empty.  I heard sounds from somewhere else in the building, like
showers: I figured they must be done.  I backed out and looked down the
hall, and heard the sounds become momentarily louder as a door further
down the hall opened briefly and a man walked out. 

It was Jerry, one of Tim's friends.  "Oh, hi," he said, with a little
laugh, approaching me.  I didn't know what was funny, but I believe I
smiled, an unconscious reaction. 

"Tim's in the shower?" I asked. 

He laughed again.  "Yes, I'd say so.  Listen: you've got to see this." 
Then he was returning down the hall, waving me to follow him.  I
hesitated, but then went along. 

He briefly paused for me to catch up, then continued, speaking: "Tim's
team was in a game they were *sure* they would win," he said.  I still
felt like there was something he wasn't telling me.  After another
little laugh, he repeated: "yeah, they were *so sure*." 

We'd reached the door where he'd come out.  The boy's locker room.  He
opened the door and signaled me to go in.  Go in while the men were
showering and changing? 

I didn't know what Jerry was thinking or why he thought I'd do this.  I
heard voices echoing in the room.  "Go ahead, take a look," Jerry
cajoled. 

I barely stepped in: just to where I had a view of a lot of the room. 
I nearly gasped: there were men having sex!  Three men were doing three
other men in the rear.  All, completely naked.  I stood stock still for
a second, not believing my eyes.  Tim was bent over, his elbows on a
bench, completely naked, another man's cock right in his rear! 

The only way to describe the scene was *lewd*.  I backed away and Jerry
let the door shut.  "Yep, your husband is a man of *honor*, if a bit
too cocky." 

I had so many questions, but I couldn't get words out.  Finally I
managed: "Is this every week?"  I felt so embarrassed: it was something
I couldn't possibly talk about in there, but I was indeed talking to
Jerry.  Or trying to. 

He must have gotten my drift.  "Nope: first time I've seen *anything*
like this." 

"Did you...?" 

He laughed again.  "No, I sat out that game.  No interest in *that*,"
he said, pointing back toward the locker room with his thumb.  Then he
looked at me--an interested look: "You seem intrigued.  You want to see
again?" 

"No!" came out of my mouth like lightning. 

"Are you sure?  Those men, getting it like that?" 

"Of course not!" 

"What do you think of those men?  Making a bet like that?  Forced to
pay up?" 

I was tongue-tied.  It seemed that Jerry thought I was interested in a
way that I wasn't, and that embarrassed me.  But I had no idea how I
was going to get up the courage to say something to disabuse him of the
notion.  He went on: "Of Tim messing around like that?" 

I had to walk away.  I'd be a little rude, but it wasn't in me to
manage to untangle myself from this conversation with any diplomacy. 
But before I left, he spoke up again: "Well, I feel *I* missed out on
the fun." 

I still didn't leave.  Why didn't I leave?  I still just strolled along
the hall with him.  "You and I could play a little one-on-one." he
offered. 

I looked at him quickly.  He wasn't grinning or anything: just a
questioning look.  He had a basketball in his hand.  "Just a couple
points, for fun.   Tim'll be a little while, I'd say." 

It was silly.  Ridiculous.  He towered over me: there was no way it was
anything like a game.  We'd both kicked our shoes off.  Three points,
he'd said.  He basically gave me the ball and let me make my first
two--but during my third try, he neatly blocked my shot, captured the
ball, took it back, and dribbled it right around me for a layup.  And
in about thirty seconds, he'd done it two more times. 

He smiled at me: "Game's over."  We slipped our shoes on and went back
to the hall.  No one.  The girl's locker room was right across the
hall.  He went over and pushed the door open and held it, looking at me
questioningly. 

We hadn't said anything about it.  Not a thing.  But the idea had been
there as soon as he brought up the game, and we both knew it even
though we weren't saying anything.  He didn't do anything to indicate
that I'd promised anything.  Just looked at me as if he were wondering
whether I'd go in there. 

He followed me in, pulled soap out of his bag and told me to get in the
shower and soap up. 

Tim was in the car when I got out, surely wondering what had happened
to me.   He didn't ask though: I think he had worries about what *he'd*
been doing and didn't seem to want to press any such issue.  It had
been so lewd, completely wet and soapy, kneeling on that bench: I'd
come so hard.  Tim had never done me back there: I'd never done that
before: thank God for that soap.  My hair was obviously still wet: I
hoped that in the dark Tim wouldn't notice.  And my 
underwear was in Jerry's bag. 

I lay there that night next to Tim, my mind racing.  What was going on
with us?  But somehow I wanted him badly that night.  In me. 

I stared at the woman, standing at the front door.  It was morning and
Tim was off working.  He'd been up and out of the house before
*anything* happened.   Not a thing.  I didn't know the woman. 

"I'm Stella: I'm dating Jerry," she said, walking into the house
uninvited. 

"Hi," I said tentatively. 

She held out my underpants and bra.  "Care to explain these?" 

"Uh..." 

She had this sardonic smile.  "Jerry reported some interesting
goings-on."  She laughed: "Don't worry: I'm not going to bite you.  I
*like* a good story." 

She pushed the underwear into my hands.  I stood there looking at it . 
"But I *do* claim license to *your* husband."  My head jerked up to see
her face again.  She still smiled: "Only fair, don't you think?" 

What do you say in response to something like that?  I just stood there
tongue-tied. 

"Say, Jerry *said* you were the quiet, submissive type."  Suddenly she
grabbed my wrists.  Startled, I dropped the clothing.  I was so scared,
looking at her: I had no idea what she'd do. 

I was on my back on my own living room carpet, naked.  She was kneeling
astride me, just as naked.  She still smiled as she looked down at me. 
"Are you ready to be a  good little girl?" she asked.  She scooted up
so that she was astride my head.  She looked straight down at me as she
lowered herself toward my mouth.  My fingers, on myself, were *very*
busy. 



	
		
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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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