index

Message-ID: <52969asstr$1138716602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: A Strange Geek <astraYOURngegMINDeek@comcast.net>
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (X11; U; Linux i686; en-US; rv:1.6) Gecko/20040113
Subject: {ASSM} The House at the End of the Street 01/18 (mf ff msolo fsolo group inc 1st oral voy mc nc bon toys humil magic)
Lines: 814
Date: Tue, 31 Jan 2006 09:10:02 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d




<1st attachment, "Chapter01.txt" begin>

WARNING: This is a work of erotic fiction. It contains depictions of
nudity and graphic sex.

Author: A Strange Geek
Title: The House at the End of the Street
Universe: Haven
Summary: 4 teens find a mysterious house that can grant them great
power. Will they lose themselves in sexual revelry, or will they turn
from the darkness in time? Or does the house itself have an agenda ...

Part: 1 of 18
Keywords: mf, ff, msolo, fsolo, group, inc, 1st, oral, voy, mc, nc,
bon, toys, humil, magic

Copyright A Strange Geek, 2006

Feedback welcome! Please email me at astraYOURngegeek@comMINDcast.net
( lose YOUR MIND to email me )

Or to send anonymous feedback, use the form at bottom of HTML version:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/A_Strange_Geek/www/novels/TheHouse/Chapter01.html



---------------

Jason Conner pounded his fists on the edge of his desk once as he
stared at the computer monitor in frustration. "/Moooom!/" he shouted
in a petulant voice.

He heard no response, largely because his door was closed. With his
lips curled into a sour frown, he shot up from his chair and stomped
across the room. He pushed his glasses up his nose and made a single
swipe at his flyaway black hair. He tore open the door to his bedroom,
revealing a sign tacked to it on the outside that read "Captain's
Quarters".

He shouted down the stairs. "Mom!"

"I don't want to hear it, Jason," came an irritated woman's voice from
below.

"Plug the cable back in, Mom!"

"No. I am not going to have you wasting another day cooped up in that
room when it's a beautiful day outside."

"I just want to post this message!" Jason cried in a strident voice,
which cracked on the last syllable. "Come on, Mom! You know if you
leave that disconnected too long, it takes ages for the modem to get
another IP from ..."

By this time, Jason's mother had appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
She looked up at her son in annoyance. "Stop talking gobbledygook," she
warned. "You know I don't understand it."

"Only because you don't want to," Jason said darkly to himself.

"What was that, young man?"

"/Nothing/, Mom."

"Don't get smart with me, Jason. Turn off that computer and get
yourself outside."

Before Jason could voice another protest, his mother had turned away
from the stairs.

Jason had to exercise a great deal of will not to slam the door, for he
knew that would just bring his mother upstairs and earn him both a
lecture and a loss of the privilege of leaving his door closed. This
would have been worse than just losing his internet for a day.

He sighed despondently and closed the door quietly. As he stepped away
from the door, he hugged his arms briefly across his bare chest. He had
risen only a half hour before, and had barely pulled on his jeans when
he had seen a message on the Star Trek forum to which he had to
respond. Now the finished treatise sat on his screen, still trying to
reach the server across a now nonexistent connection. As he stared, the
error message appeared as it gave up.

Jason dropped heavily into his chair and reluctantly saved the message
to send later. He sat back in his chair and folded his arms again.

He didn't think this was at all fair. He was fourteen, for God's sake!
Certainly that earned him the right to use the internet as he pleased.
Only a few months ago he had to plead for the right to keep his door
closed in order to insure that he could indeed use the internet for
anything he wanted. He was sure his parents would raise hell if they
knew of even half the things he had downloaded to his computer.

At this thought, he glanced over to the side and pulled open a drawer.
He reached under a notebook and pulled out a small photo of a striking
redhead with a wide and mischievous smile. The name under it said
"Heather Sovert".

Jason had cut the picture from last semester's high school yearbook. He
uttered a sigh. Sometimes it seemed foolish to him to keep her picture
like this. He was not naive enough to think that he had even the
slightest chance with this sixteen-year-old girl. Any hopes he had had
about that had been dashed when, in a moment of weakness, he had
confided his infatuation with her to his friend Richie. The boy had
snorted derisively and had said, "Man, no way she'd even think about
goin' for a nerd-boy like you. I doubt she even knows you exist."

This did not stop Jason from entertaining his own fantasies about her,
however. With the hormones of puberty still raging through him, these
fantasies were rarely platonic in nature.

Jason quickly put the picture back when he felt an uncomfortable
stiffening under his jeans. Now that his mother had ruined his plans
for the day, he could not afford to let himself get too excited without
having the chance for any relief. His thoughts of Heather had driven
him to seek a substitute in the form of whatever pictures of other
redheaded girls he could find on the internet.

He finally shut down the monitor and rose from the chair, studiously
ignoring the mirror on the inside of the closet door. He hated how lean
and gangly his body looked, and did not want to be reminded of how
thoroughly unattractive he believed he was. He almost considered
wearing a long-sleeve shirt despite the fact that it was the middle of
July, just to hide the thinness of his arms, but he knew that would
just make him miserable by midday.

His face fell as he glanced around the room. If Heather ever saw this
room, she would likely burst out laughing. Sometimes it embarrassed
even Jason himself. The walls were festooned with posters of technical
diagrams from starships from /Star Trek;/ his dresser, desk, and any
other flat surface occupied by models and miniatures related to the
same, or to any of his other science fiction or fantasy obsessions,
such as /Doctor Who/ or /Lord of the Rings/. Even Richie snickered at
it anytime he saw it.

He opted for a plain pullover shirt and quickly headed out the door
before his mother could lecture him again.

The air was already quite warm when he stepped out into the morning
sunshine. The rest of his little suburban subdivision in the northeast
corner of Haven was already awake and active. He heard the rumbling of
a lawnmower down the street, and some younger children played in a yard
just across from his house.

Jason frowned as he walked towards the street, hands thrust into his
pockets, shoulders slumped. Just what did his mother expect him to do
with his day? Jason hated living in Haven. Even after nearly three
years now, he still resented his father for moving them here from the
big city where he grew up. At least in the city, he could visit one of
several nice museums or the planetarium. Haven had nothing. The move
had mystified him. As a neurosurgeon, his father had a lucrative career
in the city. Why accept such a drastic cut in pay just to offer his
services to this little sleepy burg?

Jason peered at the activity in the other yards and made a face. He
hated suburban life most of all.

He turned away and started down the street towards the far edge of the
subdivision. As he walked, the street curved gently towards the right,
aligning itself more due east towards the edge of town. The sounds of
suburbia mercifully faded behind him. Yet as he approached the
intersection , another sound took its place.

From somewhere around the corner he heard a yipping bark. Moments
later, a small stick sailed into view and clattered across the
pavement, followed closely by a scampering little mongrel of a dog.

Jason froze as he watched the black-spotted white dog eagerly chase
down the stick, accidentally kicking it further away from himself twice
in his enthusiasm to pick it up. Jason recognized the dog as a stray
that many of the kids in the neighborhood would play with and feed
scraps when their parents were not watching. Unfortunately, most of the
kids that the dog tended to like were the worst of the bullies that
Jason had to deal with at school.

The dog finally managed to get the stick in his mouth and turned to
dash back to his master-du-jour. Jason was relieved when he saw it was
his friend Richie.

"C'mon, boy!" Richie called out. The somewhat scatterbrained dog was
momentarily distracted at the sight of Jason and tried to turn in
several random directions at once. Finally the dog set himself right
and made straight for the freckled, tousle-haired boy standing on the
corner. Richard Gardner wrestled the stick from the dog's mouth, the
dog jumping into the air and barking excitedly.

Richie turned and lifted a hand towards Jason. "Yo."

Jason waited until Richie had thrown the stick again before approaching
his friend.

"Hey, I tried to IM you before I left the house," Richie said with a
smirk that seemed to be permanently etched onto his roundish face.

"Mom made me get off the computer," Jason said glumly. He watched
nervously as the door scooped the stick into his mouth and started back
towards them. He didn't care for dogs quite as much as most kids did,
though this one was friendly enough (and small enough) to be tolerable.
He managed a small smile as Richie wrenched the stick from the dog's
mouth and sent it sailing away again. "So what's his name today?"

"Today, his name is Tramp," Richie said with an impish smile.

"Yeah, I guess he looks like one, doesn't he?"

Richie snorted. "I think he'll answer to anything long as you feed him
at some point. The other day I called him 'hey stupid' all day and he
didn't care. So how'd you piss off your Mom this time? She catch you
wankin' off to porn or something?"

"No," Jason said firmly, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Richie just
snickered. By this time, the dog had abandoned the stick. He tore off
after a squirrel, barking madly. Jason watched and sighed. "I hate
summer."

"You're weird."

Jason and Richie could not have had a stranger friendship. They were
opposites in nearly every way. Jason was more an intellectual, shunned
sports, and loved school, save for the other students. Richie was
really into sports and cars, loathed school, and was fairly popular
among his peers. Richie was much more muscular as well, and it was only
when he had put them to use fending off several bullies that had
started to beat on Jason his first week at Haven High School that Jason
had thought him more than just another dumb jock.

Admittedly, Richie had simply taken pity on the poor kid and didn't
think much more of it until Jason offered to tutor him in math as
repayment for his kindness. Richie, who had never garnered more than a
D+ in his life at math, pulled a B- that semester thanks to Jason.

"Yeah, fine, I'm weird. But I just don't have anything to do."

"Hey, dummy, the stick is over there!" Richie called out to Tramp, who
was barking up at a squirrel he had just chased up the tree. Tramp
stopped, glanced to Richie, and took off after the stick again. "Shit,
what a stupid dog. It's a wonder no one's run over him."

"Hey, you wanna go somewhere?" Jason said. "I've got some money, we can
go catch a movie or something."

"Nah, I'm meeting some pals for a baseball game in the park. You can
come and watch if you want." He grinned. "I'll hit a foul ball to you
or something so you can save it and sell it for lots of money when I
get to be famous."

/So being a baseball star was his ambition this week,/ Jason thought.
Richie changed his plans for his adulthood like others changed their
socks. "Always thinking of your friends, huh?"

"Yep, that's me. All heart and shit like that."

"Who's going to be there?"

"Aw, don't worry about it, dude. I'll watch your back."

It was unfortunate that Richie tended to hang around the very people
that gave Jason grief at school. Yes, with Richie around, it was
unlikely they would shove Jason around, but that would not stop them
from taunting him. He didn't think he could take that today.

"I'll pass," Jason said in a low voice, thrusting his hands deeper into
his pockets.

Tramp finally returned the stick to Richie, though he dashed in a
circle around the boy's legs a few times before allowing the stick to
be taken from him. "Fuck, you're so dumb!" Richie laughed, but the dog
just wagged his tail all the more and barked in anticipation, eyes
watching the stick. "Jason, don't be such a wuss," Richie said as he
flicked the stick one way and then the other, making the dog think he
threw it. This drove the dog into a frenzy, making him leap into the
air after the stick, which was held just out of reach. "You can't let
them fuck with you like that."

"What do you expect me do to, beat on them?"

Richie sighed and looked at his friend.

"Anyway, they just think you hang out with me as a joke."

"C'mon, man ..."

"Do you?"

Richie made a face. "Do I what?"

"Do you just hang out with me as a joke?"

"No, dude, I don't. What made you think that?" Tramp's barking grew so
furious that Richie gave in and threw the stick as far as he could. It
landed past the intersection and partially up the drive that ended in
the cul-de-sac at the end of the street. "Look, you want the girls to
notice you, don't you?"

Jason paused, confused by the sudden turnaround in the conversation.
"Huh?"

"I mean, you want the real thing, don't you? So you don't have to keep
wankin' off to ..."

"I said I wasn't ...!"

Richie just gave his friend another maddening grin. "Yeah, yeah.
Anyway, you wanna get girls to like you, right? Like they do me?"

Jason rolled his eyes. He has his doubts that half the stuff Richie
told him of his alleged sexual prowess was true, especially considering
they were both the same age.

"Then act like they expect you to, man. They don't want guys that just
sit with a computer all day. We play ball at the park, we get girls
watching us by the end."

Jason sighed. He knew of one girl that he thought unlikely to be
watching a ballgame.

"Well, all right," Richie finally said. He looked down. Tramp had
returned the stick to him and was leaping about in his enthusiasm for
more playtime. Richie yanked the stick from the dog's mouth and handed
it to Jason.

"Huh?" Jason said.

"I can't take him to the park, he'll just keep trying to play with
everyone or go chasing after the ball. You play with him."

"But I don't ..."

"Oh, fuck, just take it, okay?" Richie said in irritation. Jason
reluctantly took the stick. Richie shook his head. "Shit, you gotta
stop being afraid of your own shadow, okay? See ya later."

Jason turned and watched his friend walk away and down the cross street
towards the park as Tramp yapped at Jason's feet.

Now Jason really was starting to wonder about their friendship, or if
they really even had a friendship in the first place. Richie certainly
never wanted to hear about Jason's interests. If Jason talked about it
for more than a minute or two, Richie would accuse him of "nerding-out"
on him again. Jason could no longer tell if he meant it in jest or not.

In his frustration, Jason threw the stick as hard as he could down the
street into the cul-de-sac, hoping to interest the dog in the squirrels
again. His throw came up shorter than any of Richie's more leisurely
ones had, which just increased Jason's frustration.

Tramp dutifully returned the stick to him as Jason wandered further
down the road. It grew very quiet as he left the intersection, tall
trees rising up around him like sentinels. He could hear little more
than just the gentle sound of the breeze through the treetops. He
passed into shade as he walked far enough for the morning sun to duck
behind the tallest of the trees at the end of the street, a long shadow
stretching over him.

Jason set his sights on those trees and the dense foliage beyond them
when he next tossed the stick, hoping Tramp would find something else
of interest instead. In his attempt to hurtle the stick as far as he
could, however, his throw was wide and missed the mark, clattering
across the blacktop and coming to rest in front of the small house just
off to the right.

The dog scampered merrily after the stick, and after a few attempts got
it into his mouth again. Just as he was about to head back towards
Jason, he suddenly paused and turned his head towards the house.

Tramp's tail stopped wagging, his ears flattening against his head as a
low growl rose from the back of his throat.

Curious, Jason started forward, keeping his eye trained warily to the
right, wondering if Tramp had just seen another dog or perhaps a stray
cat. Tramp dropped the stick from his mouth and began barking in a
cadence nothing like the playful yaps of only a minute ago.

Then the dog did something that made Jason freeze in his tracks. Tramp
backed up, whining and cowering before giving one last cowardly yelp
and bolting away from the cul-de-sac. He burst past Jason in a blur of
peppered white fur, disappearing around the corner of the intersection
in seconds.

Now Jason noticed the unnatural quiet, the shadow of the trees like a
weight settling over him. For a brief moment, he felt a chill against
his skin despite the summer heat.

Jason had never seen anything spook that dog that badly. The silence
around him felt leaden, and the shadow of the trees unnaturally cool.
He tried to shake off the creepy feeling that was coming over him, for
he did not understand what could be causing it. It was not like there
was anything remarkable ahead anyway, save for that small house at the
end of the street.

He advanced cautiously as the house came into view. The house itself
was a simple, box-like two story home with a steep, peaked roof. A
square-shaped lawn in front was surrounded by a black, wrought-iron
fence, a single, ram-rod straight sidewalk leading from the front door
to the gate and the street.

He suddenly felt uneasy. The house seemed more like a caricature, a
house that a child might draw in crayon or build from basic Lego
blocks. A door and a window were equally spaced on the first floor; two
windows precisely above these and precisely the same size and shape on
the second floor; another of the exact same variety of window under the
peaked roof for the attic.

Jason could not recall anyone ever living here. Yet the house was neat
and maintained, the windows were sparkling clean, and the lawn was
beautifully manicured.

Despite his own vague anxiety, Jason could see nothing that could have
caused the dog to grow so fearful. He muttered to himself in agreement
of Richie's assessment of Tramp's intelligence and was about to turn
away when his eye did finally spot something unusual.

The front door of the house stood open.

It stood only half-open, as if someone were holding it open only long
enough to look outside, or let a pet in or out, or to receive a
visitor. Yet the door neither opened nor closed fully as he watched it.
It simply remained where it was.

Jason felt curiosity come over him and wandered in for a closer look.
He stood at the gate, looking directly down the path and towards the
door.

"Um ... anybody there?" Jason called out tentatively. In a louder voice
he cried, "Hello? Uh ... you left your door open!"

Deep silence returned the moment he stopped talking. The door remained
as it was, neither open invitingly nor closed decidedly.

Something felt wrong to Jason. His heart started to pound. Instinct
told him to turn away and leave, and forget he had found this place.
Yet the more he stared at it and the half-open door, the more he felt
drawn to it.

Curiosity overcame fear. He glanced back towards the intersection for a
moment before lifting the latch on the gate and pushing it open. The
hinges did not even so much as creak, the gate swinging effortlessly.
He crept up the path and placed his hands on the frame of the door.

"Hello?" he called out again, paused one last time for a reply, and
then stepped inside.

His footsteps echoed a bit as they met weathered hardwood, floorboards
creaking slightly under him. Before him lay a small, quaint living
room, furnished in a style several decades before his time. An
overstuffed chair sat just to the side of the front door, a small
throw-rug and hassock before it. Beside this, an ornate, solid wood
coffee table stretched out before a wide sofa. Opposite this to the
left was a fireplace with a large, stone hearth. Above the mantel, a
century-old clock hung from the wall, its brass pendulum swinging
steadily back and forth, making a soft tick-tock sound as it counted
the seconds. To one side of the clock was a portrait in an oval frame
of a pretty, raven-haired woman with penetrating deep violet eyes.

Jason wandered closer to the fireplace, momentarily intrigued by the
portrait. Ruby-red lips were drawn into a slight pout, the eyes hard,
in sharp contrast to the soft, milky glow of the cheeks of her roundish
face. Her black curls lay in sharp relief against the whiteness of the
dress that hung from her shoulders and plunged deeply in front of her.
The portrait ended just below the sharp line of the cleft of her bosom.

There was a very small brass plate at the bottom of the picture frame
with a name inscribed in ornate lettering: "Mara."

Jason backed away from the portrait, feeling a shudder pass through him
for a reason he could not fathom. As he reached the middle of the room,
there was the faint sound of a floorboard creaking above his head.

Jason gasped and nearly jumped, his eyes slightly glazed as they
glanced upwards at the ceiling. He stood still and listened, expecting
to hear footsteps at any moment. All that came to him was the
incessant, slow tick-tock of the clock and his own ragged breathing.

Fear overcame curiosity, and he started quickly for the door.

/Don't leave./

Jason whirled around and stumbled, grabbing the back of the easy chair
to prevent himself from falling. "Huh? What?"

His eyes scanned the room, flicking back and forth. He was sure he had
heard it! It had been a woman's voice, sounding at once as if it were
both right next to his ear and floating on the air from a great
distance.

"Who is it?" Jason demanded. "Who ..."

He flinched as the clock began to chime the hour. He heard the voice a
second time coming on the heels of the last fading chime.

/Look upstairs./

"What? Why?" Jason cried. "Who are you?!"

No answer was forthcoming. The voice had lapsed into silence again.

Jason slowly stepped away from the door. He glanced over to the
portrait again. Mara continued to stare into the room, still and quiet.

His eyes swept the room again. A wide, arched entrance behind the sofa
led into a dining room. It was furnished in much the same style as the
living room, the elegant solid oak table set for two people. On the
other side of the dining room were the stairs to the upper floor.

Jason started towards the stairs, but stopped as he placed a foot on
the first step. "I-I'm not going until you tell me why I'm supposed to
go up there," he declared in a quavering voice.

/To find what you've been looking for./

Jason swallowed. The voice sounded like it had come from all around him
rather than any particular direction. It was definitely female, with a
lilting quality to it, yet firm and commanding.

"What will I find?" Jason asked.

Only silence answered him.

Jason sighed and looked up the stairs. He could not turn back now, he
was far too curious despite his fear.

Jason climbed the stairs and turned onto the second floor landing. The
hallway ahead of him had two doors on one side, both closed. He had
taken no more than a single step away from the stairs when the nearest
of the two doors suddenly clicked and creaked open a crack.

His heart thundered in his ears as he approached the door, his hand
shaking as he lifted it to push the door open fully, steeling himself
for what -- or who -- he might find inside. Yet nothing prepared him
for what he actually did see, and his mouth dropped open in shock as he
stared.

Before him was his own room.

When the initial shock wore off, Jason realized that it was not quite
his room. It was an idealized version of his room. On one dresser sat a
very highly detailed model of the /Millennium Falcon/, an expensive
gift he had asked for several Christmases in a row now and never
received it. On one wall was a very rare edition of a /Doctor Who/
poster he had been trying to locate with little success for the past
year and a half. Everywhere he looked he found something he had coveted
at one point or another. His bed was much nicer as well, and the old
threadbare rugs on the floor replaced with brand new ones in the loud,
garish colors that he preferred but his parents would never let him
have.

There was one thing, however, that was missing. Where his computer
normally sat atop the desk, there lay a large, leather-bound book
instead.

Jason took a moment to work up the courage to step into the room. He
knew this was not natural. How could a bedroom in a house he had never
visited look like his own back home? He stepped over to the window and
peered out, half-expecting to see his own back yard. Instead, he saw
what he should see, namely the front yard of the house at the end of
the street.

He turned away from the window and looked down at the book. The book
had no markings on it, nothing to hint at what lay inside it. He picked
it up and flipped open the cover, his eyes widening into a surprised
stare, and his jaw slowly dropping as he realized what he was seeing.

Filling the first page of the book was a picture of Heather Sovert, but
very much unlike any picture he had ever seen of her. It took him a few
moments to truly believe it, yet there it was. Here was a picture of
the object of his affections, and she was completely nude.

She was more than nude. She was poised very provocatively, with a
small, sultry smile on her beautiful face, her gracefully-curving hips
tilted to one side, her mound clearly visible through a very thin,
neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair. She was leaning forward slightly,
drawing the weight of her shapely breasts forward and downward, the
nipples taut and erect, one of which she touched with her fingertips.

At first, Jason thought this could not possibly be Heather. Yet there
was no mistaking those eyes, or that face, or the gentle wave of her
red hair. That was definitely her, in all her naked, sixteen-year-old
glory.

Jason snapped the cover closed and whirled around. "How did you get
this?" he demanded of the air. "/Where/ did you get this?"

There was no answer.

He looked down and tentatively opened the book again. With trembling
fingers, he turned the page. Two more pictures of Heather lay in front
of him. His breath caught in his throat. Now she lay on a bed, her legs
spread and her pussy brazenly exposed. In the second, she had reached a
hand down, probing her glistening folds with playful fingers.

Jason swallowed hard. Under his pants, his cock tried to rise, quickly
growing engorged and uncomfortable as it was trapped from expanding
fully. His cheeks flaming, he tugged at the waist of his pants until
his penis sprang out more freely under his briefs, swelling to full
hardness in seconds.

"She could have never posed for these," Jason whispered under his
breath. This did not stop him from continuing to peruse the book,
feeling intensely flushed as Heather grew bolder with each picture,
masturbating herself vigorously.

Jason would have wanted nothing more than to have Heather for himself,
to actually have a sexual encounter with her. Yet if that was to be out
of his reach, having something like this was better than any of the
pictures he had found so far on the internet. None of them could do
justice to Heather.

Panting in his excitement, he closed the book and clutched it to his
chest. "I can keep this?" he said, intending it to be a rhetorical
question, not expecting an answer.

He got one anyway, and it was not the one he wanted.

/No./

An indignant look came over his face. "But what's the point of showing
me this if I can't ...!"

/Enjoy it here./

"Enjoy it ... huh?"

Jason turned away from the desk, still holding the book tightly in his
fingers. His gaze drifted down to the bed and his eyes widened. "Y-you
don't mean that I ... right here ..." he sputtered. "I-I couldn't ...!"

/You won't have to./

"I don't understand ..."

/You worry too much. Trust me./

He swallowed again, taking a tentative step towards the bed, biting his
lip to suppress a moan as his aching, hard cock rubbed against the
inside of his briefs. He was more sexually excited than he could ever
remember being in his life, yet he could not imagine it was just from
the book of Heather's pictures that he held in his hands. In the back
of his mind, he knew the pictures could not be real. Heather simply
could not have posed for them.

At the same time, he could not deny his arousal or his desperate need
to relieve it. Even as he stood staring at the bed, the book's prurient
content safely hidden away by its closed covers, his erection
stubbornly refused to diminish.

He approached the bed and dropped the book onto it. After a brief
pause, he began to undo his belt.

He could not mistake the feeling of a presence, something just under
his perception, something making his skin flush hot as he slipped his
jeans from his hips, his penis visibly tenting the crotch of his
briefs. His cheeks burned, knowing he was being watched even as his
normal senses told him otherwise.

His cock bobbed in front of him, completely stiff, the head swollen as
he pulled down his briefs. He glanced down at himself and thought he
looked comical like this. His cheeks flushing one more time, he yanked
off the shirt and tossed it aside, his now naked body trembling
slightly.

The sense of a presence was stronger now, and the air around him felt
charged.

Jason climbed onto the bed. He could not believe how hard he felt, and
how long he was sustaining it without touching himself directly. His
nervousness over his own self-explorations always made him soften when
he was interrupted for even a few moments. He was no less nervous now.
If anything, he was even more anxious, as there was an assurance in the
back of his mind that he was being observed. He was also frightened,
and knew he should be too fearful of the strangeness of it to go
through with it.

He lay comfortably on the bed, propping up the pillow behind him
against the headboard, and took the book into his hands. His heart
pounded as he clutched it tightly with both hands and opened it before
him, his glazed eyes taking in the naked, seductive beauty of Heather.
He turned the pages eagerly to the more explicit pictures, the ones in
which Heather masturbated herself. His breath grew short as he stared
at them, a small moan escaping his lips as he felt fingers gently begin
to stroke his engorged cock.

He advanced further into the book, panting as the strokes grew bolder,
pressing more firmly into his hard, aroused flesh. He felt full strokes
from the base of his shaft to just under the head, pausing to tease the
sensitive spot there with two fingertips in a slow, sensual circular
motion. Jason sank into the pillow, groaning loudly, much more so than
he would allow himself in his own room.

So wrapped up in the pleasure was he that it was not until now that he
realized that both hands were still on the book. He was not touching
himself at all.

Jason uttered a startled gasp at this revelation, his hands tightening
around the book. He resisted the urge to lift it and look at his cock.
He felt his balls lifted, and he writhed as they were lightly fondled.
He was still quite frightened, but he could not ignore the mounting
pleasure, far more intense and exciting then anything he had done with
his own hand.

He opened his mouth, but no coherent speech would form his mind. His
mind struggled for a rational explanation for this, but could find
none. He flinched when he heard the voice again.

/Just enjoy it./

The "voice" was far more sultry and husky in its ethereal cadence than
it had before. It was utterly seductive and enchanting, sending his
fear reeling into the recesses of his mind, his hands slowly relaxing.

He delved deeper into the book, turning the pages with an urgency of
intense need. Disturbing thoughts and feelings in the back of his mind,
thoughts that insisted that this was somehow wrong or even perverted,
were banished by the rising crescendo of pleasure.

The unseen fingers gripped his cock tighter, stroking him harder and
steadier, making him writhe on the bed. At the same time, the
progression of impossible photos of Heather were driving her towards
her own peak, fingers glistening brightly with her moisture.

Jason lost himself in the experience. He felt gentle tugs at his balls,
fingers curling around their base, keeping them from drawing too close
to his body. It slowed his final rise, his moans growing increasingly
strident, his breathing ragged. He almost could not pay attention to
the pictures in front of his eyes, his own pleasure growing too
distracting. Yet there were only a few pages left, and was dying to see
Heather in the throes of orgasm. He loved pictures like that, as hard
as they were to find, and hoped he would not be disappointed here.

He was not. He reached the final pages, Heather's eyes closed and head
thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry of pleasure. What truly riveted
his attention, however, was the spurt of fluid from around Heather's
fingers at that moment of orgasm.

At the same time, he gasped as his own peak approached, his cock
straining the last few moments, his back arching and his muscles
tensing.

"Uhh!" Jason cried, a single, short syllable of release as his cock
started to throb. His hot seed splashed onto his abdomen as his first
few pulses spurted a few inches into the air in the sheer strength of
his orgasm. Quickly, it fell back to a gentler flow, his continuing
climax trickling and dripping down the sides of his cock, his breathing
hard and deep, the book already tossed to the side. His fingers curled
into the blanket tightly as his orgasm still throbbed, albeit with a
weakening power, even after there was no more seed to pump forth.
Finally when it stopped, a long sigh rushed past his lips and his body
fell limp.

Jason pulled himself up into a more upright, seated position on the
bed, suddenly self-conscious of his nudity and the mess on his body. He
looked around and found a tissue box nearby and started cleaning
himself off, his eyes drifting towards the book that now lay open,
pages down, on the bed next to him.

/Now that was enjoyable, wasn't it?/

Jason flinched. If anything, he was feeling the opposite. He felt guilt
trying to steal over him, like it did anytime he did this by his own
hand. Yet at least then he was jerking off to strangers. These were
actual pictures of Heather herself! He was a pervert for doing this.

/Certainly, Heather wouldn't do this for you. Even if she makes you
think she might./

Jason's eyes went wide. "How ... h-how did you ...?" he sputtered.

The voice did not reply.

What Jason never told anyone was the fact that he suspected Heather
knew of his infatuation with her, and that she was determined to
embarrass him over it. She would occasionally seek him out between
classes, talking sweetly to him and making cooing noises, flustering
him to the point of mortification, then walking off and laughing with
her friends.

He glanced down at the book again, this time with a look of smug
satisfaction. No, he was perfectly justified in enjoying this. Serves
her right.

Jason finished cleaning himself as best he could and leapt off the bed.
He dressed quickly, still eying the book on the bed. He really wanted
to keep it for himself. When he reached for it, however, the voice
admonished him.

/Leave it./

Jason sighed and reluctantly drew himself back.

/Come back tomorrow./

"Tomorrow?" he called out. "For what?"

/Whatever you want./

That time, the voice had an undertone of anticipation and wry
amusement, combined with a touch of dark thrill that momentarily sent a
shiver up Jason's spine. As he headed out of the room, his pace
quickening as the euphoria of his orgasm wore off, the voice said to
his back:

/And think on what it might be like to have someone do it for you for
real./
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+