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Message-ID: <62467asstr$1357521003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Devi Ann T <sainttwisted@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Cold Wood MF fist
Lines: 98
Date: Sun, 06 Jan 2013 20:10:03 -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


There was this guy and this gal.


They did *naughty* things to each other.


Before they did these naughty things, the gal couldn't stop thinking about
sex randomly, at work, at church, while driving, etc.


After they did these things, she couldn't seem to stop thinking about sex
with him.


Maybe it was because he did things to her she wasn't sure were possible
before.


So she's sitting at her computer remembering talking him into something she
had never whispered to another.


She feels the old, cold wood of the back porch under her body, soft and wet
and sees a clouded night sky.


His hand, slick with oil, presses up into her.


Already sore from several days of constant sex, she isn't sure she can
stand his touch even, but he presses in.


She wants to scream "NO!"  She wants to beg him not to stop.


She grabs for his other hand, desperate for something of him to cling to as
he pushes past the thickest part of his hand.


Now, she is impaled, stretched beyond what she thinks she can take, but she
takes it.


She doesn't realize she is crying as the clouds mist down on them.


Her whole existence is centered on the pressure inside her as he
experiments with unfolding his fist.


She wants him; she wants to yield more than her flesh to him.


He's smiling as he wiggles his fingers insider her.  He sees her tears and
a part of him he isn't ready to acknowledge takes joy in her pain.


When he pulls his hand out, it feels as though her pussy won't let go, but
it does.


He climbs on top of her, awkwardly positioning his hand, not sure where to
put the hand slick with oil and her juices.


She feels his cock poised to penetrated and panics.


She's on fire and thinks he won't fit despite the stretching.


Her pussy is desperately trying to swell shut, but he does fit.


It hurts, it feels good, and she is crying out, not caring if the neighbors
can hear them.


The sky mists down on them.


The chill of the mist contrasts against the fire in her pussy.


Now, this is what she thinks about when she is grocery shopping, or doing
her schoolwork, or trying to sleep.
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