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Message-ID: <62556asstr$1359979873@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Paco Andante <graf.von.muschi@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Babe {Paco Andante} (MF hand cheat)
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Date: Mon, 04 Feb 2013 07:11:13 -0500
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<1st attachment, "TheBabe.txt" begin>


Title: The Babe
Author: Paco Andante
Keywords: MF hand cheat
Date: 03 February 2013

Author's prologue:
	Has this ever happened to you? I wrote "Hired Hand" (posted to ASSM 
on 10/15/2012, also on ASSTR in my Authors' page) without a thought to
the background, how the situation arose, etc., just that it was an 
"interesting" situation. But it grew to gnaw at me: What was the student
like, how was it he was so pliable in the hands (sic) of the woman, and how 
did he come to be doing what he was in the den, and not working in another 
part of the house, where he was supposed to be? I didn't know, and it 
bothered me, and it bothered me that it bothered me. So I sat down to
write the same story, but from the PoV of the student, hoping that 
some sort of answer would be revealed. 
	The story wrote itself, as though I was some sort of Medium, just an
extension of the keyboard, and I found out the answers as the words flowed 
onto the screen. A weird experience, and one I would be glad to have again!
	The story, I think, will stand (or fall) on its own, but is actually 
a "companion piece" to "Hired Hand." May you enjoy reading it as much as 
I did as it appeared under my fingers!

    Copyright by the author. Permission granted to archive, repost, 
or publish in no-cost or low-cost archives of alt groups. 
Permission granted to publish in periodicals and anthologies of this 
type of material if attributed to the author.

    Disclaimer: Do not read this story if you believe fantasy stories 
should not 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.
 -----------
                 The Babe
                 Paco Andante
                 
I hardly believe what happened, and I don't know what to do next.

I guess I'd better start at the beginning. You're not going to 
believe it even when I do.

See, I answered this ad in the school newsletter; a couple in town 
wanted some help, "handyman work," it said, around the house and yard. 
So I answered it, since I could use some dough, and my sophomore year 
class load wasn't as heavy as everyone said it would be. 

Well, it turned out that Mr. and Mrs. Branleur had a load of work to 
do, and the worst was discovered when Bill, that's Mr. B's name, 
expecting some electrical trouble, pulled down some paneling in the 
rec room. Seems the previous owner thought he could do stuff, but was 
a regular shithead. You should see the mess inside the walls that he made 
when converting what used to be a porch into that rec room! And the 
electrical - I'm surprised they hadn't had a fire! 

Anyway, Bill wanted to fix it the right way, and needed help. After 
negotiating a wage - he wanted to pay me minimum like he had for the yard 
stuff - we set to work. The more we exposed of "Mr. Fixit's" work (that's 
what we wound up calling the previous owner) the worse it got. So after I 
left I got to thinking about the place, and the possibilities, so I made 
some sketches of what I figured could be done to make that rec room really 
nice without spending a fortune. 

I liked Bill, he was not a lot older than I, and a really nice guy. I liked 
the rest of the house, too, it was comfy, so I got involved, you know?

So a few work visits later I went over there and brought along my sketches 
to show Bill. He was enthusiastic. He really liked what I showed him, so he 
called to his wife to come see. 

So in walks Mrs. Branleur to look. And she is a drop-dead knockout BABE! 
Despite that she is dressed to go out, her serious business-like outfit 
couldn't hide her tall, slender figure or the curves underneath it. And she 
had long, Titian hair and the biggest green eyes that seemed to see 
everything, including that a woodie almost instantly sprang up in my jeans. 

I looked at Bill to see if he had noticed, but he was busy telling Mrs. B. 
about my ideas. In his enthusiasm he barely remembered to introduce me 
to her. 

"Oh, honey," he says, "This is Jack from the college. These are his ideas 
you know. Jack, this is my wife, Carol." He bubbled with excitement. 

I stammered something like "Pleasedta meetcha," trying not to show how 
flustered I was. 

So she grabs one of my drawings with her long, graceful fingers, looks it 
over, smiles at me - _smiles_with_a_gleam_in_her_eyes_ - and points at it 
and makes a suggestion. I have to admit, her idea was really good. I didn't 
just agree, you know? It might have been shit and I might have agreed anyway, 
she was such a knockout, but it _was_ good. So I quickly drew her idea onto 
the drawing already on the sheet and she and Bill liked it. 

So Carol - Mrs. Branleur - smiled again, thanked us both and walked out of 
the den. If you can call that walking. She glided, but everything moved. 
Undulated. Rippled. Flowed like a sweet song. I thought for sure Bill 
would notice me; my tongue must have been hanging out, but he just went on 
about the drawings, and how well his wife's idea fit in with my scheme, 
and so on. 

So we started to work, Bill and I, but now with a firm plan in mind. And 
gradually what was uncomfortably firm in my jeans subsided. We got most of
the tearing down done before I had to leave. 

Over the next week I got to work over there several times, a little here and 
a little there, but I didn't get to see "The Babe" as I started to think of 
Carol - Mrs. B. - at all. Bill put a key in a hiding place so I could let 
myself in to work when I had a chance and he wasn't home. 

But I kept seeing The Babe in my daydreams, and wishing I could actually 
see more of her. And getting jealous of my new friend and employer, Bill. 
Imagining how it would be to crawl into bed with Her, The Babe, every 
night! 

You can guess how my daydreams led to my wanking myself. 

So, one afternoon I was over there working, when neither of them was home. 
And I discovered that I had forgotten to bring my long tape measure, and I 
needed one. I thought I remembered Bill having one in the den, so I went in 
there to look. 

Searching through the desk, I found a photo album. I put it aside on top 
of the desk - none of my business, I thought - and kept looking. I found  
a 16 footer, long enough, but when I went to put the album back, the Devil 
made me open it. I swear I wasn't going to, but I did. 

It contained photos of them on a trip to the beach. Of course, I ignored 
the pictures of Bill, but there were more of The Babe than of him. 
Understandable. 

There was a really cute one of Her sitting at an outdoor table in a little 
green sundress and a wide-brimmed white hat, showing Her slender but 
muscular arms and some cleavage between Her pair of perfect-looking boobs. 
And those huge green eyes seemed to be looking at me right out of the photo. 

I almost closed the album. But I turned pages instead. 

There was The Babe in a one-piece suit on a towel in the sand. Then one of 
Her in a bikini, wading in the water, that started my woodie growing. 

But the photo that knocked my socks off was of Her, topless, in just that 
same bikini bottom, leaning over a railing with Her gorgeous, round, perky 
ass sticking up, Her long, slender legs going right up to the delicious 
under-curve of Her ass-cheeks, with one of Her bare boobs in clear profile 
under Her arm, pointing at something off camera. The erect nipple of that 
perfect-looking breast was surrounded by a small, dark areola. 

God! To say, "beautiful" would be in insult, no words I could conjure up 
would do. I was in awe and harder than I ever remembered being before. 

There were more great photos of Her in the album, but none to match that 
one. My hands actually shook. I put the album down on the desk and tried 
to go back to work, measuring and marking, measuring and marking, but my 
woodie wasn't going away, my hands were still shaking, and the mental 
image of Her, posed like in the photo, kept swimming behind my eyeballs. 

Finally, I went back into the den and opened the album to The Picture. My 
woodie, still hard since before, was starting to hurt trying to stand up 
straight while confined in the leg of my jeans. I had to sit down to give 
it a little relief. 

Staring at The Picture of The Babe, even sitting down was no relief, so I 
closed the album and put it back in the desk. It didn't help any because 
not only was the image engraved on my mind, but I had begun to fantasize. 
Of my lips on that nipple, my hands massaging Her perfect boobs and the 
round cheeks of Her incredibly gorgeous ass. And, God help me, of my dick 
disappearing in the warm and wet folds of what was under and between them. 

My cock could no longer stay pressed against my leg, even sitting down. I 
had to let it get comfortable, so I opened my belt and jeans to let it 
spring up, but as I touched it getting it loose I squirted all over my 
briefs. Well, at least I didn't come on their furniture! 

But I couldn't get the image out of my mind, even after having come, and I 
sat there on the chaise, my pants and splattered boxers around my knees, 
my aching cock still half-hard. 

What was I going to do, for God's sake? The house was empty, Bill was at 
work, and The Babe, the object of my desire, was out somewhere. My boxers 
were already messed, so I let myself indulge. I closed my eyes and 
imagined Her, not just topless but totally nude, bent not over some 
railing, but over my bed, and not my hand but Her warm pussy surrounding 
my slowly recovering woodie. 

I was thoroughly lost in my daydream when I became aware that my hand was 
not the only thing caressing my cock! My hand was on the shaft, but 
something wonderful was happening on its head!

My eyes snapped open, and there was The Babe, Carol, herself, not the image 
in my head, not naked but fully dressed in a tailored suit, not bent over my 
bed, but kneeling beside the chaise and with those graceful fingers 
_On_My_Cock!_ Somehow She had come home and I hadn't heard a thing!

I gasped, "God! Mrs. Branleur! Oh, shit!" and I could feel the blood 
leaving my cock and rushing to my face. I'd been caught, and not just by 
anybody, but by the very Babe I had been fantasizing over! I could just 
have dropped dead! 

But instead of chastising me, She said, "Quiet!" 

I was paralyzed, my hand still on my softening cock, riveted by those huge, 
piercing, beautiful green eyes.  

She said, "Lie still. Put your hands behind your back and lie on them." 

I didn't know what else to do, so I did as She commanded. But a cold sweat 
of fear had started on my back where I was lying on the chaise. What was She 
going to do? What will Bill do when he finds out?

"What are you going to do?" I heard my trembling voice ask. 

With a voice as stern as any coach's, She commanded me again to be quiet, 
then amended Her order, now ordering me to put my hands under my butt, and 
saying, "Do what I say and there won't be any trouble." 

All the while Her long, beautiful fingers were doing wonders on the head 
of my cock, and it didn't seem to care that the rest of me was scared 
shitless. 

Before I could gather two words in my head, never mind saying anything, She 
gathered the hem of Her fairly tight skirt up over Her hips and sat Her 
incredible, round, sheer-panty clad butt right down over my stomach, 
facing my feet. And Her hands were working magic on me - She seemed to 
know all the best and most sensitive places, and just how hard or how 
lightly to stroke and touch. I could hear myself groaning. Her hands 
felt so soft! 

I couldn't help myself, watching Her incredible ass sitting on me while Her
hands were doing Magic, and my body started to move under Her. 

Torture! She stopped! 

"Lie still," She commanded, and She didn't move Her hands until I relaxed. 
 
I don't know how long She worked on me then, it seemed like a long, 
delicious, incredible time. My cock had never felt so big, so hard, so 
_wanting._ She seemed to know just how much would make me crazy without 
putting me over the edge. But at last I felt release boiling up and just 
before it became inevitable, She let go of my cock and started to fondle 
my balls! 

It would have been The Worst Thing In The World if She had just dropped 
my cock, but Her playing with my nuts made it tolerable, and even dragged 
out the sensation of being Right There! 

I don't know what all I whispered, then. Whisper was all I could manage, 
since my voice seemed to have left me. I think I took the Lord's Name in 
vain, but I really don't remember, but She told me to be quiet, whatever 
it was I said.  

As if the "massage" of my cock wasn't enough, I began to smell the heady, 
stirring aroma, indescribable (and not at all fishy), of Her own arousal, 
an odor that seemed to go straight from my nostrils to my sex centers. 

As if She could feel what I was feeling, She started on my cock again just 
as the urgency was ebbing, but She also kept on doing wonders to my balls. 
That was just incredible. I think She must have been using lube of some 
kind, Her work was just so gentle, even when She was squeezing my cock hard. 

She was turning me into jelly, never mind what She was using. I don't know 
how many times She took me to the cliff's edge but kept me from falling. 
And surely it must be into the night by now, it was going on so long! 

God forgive me for what I might have mumbled.

I was just a quivering mass, dying to come at last, when She turned Her 
head to smile at me. Did I say how sensuously enticing Her mouth was? 

I begged. Shamelessly. I so badly needed to come. 

Her smile broadened, Her huge eyes sparkled and She turned Her head away 
with a swirl of Titian tresses. I thought for sure She was going to string 
me out some more when She briefly let go of me, but then She set to work 
with a vengeance and almost immediately I came. 

Must I say I came hard? 

You can guess it was like a freight train! My whole body jerked in huge 
spasms, I must have bucked under Her like a wild bronco! And through it 
all, She kept working my happy cock, and even after I was empty, She kept 
it up, each stroke making me jump. I was completely spent, there was no 
energy left, all my juice was gone. But She knew how to let me down easy, 
eliciting from my exhausted body every last dreg of pleasure, every last 
jerk and spasm. 

I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. At last there was no more, I couldn't 
even react anymore. Both my cock and the rest of my body were limp as a 
cooked spaghetti. She got up off me then. I saw the huge wet spot on Her 
panties and could feel the wet on my belly where She had been sitting. 

Despite that, cool as a cucumber, She told me to put myself back together 
and go back to work. Then, with Her skirt still bunched around Her waist, 
She left the room. I barely managed to wipe the lube off myself with some 
Kleenex She left behind. It was a few minutes before I could summon the 
energy to pull my pants up. 

I was surprised to see the clock; not even forty minutes had passed, 
though it had seemed like days. 

I stood up, shakily, and as I staggered back toward to rec-room-to-be I 
heard little outcries of pleasure coming from the bathroom. 

I did manage to get a little work done, but I finally decided to gather my 
tools and go. I wondered how I was going to face my new friend, Bill? 

As I was leaving, She appeared, looking like a Vision of Beauty, leaning 
in the doorway, Her arms crossed under Her robe-covered breasts. 

She asked me when I would be coming again. Did I hear a subtle emphasis an 
the word, "coming?" 

My mind was not fully functioning yet, so I answered as I would have had 
this afternoon not happened, "Tuesday afternoon."  

God! She winked, no imagining on my part, She winked! Winked at me as She 
closed the door behind me, Her single parting word ringing in my mind, 
"Good!"
 -----
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