index


Message-ID: <63002asstr$1405242604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: The Bawdy Bloke <john@bawdybloke.com>
User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (Windows NT 6.1; rv:24.0) Gecko/20100101 Thunderbird/24.6.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 01:12:57 UTC
Bytes: 8633
Subject: {ASSM} Outlawing the word "sorry" (Flash, massage, anal, oral, humour)
Lines: 160
Date: Sun, 13 Jul 2014 05:10:04 -0400
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

I've written a number of stories on my blog recently, and have been a 
little lax about posting them to the Newsgroups. As ever, I would love 
opinions and feedback as to what I have done right or wrong.
My site is http://bawdybloke.com
Thanks.
* * * * *

The new law was meant to be a progressive step.

It was meant to make our country a better place.

The removal of the word "sorry" from the English dictionary was 
well-meaning and well-intentioned. After all, the British used "sorry" 
as a bit of a catch-all word when other phrases that were more 
appropriate, like "excuse me," or "may I interrupt?" were not used.

And then there's the premise of apologising as a matter of course; 
unless the apologist was sincere it was meaningless and "sorry" became a 
worthless token of insincere pacification - "We're sorry to keep you 
waiting, but your call is important to us." And so on. Absolute bollocks.

So the word was abolished, outlawed, illegal. Which meant that society 
had to concoct new expected courses of action for a transgressor to 
offer their sincere apologies to the recipient of their transgression.

For minor misdemeanours, there is the "Remorseful Rubdown:" the act of 
providing a gentle massage to remove the stress caused by the errant 
behaviour. Only last week, I caught the in-tray of our new secretary 
with my flailing hands and scattered her work onto the floor. After 
retrieving her paper, she gave me an expectant look.

Minor offence, so I walked behind her and gripped the top of her 
shoulder blades, rubbing my thumbs against her tense muscles. She mewed 
as my fingers rotated away the tension through the soft flimsy cotton of 
her blouse.

"Relax," I whispered, feeling her bra straps through the white fabric 
and pushing gently on her stressed muscles. She murmured, as my hands 
pressed firmly against her flesh. Her body slumped forward against her 
desk. Her long red hair pooled on her keyboard as I kneaded at her 
muscles. "Your bra is in the way," I whispered.

We'd been here before; only the day before I had knocked her coffee, and 
the day before that I had teased her driving. My massaging of the 
beautiful Astrid was becoming an almost daily occurrence. As was her 
shunning her blouse and bra, leaning topless onto her desk as my fingers 
worked the fibres of her shoulder.

Slowly, she relaxed. Her breathing slowed and her body lifeless against 
her desk as I soothed away the tension, admiring the gentle outline of 
her breasts that peeked into view.

And when she was done; satisfied and relaxed, I was asked not to repeat 
my transgression, and I solemnly promised to not do so.

Of course, that worked for minor mistakes, but more serious aberrations 
required a stronger show of remorse. The contrition climax.

Offered when on one's knees, the contrition climax was a powerful 
message to send to a fellow human to signify your deep regret that you 
had erred and would not do so again. Like two days ago, Astrid spelt my 
name incorrectly on an email. Instead of "John" she wrote "that dozy 
twonk" and obviously getting someone's name wrong is the height of bad 
manners.

I waited for her to repair the damage caused and she knelt by the side 
of my desk, apology written in her eyes as she slowly pulled the zip of 
my trousers to the base, repeatedly maintaining eye contact with me. She 
was sexy, gorgeously so.

Her lips glistened where she had slowly licked them, her eyes sparkled 
with excitement and her hands trembling slightly. I had never had a 
Contrition Climax from her before, but it was required. As her hands 
freed my cock, she took a moment to stare at it, watching it harden.

Her first touch of her tongue against my glans was heaven; my colleagues 
ignored the everyday event, as her lips closed over the purple head and 
glided gently down my shaft, inhaling me.

Her tongue swept over my cock as she sucked, drawing her mouth down my 
erection as her hands toyed gently with my balls; a gentle finger here, 
and small squeeze there had me teetering on the edge of my climax. I 
watched; staring intensely as her slick movements sent shivers through 
my cock.

I was balanced on the edge, desperate to drop off the precipice and into 
a swell of orgasmic relief; she sensed my desperation, sliding her mouth 
quicker and quicker along my shaft until I could resist no longer.

I squealed out her name, but she didn't care where my cum went: she was 
that sincere, and held my cock in her mouth as several spurts of cum 
landed on her tongue. She winked at me, as she allowed my dripping cock 
to fall from her mouth and blew me a kiss.

Of course, sometimes it worked the other way, I was face first in 
Pauline's pussy on the London Underground last week when I stood on her 
toe and she covered me in her orgasmic delight, squirting in 
satisfaction as the train hurtled underneath the city at breakneck speed.

But for really serious crimes, for the crème de la crème of sorries, 
there was the "Absolute apology anal." I've only had to offer it a 
couple of times, and received it a few, but yesterday was the first for 
over a month.

As I drove into the car park, I clipped the wing mirror of a stationary 
vehicle. Upon approaching the young lady, I offered to pay for the 
neglible damage and then had to show my heartfelt and earnest apologies, 
by leaning onto the nearest desk.

It was common for every woman to carry a small strap-on and lube for 
that reason, and she wordlessly donned her harness as my trousers fell 
to the floor. I shivered in the breeze of the aircon, my white shirt 
still covering me as I felt a dollop of cold goo land on my anus. She 
giggled as I shivered.

"Easy," she whispered, pressing the blunt head of her black strap-on 
against my ring. I closed my eyes, slightly aware of the murmurings in 
the office. After all, an executive submitting such an apology was an 
uncommon occurrence.

Her hands held onto my waist as her four-inch toy slid past my 
resistance, firmly guiding the smooth phallus into me. She held it 
against my prostate for a moment before rocking backwards, pulling and 
pressing against my hips as she bucked her fake cock into me.

I felt the urge to release, the leaking of liquid onto my underwear 
excited, the humiliation of the affair made my tummy aflutter. She was 
pressing against my prostate, pounding my arse with rampant zeal and 
discharging her frustrations on her colleague.

Enjoying every groan, every whimper, every piece of ignominy that being 
fucked in the arse would bring me. But I was loving it. Her rubber toy 
bumped repeatedly against my prostate, and I was inches away from a 
climax. My loins were ablaze, sizzling with fierce heat that left me 
desperate for her to continue.

I wanted her to seize my hips and pull back roughly on my body, 
passionately driving her cock deep into my arse. I wanted her to be 
rampant, consumed by a red mist of insatiability, and to offer no mercy 
as she devoured my contrite apology. I wanted her to thrust into me, 
ignoring my wants, wills and thoughts as she grabbed hold of my body and 
availed herself of her frustration and anger.

I wanted to be used.

But I think she sensed my orgasm was near; as I approached the very edge 
of my point, willing her to do one more thrust, she withdrew, smiling at 
my disappointed face. I was there, almost. I needed it. I ...

"You dozy twonk," Astrid teased, standing akimbo with the glistening 
black dildo jutting from her waist.

"Ahhh ...." I moaned and she knelt on her knees to show my cock the full 
extent of her contrition.

So that's British Society in 2020. We don't get apologies, we get 
massages, blowjobs and anal sex. All because the word "sorry" was abused 
for centuries.

It's a tough life.

-- 
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}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+