SUBJECT LINE:
{ASSM}"Alphabet Game: Nightwalker"{Dancer}(Mf f-1st)


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Admonition: This story contains explicit descriptions of 
people engaging in careless and unprotected sexual 
activity.  PLEASE do not emulate these people since they 
are fictional characters existing in a fantasy world where 
sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy don't 
happen.  You don't live in such a world, so "let's be 
careful out there."

Oh, and minors shouldn't be reading this stuff - if you 
can't place the quote I just made in the last paragraph, 
you probably aren't old enough to be flipping through ASS*. 
Bugger off and watch 'TV Land' instead, so you can bone up 
for little age-testing quizzes like this! :)


Copyright notice: Dancer, the author of this smutty little 
opus, holds all rights of reproduction.  Private copies for 
personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial 
distribution are permitted by her.


Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect 
is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of 
humanity.  But wait - how does that author KNOW if people 
are reading and enjoying his story?  Yep; if you like a 
story posted to alt.sex.stories.*, the fair thing to do is 
email the author and tell them so.  I promise that it'll 
make YOU feel good to send them kudos, after all, Mark 
Twain said, "The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to 
cheer someone else up."  As always you may contact me (and 
my wife Dancer) through my 'legacy' Deja News email 
account:             <empath69@my-deja.com>  
(Wow, I'm not just an author, now I'm an AGENT, too!  ;)


Editor's Note: Here it is - part fourteen of Dancer's 
'Alphabet Game'; twenty-six hot, little vignettes she 
whipped out in something like a week or two - Lord Malinov 
eat your heart out with that semi-annual 'story-a-day' run 
I remember *way* back in the 20th century! ;) (Is he still 
around?)

And relax - these stories are all self-contained - you 
don't HAVE to read them in order, or read any of the ones 
that might squick you...

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The Alphabet Game (14/26)
Nightwalker *
Copyright Dancer 2001

(* - {Rare} a person who goes about at night, as a thief, 
prostitute, etc.)


It was difficult enough to break into the heavily guarded 
home of billionaire Carroll Pound after months of 
surveillance but *NOW* his daughter decides she needs one 
of Daddy's dusty old tomes to help her fall asleep! 'Ain't 
life a bitch?' Arthur Mueller scrunched his rail-thin body 
further between the pine bookcases, silently pleading with 
Mary Lynn Pound to get her stupid book and skip off to bed. 
His eyes widened and he bit his lip bloody as the teenager 
pulled a book off the shelf. The same, first edition, 
signed Hemingway Arthur was there to steal.

His whimpers must not have been muffled enough because Mary 
Lynn turned her head in his direction. "Who's there?" she 
asked, ready to bean whoever was there. Arthur slipped from 
his hiding place and she jumped in surprise. The book 
dropped from her grasp, descending to the polished floor in 
super slow motion. Arthur dove to catch it, his entire body 
stretching out to save the Hemingway from damage. It 
slapped into his cupped palms and he let out a sigh of 
relief. "Who are you and what are you doing in Daddy's 
library?"

Arthur glanced up at Mary Lynn. "I'm here for this book."

"You're a thief?!" He scrambled to his knees and nodded 
briefly. She gulped. "What will you do with me? I've seen 
your face."

"I was going to get in, get the book and get out with no 
one the wiser," he said. "I'm a thief, not a murderer." He 
stood and brushed a finger along her jawline. "Why don't 
you be a good girl and run along to bed, hmm?"

Mary Lynn frowned at him. "You sound like Dad. And 
everybody else at school." The last came up just above a 
whisper. Arthur cocked a brow in question. "Oh, they make 
fun of me because I haven't let my boyfriend sleep with 
me." She plopped down onto the nearby sofa, chin in one 
hand. "I know it's suppose to hurt the first time but 
Brent'll probably make it worse. All he cares about is 
getting off."

"How do you know that if you're a virgin?" Arthur thought 
Brent was an ass.

"I'm not totally ignorant, y'know. I've gone down before 
and Brent holds my face tight, cumming in my mouth even 
though I don't like it."

'Why do these things happen to me?' Arthur asked himself. 
To Mary Lynn, he said, "If I help you with this virginity 
thing, do you swear never to tell anybody you saw me 
tonight?" She shook her head in agreement. "Okay. Hike up 
your nightgown and lay on your back." She did as he asked, 
her hands shaking. "Relax, all I plan to do is breach your 
maidenhead with my fingers. Get the hurt part over with."

"Maidenhead?"

"Your hymen." Arthur shuffled over to her and splayed her 
thighs. "This might hurt and it might not since I'll be 
using my fingers. Close your eyes. That's good." He rubbed 
the seam of her outer labia, then parted the puffy folds to 
ease his digits inside. Mary Lynn was snug, warm and moist. 
Arthur shook his head disbelievingly. He moved his two 
fingers in and out, letting her adjust to his invasion. 
Thank the Lord he had very long, slender fingers or this 
would never work. The tip of the middle finger grazed Mary 
Lynn's barrier and Arthur withdrew most of the way, then 
surged back inside.

A quick intake of breath was her only reaction as his 
fingers sank in fully. His thumb brushed at her tiny pearl 
expertly, wanting to give her pleasure for offering him her 
gift. The walls surrounding his flanges spasmed, covering 
them in liquid heat and he waited for Mary Lynn to finish 
her orgasm. When she did, Arthur gently pulled out and 
sucked the pinkish fluids from his fingers. "Is that it?" 
she asked quietly.

"Yep, that's it." He removed a handkerchief from his rear 
pocket and pressed the fabric against her opening. "Don't 
worry about returning it, just toss it in the trash." He 
walked to the French doors, preparing to leave when he 
turned and said, "I suggest plunking down the money for a 
vibrator."

Arthur opened the doors and checked for the guards. "Wait," 
she whispered with the Hemingway in her hands. "Don't 
forget what you came for."

End part 14

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Editor's Postscript: 'Why do these things happen to me?'  
Sheesh - like this guy has cause to *complain!* :)

