Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 WARNING: This material contains explicit and graphic adult content.  This
material is not meant to be viewed by any person under the age of 18.
Author's Note: Not sure what I was thinking when I wrote this one...  it

was definitely late, though.
Content: Straight Sex (m/f x2)

   Copyright (C) 2000 riotaku@majorhost.com
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/the_cardster

   I'm just getting started with writing these, so tell me what you
think...

   Radio Waves By The Cardster

   Setting.  1999.  North Westminstershire.  Not that it matters.

   The computer screen glowed darkly green, the letters splayed across it,
so many characters in a language only a billion could read, though it was
the most important language of all time.  The rest were either dead of
foreign, but who was he kidding?  What he wrote would not matter tomorrow,
or the next day, of the next...  An exercise in futility?  Maybe, maybe
not.

   Setting.  1999.  New York.  A hotel room.

   ³Please...² she said.  She was standing up on the edge of the bed, in
her underwear.  The room had only a single bed, with a painting over it. 
Sailboats.  She almost wished that she could hop on one and sail away into
the great unknown.

   ³Thank you very much,² he growled.  Or groaned.  ³I'll just take that.²
She felt the fingers tracing across her back.  She wanted to imagine that
they were like ice or like fire, but they were only warm, pleasurably warm.
She didn't want it to be that way, but she couldn't help it.

   The radio, the ever-present radio, cut from a peaceful romantic song to
two announcers mooching for their money.  One was soft and faded into the
background, but one was high and shrill and piercing, impossible to ignore.

   The hands slipped under it, to a place on her back that no others
touched but her.  The fabric slid aside, and the hands were not unwelcome
on the muscles.  She had been standing all day.  All lifetime, it seemed.

   The first notch clicked, loosened.  The brassiere went a little lower,
the breasts sagged slightly.  Gravity was no friend here.  The second hook
came undone, down a little more, but then they halted.  They were firm
still; she wasn't that old, not even twenty yet.  The hands moved, almost
rhythmically, and the third catch came.  She lowered her arms; the fabric
loops slipped over one, than the other.

   He stepped away from the screen.  Almost hypnotic, it seemed.  The words
scrolled and scrolled.  He wished he had a better way to occupy his time.
He went into the living room, dim and dark save for the glow of the
television, flashing its patterns.  Everpresent, without point or value,
the imagination of life made simple and simpler.

   She was there, always waiting.  Her stomach lay on the couch, not
hidden. She was wearing lingerie, and her figure was remarkable even in
this dim light.  Did he dare go to her?  He always did in the end, when
writing could no longer satisfy.

   The radio had switched to an arctic breeze.  She stared at the
sailboats, imagining her eyes reflected back in them.  The hands encircled
her breasts, tracing their patterns around them.  She began to feel
something, tingling, welling up inside her.  She yearned for him to
progress inwards, to find the nipples; stroke them, touch them, lick them.
His muscled chest pressed against her back.  He had ascended to the bed and
stood behind her.

   The hands slipped down, slowly, caressing her sides.  They felt like
little electric prods, sparks following in her skin wherever they went. 
They rolled on to her abdomen, moving up and down, tracing round and round,
rubbing so strongly yet so softly, so affectionate.  Then, as she waited,
they ascended once again.

   She was practically asleep in a vision-induced stupor when he
approached. He had stood there in the doorway for who knows how long,
drinking her in.  He crouched beside her, reaching downwards, caressing her
buttocks with practiced skill.  She moaned softly, but lay still.  He held
them, stretched them slightly apart.  He could see the wet spot on her
panties.  He could guess which channel she had been watching.  He traced a
line down it, and she moaned again.

   The hands brushed the nipples this time, and she started as a thrill
coursed through her.  Her breath, she noticed, was increasingly coming in
gasps, and she felt a twinge as something tensed lower down.  He must have
noticed it, she surmised, because the hands began to drift downwards again.

   The fingers encircled her sides at the line of no return; below was a
frilly something and the wonders that lay beneath it.  Two fingers hooked
to the sides of them, and they slid down, despite the fact that her legs
were still clasped together.

   For an instant, the cold air toyed with her, the temperatures clashing.
Then he pressed up against her, his boxers still warm.  Very warm.  She
could feel his member bulging forward, pressing against her ass.  The
panties pulled down around her ankles, entwining them.  The hands began to
venture upwards again, then left for a moment.

   He had already pulled her panties aside.  His urgency was almost ready
to overwhelm him.  His writing took so much, and it had been so long...  He
wanted it more than anything.  Anything in the world.

   The fingers spread the delicate lips, further and further apart.  She
wasn't really that open yet, and she really hadn't done it that much.  He
put a finger towards the softest part and began to press softly.  She
moaned again; this time it was more jerky, more gasping.  He pressed
harder, and it slowly began to sink in.  He rubbed the spot above it, and
she gasped as her rear jerked upwards, the finger going in to the hilt.  He
rubbed some more.  This time he was going to feel the juice on his fingers
before he started.  He didn't want to hurt her, really.

   The hands came back, as the radio shifted to a tribal beat.  They
grabbed the breasts and moved up and down, fast.  She felt it, every touch,
but the sudden roughness of the movement surprised her.  Again, like
before, she felt like escaping, like holding back, but she could not talk.
The hands slipped down again, one of them grasping her inner thigh, pulling
it to the side as much as it would allow, and the other hand left.

   Then she felt it, against her.  It was so warm, so tough, vibrating with
urgency.  It moved up, slowly, touching her, bumping against her most
sensitive spot.  Again and again, it touched repeatedly, each touch causing
her to shiver inside, deep inside, deep down.  She felt the first drops
trickle down the outside of her thigh.  Then the tool moved down, and she
suddenly repulsed, suddenly wanted to back away, the mood almost shifting
to fear.

   It poked forward.  She could feel it probing, probing, and finally
catching on something.  It pressed forward, the head stretching her open -
and then it stopped.  The hands moved down, gently running across her ass,
and then held.  Caught on.  And then, a moment later, it slammed inside
with irresistible force.

   He could feel the wetness this time.  He rubbed again,a nd she spasmed,
the wetness gushing forth from her.  He could feel it run down his hand,
his arm, her thighs.  He turned, grabbed her legs, flipped her over and
pulled them away from the couch.  He spread them apart, then slammed his
groin towards hers.  His jeans retreated with a wet spot, but by then he
was unzipping.

   It almost felt as though it would take her off her feet.  It slammed
upwards, upwards, inwards at her.  She felt as though the initial force
would take her from gravity's pull, let her fly above it, but the hand held
her down.  It went in most of the way, and then stopped.

   It rubbed against her as it pulled back, and she almost felt relieved.
It was retreating.  She put her hands to her breasts as it rubbed back
away, against the lips, and she trembled again.  The hands moved up to her
thighs.  Now it was just the head, questing inwards.  Then the arms pressed
down, and it slammed again.

   ³Ih...  Ahh...² she moaned as her legs clamped closer together.  He just
grunted and began to slide out again.  The tongue extended, was hot on her
neck, along her back.  The next thrust came faster, much faster, and she
did jerk up, her feet on tiptoe as the head touched the top, his balls
slapping against her spot.  Her nipples felt like they were glowing.

   She was still half-asleep, but awakening fast as he started his first
move.  It slid into her perfectly, and he could feel her inner muscles
tense as he tapped against the back of her pussy.  He pulled back,then
slammed in again, one hand holding her leg to keep her steady, the other
reaching for her clit.  Her arm groped forward, touching his leg; she
mumbled something he couldn't hear.  He did it again, watching as her
breasts rolled up on her chest with the impact.

   The music was now of the romantic flamenco variety.  He was pounding her
now, and she could scarcely contain it.  Her whole body was warm and weak,
except the one spot between her legs, which was tensed and hot like fire.
Her legs began to buckle, her arms to droop, but he grabbed her sides
tighter and held her up.  He hit one last thrust that coursed through her
body, then began to lower her to the bed.  Her knees came down, her butt in
the air, her most private place still invaded, occupied, filled with a
throbbing warmth.  Her hands came down, her elbows locking, and she halted
there, on hands and knees, as a hand reached down and tweaked her.  Her ass
shot upwards of its own accord, her back arching, the rhythm beginning
again.

   He kept at it, and she was becoming even wetter with every thrust.  He
dragged her perpendicular with the couch, holding her legs up as he pounded
in between them.  Her hands had now given up trying to stop the
unstoppable, and were caressing the breasts, trying to hold them in place
against the rolling tide.  The moans were rhythmic now, coming every time,
he slammed into her, the abdomen directly above slamming onto hers, and
every time , she jumped as though she had been shocked.  It was beginning
to become quite interesting.

   It was like a battering ram at a door.  It kept knocking, thrusting,
rubbing every part of her.  Her arms steadied, tried to hold against the
thrusts, the way she could feel the compression as his legs slammed against
her, the grip as her own muscles tried to hold him in or reject him.  She
couldn't tell.

   ³Ungh...  Aahh...  Tooo...  Rrhhh...  Rough...²

   ³You're almost there, baby.  Just relax, and let the feeling take ya.²

   He slammed in again.  She could feel her breasts rocking back and forth,
the thrusts pounding harder and deeper into her.  She could feel it as the
fire began to spread, the electricity already zapping her bones and brain.
She could only talk in gasps, as each thrust seems to drain her, sap her
strength, concentrate it all between her legs.  Soon, she was sure, that
was all she would be.

   ³I'm getting so tired of writing,² he said, leaning over her, still
going at it.  ³I just want to do this,² he breathed, his lips scarcely an
inch from her, descending next to kiss her, to penetrate her mouth, to
explore her as much as he could.  His fingers slipped under her bra,
running quick circles around her nipples.  He could feel her tensing, and
as her moans increased, he could see what was coming.

   ³Omigod, it's fucking Southampton.² He said this with a gasp, as the
radio switched songs.  ³I don't fucking believe it.² He stopped in
mid-stroke for a moment, and her cunt dripped as she tried to catch her
breath.  She was tensed inside, and longed to reach down, over to finish
it, but she still had to stand, stand against this unstoppable force.  The
music switched again, and the next slam was so hard that her entire body
jumped forward, her arms scarcely able to stand against it.  The rhythm
began again, and the speed made her muscles tense.

   She jerked and moaned, her hips thrusting spasmodically, madly, driving
him deeper inside her, if that were possible.  He tensed as her arms fell
and her entire body moved wildly, rhythmically, contracting, screaming as
the feeling ran through to every muscle.  He could feel his own tension,
and a moment later groaned and made one final thrust, feeling her thighs
clamping around his waist as he spurted, his energy leaving, expanding into
her body.  He pulled out as he began to shrink and become flaccid.  She was
lying there on the couch, he breathing quick and fast, her eyes closed.  He
couldn't tell whether she had passed out or not.  He tried to work himself
up again, but the task was beyond him.  He fell, spiraling, into the
hypnotic spell of the flashing screen.

   Three quick thrusts sent the electricity deep through her arms, and she
finally gave way.  The arms buckled and she swung down, her breasts
flattening against the firm but soft sheets of the bed.  They brushed
against her, and a trail of spittle dripped down onto them.  Her lips
pressed down, kissing them, smothering them, as he slammed into her again,
but this time stayed there for a minute.  She was so close...

   She felt the gobs hit her deep inside, their warmth hotter than the
rest, the spots tensing where it hit, the muscles tensing up one by one, as
a radial engine tested its cylinders before firing.

   He pulled back, the lips tickling against the clitoris, and every muscle
tensed in unison.  Then, he slammed back in one final time, and as her
cunt, her legs, her everything lost control, the warmth spread throughout
her body to engulf her.  She sank into the bliss, into the euphoria, as the
world slowly blurred and faded.  She tensed, and jerked, every move
stroking again, bringing her even more out of control, and then she was
swallowed by an ultimate, blissful darkness.



   The man was named Trevor McCarthy, and he watched as she came and came
and came, gasping faster and harder each time she jerked forward, her cunt
gripping him as her legs thrust forward, slamming him in even deeper.  He
felt her spasm around him, and then subside, as he was beginning to.  She
had passed out again, the bitch.  And just when he was beginning to have
fun, too.

   In the darkness, it still kept coming.  No matter how good it felt,
something hit again, and kept coming.  Her insides clenched time after
time, never seeming to be enough.  Then she was awake, and the dream was
reality.  He slammed her cunt, her ass banging downwards, then kicking and
spasming back again.  The night was both short and long.  At then end, she
could not even move, just feeling as her pussy throbbed and he came again
and again and again.  The radio shut off to a test pattern at five A.M.