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From: Elias Neil David <eliasn@netvigator.com>
Subject: Contest entry - ROMANTIC FRICTION
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Dear people

I have just discovered the ASSM archive with much enjoyment. This is
my first attempt to write and post a story - I hope my computer skills
are sufficient to get it through.

I enjoyed the challenge - be gentle, it's my first time.

Thanks for the work you put in to making life fun.

Neil

ROMANTIC FRICTION   by Wombat99

This story is an entry in Celeste's virtual reality contest.

This is a work of fiction. It includes slightly graphical scenes
describing what some might call an inappropriate relationship between
consenting adults, even if they don't know they are consenting. In
other words, if you are not old enough don't read it. Go and watch TV
instead. Monica may be on.  This story is copyright Wombat99, and may
be downloaded or posted anywhere free.  Please enjoy.



Romantic Friction By Wombat99

The pirate galleon rocked precariously as another wave broke over the
deck.  Emily felt the water flow over her thin silk bodice, making the
material almost transparent and revealing her voluptuousness to the
world, or at least to any of the crew who might notice.  She was half
sitting, half lying, lashed to the mast, and unable to protect
herself.  As the ship rose on the next wave crest she heard the
lookout, perched atop the mainmast yell,

"Land ahoy on the starboard bow!"

There was a buzz of talk from the crew, and the captain's voice rang
out:

"Head for the harbour, lads.  We can rest up, make some repairs, and
have some fun with our captive here."

He walked over to the captive and stood over her, legs astride, and a
sardonic smile on his face.

"How now, my pretty," he said.  "D'you feel like some fun?"

Emily looked up.  He was handsome, but did he look a little too much
like Errol Flynn?  Damn!  It happened again.  Just as she was losing
herself in the fantasy a little reality wormed its way in and spoiled
it.  With a long sigh, she extricated herself from the Emily character
and switched off the machine.  She knew from bitter experience that it
was hopeless trying to revive the feelings after such an interruption.
Never mind.  Try again next time.


On her way out she stopped to chat with Rebecca, the receptionist,
whom she'd got to know over the past few months.


"You didn't take long today, Ms Davis," she said, "how was it?"

"Oh," replied Emily, "same as ever.  Whenever I feel almost ready to
let go something always gets in the way.  I think I'm just too
inhibited."

"No need for that here," said Rebecca brightly.  "No risk, no disease,
no inhibitions.  It's like the sign says."  She waved her hand towards
the poster hanging behind the desk.

				Have FUN

				And

				Protect your Virtue

				at

				VIRTUAL DEPRAVITY

				Check your Inhibitions at the Door



"I know," said Emily tiredly, "but I still haven't worked out how to
do that.  I've tried coming here drunk, but I just fell asleep; coming
with a friend, which was really embarrassing; and even coming with a
man from an escort agency, which was even worse, because he got off
and I didn't, and I was the one who was paying."  She broke off,
halfway between tears and hysterical laughter.


Rebecca smiled. "Never mind, Ms Davis.  Everything comes to those who
wait.  Will we see you here tomorrow?"


Emily nodded. "Yes, please, book me in at seven o'clock?  Can you make
it Studio B?"

"No problem," said Rebecca, "See you then."



On the way home, Emily replayed that conversation in her mind a
hundred times.  Why had she said so much?  She had never told anyone
about her failures before, never confessed her inability.  Could she
face Rebecca again?  Should she give up on the Virtual Reality option?
No, that wasn't really an option.  And as for facing Rebecca - well,
Emily knew that, despite everything, as soon as work finished she'd
head straight for Virtual Depravity as if nothing had happened.  It
was the one chance.


Emily went to bed early so that she could plan out tomorrow's fantasy.
As usual, she went to her bookshelf to gather a collection of her
favourite historical romances to stir her imagination.  Not the
seafaring ones - not an option for a week or two at least - and not
the servant-girl-and-master ones; they had set the scene with her paid
escort , and she never wanted a rerun of that.  Impatiently, she
pulled a stack of books from the shelf and dumped them on the bed
before heading for the shower.

Padding damp and naked back to bed, she stopped to examine herself in
the mirror.  "Not bad," she thought critically.  "Not too bad: slim,
no cellulite.  Okay proportions.  Shiny hair, with a bit of bounce.
Eyes could look seductive in the right light and with the right
make-up.  It's just..."

She wouldn't let herself continue.  "It's just" would be followed by
something derogatory like "I look boring", or "I seem to give out this
'leave me alone message'."  Emily didn't want to dwell on these.  She
looked at herself for some minutes, lost in maudlin thoughts.  "A
flower," she thought, "destined to die before it blooms, unless it can
be liberated by that magic..." and she whispered, "an orgasm."

She was sure that was the answer: it was only a question of when.


They were hiding behind a bank, watching the Mongol warriors wheel
their horses through their village; Emily and three other girls,
frightened but fascinated by the speed and dexterity of the horsemen.
The air was thick with dust and noise: the screaming of men and the
thudding of hooves, and the villagers were running in all directions
as tents and lean-tos were torn and trampled.  The battle - the rout,
rather - was over in minutes, and the girls heard the leader of the
invaders call out, and stop and dismount. He stood still, breathing
heavily, his chest swelling with every breath.  Emily gazed.  He
looked magnificent, lean and muscular, with his bare chest and arms
gleaming with sweat.  One of Emily's companions, a girl of barely
fifteen, could not contain herself.

"He's beautiful," she breathed. "I hope he takes me as a hostage."

The warrior must have heard something, for he was heading over towards
their hiding place.  Emily watched him stride in her direction,
noticing his thick dark hair tied back behind his head, and his
powerful chest, rippling in the light.  She was becoming wet at the
thought of him finding her.  He drew closer...

"What have we here?" he cried.  "Come and see these fine prizes, my
friends."

Emily was startled.  Why had he spoken in English?  Surely a Mongol
would be speaking in Mongolian.  The warrior spoke again, this time in
an unintelligible language, but it was too late.  Once again Emily
unbuckled the helmet and went home unsatisfied.



The next day was the end of the month, Emily's busiest day at work,
because all the figures needed to be finalised and sent off to head
office. She worked in the Accounts Department - in fact she was the
Accounts Department, together with her boss, Peter Dawson.  Like her,
Peter was on the downward slope to forty, but unlike her he was
rumoured to have a very active social life.  According to the office
gossip, he had a stream of girlfriends flowing in and out of his
affections and his bed.  At one time Emily might have been one of
them, but somehow it had never happened.

She and Peter had been working together now for about three years,
long enough to have set habits and ways of working together.  At month
end, for example, she collated the sales figures while he did the bank
reconciliation, and then each checked the other's calculations.  That
was just the way it always was.  This month end was the same as ever,
and the numbers were duly collected, input, and transmitted to Head
Office by five o'clock.

Emily fetched herself a cup of coffee and relaxed, settling back in
her chair.  Tonight was going to be different; she was going modern.
The Virtual Reality machines gave many options of time, place and
people, and she had always chosen the historical and exotic.  Maybe
that was the problem.  Maybe if she was more in the here-and-now she
could avoid being spooked by the intrusive anachronisms.  Tonight
would be ... romantic, one on one, in an everyday sort of location.
She would be - 

Her reverie was interrupted by Peter, looking flustered and waving a
paper obviously torn off the fax machine.

"We have to redo the numbers," he said.  "Somehow we missed a whole
set of returns from the Rochester Branch; the manager has apologised
and is faxing them now, but we'll have to stay late and.."

He broke off as he noticed her stricken expression.  Emily had seemed
about to burst into tears before she regained control.

"I'm sorry," he continued, "but I tell you what.  I'll make up for it
by buying you dinner when we finish."

"There's no need for that," said Emily. "Of course we need to do it.
I was just feeling so pleased at having finished everything that you
shocked me.  It's no problem."

They worked for over two hours; more figures, spreadsheets, and
ratios, until Peter finally stopped typing and hit the 'send' button
on the computer.

"Done," he said, "now for that dinner."

Emily sat back and rubbed her forehead.  Her eyes were sore and her
head ached.  "No," she said, "I'm beat.  I'd be lousy company
tonight." She removed her glasses and began massaging the back of her
neck.  The pose accentuated her cleavage and thrust her breasts
forward and her chin up.


"My god!" said Peter, fervently, "I never noticed before, but when you
take your glasses of you're beautiful."

Emily smiled. "Thank you Humphrey Bogart."

"No, I mean it," said  Peter, and walked around behind her to assist
with the massage.  His fingers stroked lightly and then firmly on her
neck, and she felt herself relaxing as the strain ebbed away.
Suddenly, she felt his lips brushing her neck, and a series of kisses
started at the nape and trailed around to her throat.  Then his mouth
was on hers, and it was as if the pent up hunger of so many years was
struggling for release all at once.  The kissing became passionate,
urgent, and she felt herself pulled up into his embrace.

After what seemed hours, Peter pulled away, breathless.

"Emily," he sighed, "oh, Emily. I can't believe this. It's as if I've
never seen you before. I need to make love to you."

"Yes," she replied gently, "I feel that too."

In an instant they were pulling at each other's clothes, discarding
shirt, skirt and underwear where they lay, pausing only to kiss and
lick new areas of naked skin as they were revealed.  When all the
clothes were scattered Peter again stood back and looked
appreciatively at Emily.

"Wow," he said, "I said you looked beautiful when you took off your
glasses.  When you take off everything you look sensational."

He seized her again, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts.  He
sucked one nipple deep into his mouth and rolled his tongue over the
tip, while his fingers strummed the other.  Emily felt that her body
was on fire: she felt her legs could not support her.  His mouth moved
down; his tongue flicked into her navel and slid over her stomach to
her sex. The sensations were overwhelming.  He was nibbling her
clitoris, and she collapsed like a rag doll so that they were both
half lying on the floor.

Peter pushed his jacket behind her for a pillow and laid her back.
Suddenly his penis was in her, filling her, and it was too much: her
body thrilled with intensity and she hit a climax.  It was all true:
waves crashed on the shoreline, fireworks exploded in the sky, her
mind went spinning up into the heavens.  At thirty seven, Emily had
her first orgasm.


At home in bed that night Emily was still on a high.  So much time
wasted in chasing romantic fantasy when it was reality that was the
answer.  A familiar face in familiar surroundings was all it took.
She laughed at the memory of Rebecca's expression as she had emerged
from Studio B.


"Wow, Ms Davis, it looks like it worked for you this time."

"Yes," said Emily, "I finally cracked it."

"Good for you," said Rebecca. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Same time tomorrow," said Emily. 

			*	*	*	*	*	*

This is an entry for Celeste's Virtual Reality contest.

Email me at eliasn@netvigator.com: I'd love to get feedback.




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