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Subject: {ASSM} RP: 'Man-eater' (MF) Sven the Elder.
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'Man-eater' (MF)
© Sven the Elder.
June '99
This story contains words of a sexual nature and should not be read
by juveniles. If this means you, go away and read something else;
you shouldn't be here anyway. This is a work of fiction and in no
way portrays real life - if you can't hack that, go lie down in a
dark room; the bad feelings will go away.
This work is copyright by the author. You may download and keep one
copy for your personal use as long as the author's byline and e-mail
address and these paragraphs remain on the copy. Any posting on a
website or to a newsgroup requires the previous permission of the
author.
This story contains actions and descriptions of acts that may be less
than appropriate in today's uncertain and unsafe world - practice safe
sex at all times.
'Man-eater' (MF)
© Sven the Elder.
June '99
I was having a drink with a friend the other day who knows
about my writing; indeed, I suppose I should really call him a fan.
He was taking me to task for not writing anything recently.
"Oh! That's easy to explain," I said glibly. "New job, a
partner who knows about and doesn't like my 'hobby'... oh, and a lack
of new plots."
"Jeez!" he said, "You'll have me in tears next." Then he
followed it up by saying, "Go on, what about that truism we were
talking about a minute ago?"
"Which one?" I countered.
"Oh, Gawd," was his response, "you really do have a bad memory!
The one where you told me that these days you've given up fancying the
younger women; you prefer their mothers."
Actually, inside I was still thinking of the remark. Alan had
commented that at least older women possessed two things their younger
counterparts didn't: patience and gratitude -- sexist remarks, ones
which I took great pains to dissociate myself from, I might add.
The conversation in the pub went on to higher planes after
that, but I have to admit I wasn't really paying too much attention.
My thoughts were on a girl that the circle of folks at the club -- the
Flying Club, that is -- called "the man-eater". It's funny how some
places seem to attract women of that ilk, and Maggie was certainly "of
that ilk". She was nothing to look at: about five foot six with a slim
build, nicely proportioned, almost demure. She was nothing special.
I was eighteen, and she was somewhere about thirty-one or -two.
I was a late starter and had just lost my virginity a few
months earlier. Very proud of that fact I was. Even though no one
else knew, I felt they did. I might as well have been wearing
a fluorescent flashing badge saying "I've been screwed". But then
young men are like that, or they seemed to be in those days, thirty-
five years ago. Perhaps they 're still the same now.
I was out with the crowd on a Friday night. We often left the
rather staid scene of the club bar and walked across the road down to
the pub about a quarter of a mile away. Maggie wasn't sitting with us;
she was at another table a little ways away. I said something about
not fancying older women. Hell, what eighteen year old does?
My companions were a married couple. She turned to me and
said, "Maggie's after you, you know..."
I can remember choking on my beer and turning a brilliant shade
of red, much to their amusement. All I could manage was, "What?!"
"Oh, she's been telling folks that you're going to be the next
notch on her bedpost."
"Not bloody likely!" had been my response, and I then avoided
Maggie like the plague. But she kept popping up in unlikely places,
at unlikely times. It was fast becoming unnerving. I had taken to
glancing over my shoulder. I felt that the next thing would be the
development of a twitch.
My married friends thought it was all hilarious.
"You may as well give up and just sleep with her. You know
you'll enjoy it." That made me dig my heels in even more. I realised
afterwards they thought I needed a good seeing too, and that Maggie was
just the person to do it. In retrospect I suppose I didn't really have
a chance.
Inevitably matters came to a head. We had all been out to the
pictures together -- I can't even remember what the movie was called.
I ended up arriving late and had driven down on my own to meet the
others at the cinema. Somehow, when it all ended, Maggie was the one
who didn't have a lift, and yes; Sven, ever the gentleman, was coerced
into giving her a lift. This was about six weeks after the initial
gibes and comments, and I must have relaxed a bit.
By the time we had walked to the car park some distance away
where, being late, I had had to park, the others had gone on ahead. I
opened the door of my little saloon and Maggie hopped in and we started
back to the Flying Club, where we both intended to stay the night. The
clubs sleeping arrangements were spartan, but OK. There were two
old huts for the single folks: one for the guys, one for the girls.
The married folks had some other rooms available to them. We called
them "The Nesting boxes" -- can't think why. So I still felt quite
safe.
Halfway back and into open countryside, Maggie began to fidget.
"Sorry, Sven, I can't wait. I have to go to the loo; you'll
have to find somewhere to stop."
We were on a fairly busy main road, a four-lane, so it wasn't
going to be there.
"Look there's a turn-off," she said, "Take that. I'll find
somewhere down there."
Off the main road by a few hundred yards there was a pull-in.
So I dutifully pulled in, and Maggie hopped out and disappeared though
a gate into a field. Fortunately, it had been a dry week, so there
wasn't much in the way of mud about. I took the opportunity to nip
over the opposite wall and relieve myself as well.
When I returned to the car, Maggie was already back, so I got
in and prepared to move off. Before I could start the car, she put her
hand on mine as I went to turn the ignition key.
"Sven, I'm sorry you've been teased so much over me."
Maggie had turned towards me as she spoke. She went on, "You
would think I was sex-mad or something. I just like a little bit of a
kiss and a cuddle. The men here are making it all up." She had moved
towards me and had now put her hand inside my half open shirt. It had
been a warm evening; now, suddenly, it was positively sweltering.
She twirled my nipple with her finger nails, and suddenly I
became aware of a certain anatomical problem down south a bit. I
decided to ignore it. Maggie moved closer and kissed me. She tasted
rather nice. I decided the others could go to hell; Maggie was a nice
woman. I kissed her back. After a little while, we came up for air.
"Umm... you kiss nicely." She still had her hand inside my
shirt, where my nipple felt as if it were setting it was so hard. My
lower extremities were now becoming decidedly uncomfortable. It was
my turn to fidget and hope she didn't notice. I tried to turn a little
more towards her and the damn steering wheel and floor gear-shift got
in the way.
Maggie said, "Let's get into the back." It seemed an eminently
sensible suggestion, so we got out our respective sides and into the
back seat. I took the opportunity to "adjust my dress", to use the
euphemism.
Once in the back, Maggie sat on my lap and giggled a bit when
she felt my hardness. "Oh!" was all she said, but the way she said it
spoke volumes. I knew Maggie was going to have her wicked way with me.
By this time Mr. Happy had taken over my brain. I undid the
buttons at the top of her dress and encountered bare flesh; when Maggie
had been behind the hedge, she had taken her bra off. She moaned
lightly as I caressed those wonderful orbs, and then kissed and
suckled on them. She was either a damn good actress or she enjoyed
what I was doing. She held my face to her breasts and writhed gently
underneath me.
I ran my free hand along her leg and got to her stocking top:
the giggle band -- past that and you were laughing, so the old gag
went. That night, you'd better believe I knew it was true. I ran my
hand up, and Maggie moved her legs to give me willing access. She was
furry and hot and wet and ready. She smelt wonderful as she pushed me
back in the seat and undid my trouser belt. In a flash she had my
trousers and my underwear round my knees and had her hands round me.
That was my turn to tell her how good it felt. I half climbed out of
the back seat as I leaned across to get a condom from the passenger
glove box. She took the presented opportunity to slip her lips over
me. I confess I nearly lost it all right then. She grabbed the foil
from me as I fumbled; she tore it open and, in a flash, had it in place
to her satisfaction. Then she straddled me, her knees on either side
of me, and then moved them up towards my shoulders so she was sitting
directly in my lap, sex to sex. She grabbed me and aimed me as she
sat, pushing straight onto me, fully home, buried in one, pubic bone
to pubic bone.
Neither of us moved for a little while as we just savoured the
feelings, frightened it would end too soon. Then she moved off me a
little, putting her hand down to keep the condom roll in place. Her
holding me felt even better. Her dress was rucked up, and in the
faint light from the main road three hundred yards away, I could see
myself buried in her. Damn! I could feel myself deep up inside her.
"Christ, that's wonderful..." she said, "You feel as if you're
filling me right up!" She kissed me deeply again and I ran my hands
down her back and held an ass-cheek in each one as we started to move
in real earnest.
Even with the condom on I didn't last very long, but then
neither did Maggie. We sort of exploded together in a hot sweaty mess
of wonderful sex, tasting our teeth enamel as we clashed and tried not
to do each other real physical damage. As I started to wilt, she eased
off me, still holding both me and the condom so it wouldn't come off.
She sat on the seat beside me, still breathing hard.
"Bloody hell, Sven! That was good; I think we both wanted
that."
I laughed, and then I leaned across and kissed her by way of
agreement. She carefully eased the condom off, so as not to spill
anything on me, opened the window, and twirled it over the hedge. She
started to get a tissue out to clean me off, but then she muttered
something and, bending forward, took me in her mouth and cleaned me,
so I wouldn't mark my clothing. Before I could really decide whether
it was as gross as I thought it might be -- remember, this was 1965 --
she leaned back and said, "My turn..."
Without time for thought, I went down on her and cleaned her
as she had cleaned me. After all, I had left all my juice in a condom,
so it was only hers. Even in my limited sexual experience up to that
point, I already knew I liked eating girls out. Maggie was delicious.
I guess in retrospect she was the one who gave me that life-long joy of
going down on my girlfriends. We kissed a little more and then decided
we had better go back... home. Neither of us, certainly not me, wanted
to face the club for the rest of that weekend. So I drove her home to
her flat and went in and had coffee with both her and the girl she
shared the flat with. Before we left we had exchanged phone numbers.
I didn't go back to the club that weekend. A week later when
I arrived, no one batted an eyelid. Maggie didn't appear that morning.
I got back to the club at lunchtime following some flying, to
find a note on the message board. I recognised the number as Maggie's.
Inwardly I smiled a little wryly; I thought, "Uh huh, here it comes.
She's screwed me; now here's the brush-off. What they've been saying
about her is all true." I couldn't have been more wrong. Maggie was
rushed and breathless when I got through.
"Hi, Sven, you got my message. Look my flatmate is unexpectedly
away for the weekend. Do you fan..." What a damn silly question! Of
course I did; I'd run out of flying money anyway. So I made my excuses
and drove as fast as I dared to where she lived. Oh, yes, I did stop
off on the way and make sure I had a supply of rubber items.
I parked out the front and climbed the stairs to her apartment.
I rang the doorbell and the door opened enough for her to check that it
was me. She closed it again and took off the security chain then let
me in. Naked. No clothes, not a stitch.
She creased up at the expression on my face; then, with me
inside, she shut the door behind me and, without touching any other
part of me, she kissed me.
The flat was warm; I was even warmer.
"Sven, darling, you're overdressed," was her only comment, and
pausing only to swat my fingers out of the way, she undid my clothes
and undressed me.
It is fair to say that I do remember some bits of the next
twenty-four hours, but the details are blurred. At one stage she
introduced me to my own taste. I was only half awake, coming out of
a short but heavy sleep -- even at eighteen your refractory time means
you need some rest. Maggie was indulging me with a blow job -- all the
way to completion. Then she moved up and kissed me, transferring some
of my own "nectar", as she called it, into my mouth. In truth, it was
different, but not too bad. I have to say I wouldn't have tasted it
directly, but transferred that way... what could I say? If she liked
me enough to do it for me, I figured I'd better at least try it.
Eventually, with the flat smelling like a brothel, we stopped
-- actually, I think we hurt too much -- and we cleaned the place up
so that it would smell reasonable before her friend returned.
For the next couple of weeks, that was the pattern of events.
Then she said, "No condoms this weekend; I'm safe just now." So she
introduced me to the joys of unprotected sex.
We played a variation on the theme of positions. Somehow she
managed to position herself where I entered her downwards, so that when
I withdrew, she didn't leak. She then cleaned our combined juices off
me and asked me to do the same. I did, and with my mouth and tongue
round her, she moved so that I could eat everything I had deposited
there moments before. Had I had time to think about it, I might not
have done it, but by then our relationship had progressed to the point
where I was happy to try anything. It wasn't wonderful, but it wasn't
totally bad either, and it pleased her for me to do it, so I did. In
any case, we often kissed just afterwards, and it didn't upset her, so
I didn't let it upset me.
By now the club members knew we were going out, so they left
us alone. If we went to the club together, we rented a "Nesting box"
for the weekend just like the others did.
Maggie even introduced me to anal sex. It was the wrong time
of her month, but she wasn't prepared not to have sex, so anal it was.
The head of my sex is quite large, so it was slow and steady and lots
of lubrication, but then the feeling was quite exquisite, and so
different from the other way. So much hotter. So much tighter.
Maggie told me she could feel me spurting inside her when I climaxed.
It was probably true, because at that point she would climax as well,
her sphincter clamping down on me.
The last time we met was during the middle of the week; in
fact, we had only managed to meet in the middle of the week for a
couple of months. I picked her up and we went to a pub close by where
we both lived. I think I had known for a little while that this good
thing was coming to an end. Her reasons still surprised me though.
"Sven, this is difficult," Maggie said. Her words are engraved
in my brain even now, thirty-five years on.
"As you know, my other hobby is motor racing." This was true,
and I did know that. Maggie went on, "Well, I'm getting married this
weekend, to a racing driver; he's my age, and, well..."
She really didn't have to say any more, so I put my fingers on
her lips and silenced her gently. She stood up and took my hand; we
left our drinks and she held my hand even more tightly as we walked
back to her flat, where I'd parked my car. She walked straight past
it and we went up the stairs to her front door and inside. I started
to say something, and she put her fingers on my lips, then kissed me
much more tenderly than usual. She leaned back a little and held both
my hands in hers.
"One last time, please?" she asked. I just nodded, and we went
to her bedroom and undressed. Our lovemaking was slow and unhurried,
quite unlike the first time together some months before. I reached for
a condom and she said, "No. Not this time." I didn't argue and we
coupled gently and then moved together in a way that was now familiar.
Our knowledge of the other's pace was such that we timed our explosion
together. As we came down from our high, I felt her tears fall on my
face as she leaned forward and held me tightly. I know mine fell and
mingled with hers. Lovingly she cleaned me off for a last time, and I
her. Silently we dressed and then kissed one last time. There were no
words necessary.
I didn't look back as I walked away to the car; I didn't trust
myself.
Alan came back from the bar with his round. It had taken a few
minutes, and Maggie had been in my thoughts again, not for the first
time over the intervening years.
"You're quiet tonight, Sven," he remarked.
So I just told him I had mapped out another story for him.
"Great!" he said, rubbing his hands in glee. "When are you
going to write it out?"
The end... of a love story?
With much gratitude to FredFan, my most excellent proofer and friend.
He has the wit, ability and kindness to alter things to reflect what I
meant to write in the first place.
This paragraph is stolen from AnnD, a story writer par excellence.
I know she will not object to my plagiarism; I just can't say it any
better. Thank you, Ann.
"Comments are the life blood of any amateur writer, the currency
in which they are paid. It only takes a few minutes to send off a few
lines, which is little to ask for in exchange for hours spent creating a
story. So be sure to take those few minutes; it can only result in more
and better stories in the future."
Sven the Elder
Erotic Authors Guild (UK Chapter)
e-mail to Sven at brass-neck dot demon dot co dot uk
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are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
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