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Reply-to: rivyavtry@myway.com
From: "Riv"<rivyavtry@myway.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Grant's Story Continuation 2 {RivYavtry} (mg oral nc, m oral, magic?) 
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Date: Mon, 30 Oct 2006 16:10:03 -0500
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This excerpt is quite short, but my muse and I are in a negotiating
deadlock concerning the next events so I'm issuing it as is.

   Riv Yavtry



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<1st attachment, "grant4.txt" begin>

Besides being grounded with no allowance, there were two other
consequences to the events at the party.

Sylvia apparently refused to return to school while I was still
there. Since the school had no reason to expel me, her parents took
the decision to move out of the area and I never saw her again.

My friendship with Suzy also died. While her position on the events
at the party was neutral, I felt offended that she had invited me
then left me alone all evening. She sporadically turned up to martial
arts classes then eventually stopped coming at all after I blanked
her at pairing off time.

The principal instructor was a black belt at Aikido, but he was
familiar with several other disciplines and he tried to give us an
introduction to each of them, even throwing in a bit of yoga! I
immersed myself into the subject, borrowing manuals from the library
and following their training examples to help supplement my skills.

My social life didn't improve, and I took to frequenting the park,
and watching the waterfowl from my favourite bench. Feeding the
waterfowl was quite popular, and I got in the habit of purloining
kitchen scraps for the purpose. The boldest, cheekiest birds were the
ducks, often nipping in front of larger birds such as geese, in order
to steal snacks not intended for them.  I used to teach them a lesson
by projecting a hand underneath particularly aggressive individuals,
seizing their legs and pulling them underwater. When released, the
ducked duck would surface in shock, then swim or fly away, quacking
indignantly 

One day, my mother asked me to pick up something from a specialist
store near the park. To leave the park in the direction of the shop,
I had to walk through a dimly lit underpass. I noticed that vandals
had broken the CCTV camera and it hadn't yet been repaired.

In the underpass I heard footsteps behind me. I didn't think
anything of it until someone seized my shoulder and thrust me back up
against the wall. There were two of them, dressed in sweats, with
baseball caps pulled down low over their faces. My assailant held a
flick-knife so that I could feel its cold, razor-sharp edge against
my throat. His accomplice stood menacingly behind him.

"Give me your mobile," my assailant demanded.

I thought quickly. I didn't dare risk anything against my assailant
in case the knife slipped and cut me, so I projected a hand and
karate-chopped his accomplice on the windpipe. The accomplice
collapsed to the floor, choking.

"There's something wrong with your friend," I pointed out.

My assailant turned and bent over his stricken accomplice, waving
the knife vaguely in my direction. Keeping out of range of the knife,
I projected a foot and kicked him on the side of his head, on the
carotid artery. He collapsed, unconscious, on his stricken
accomplice. The extra training I had given myself had been
worthwhile. When I project a body part, any protective covering
doesn't go with it, so I ended up with a stubbed toe but that was a
minor irritation. I hoped I hadn't seriously injured either
assailant, but over the next couple of days there were no reports of
any incidents in the papers so I guessed they had recovered ok.

As the weather turned warmer, the park became more popular,
especially with young families. On one particularly nice day, I had
brought a book on paranormal phenomena to read, and after using up
all my kitchen scraps on the waterfowl, I settled down to read the
book.

I was disturbed from my reading by the arrival of a young family,
who occupied the next bench. Or rather, the husband sat on the bench,
while his wife laid out a picnic blanket and their young daughter ran
around chasing the ducks and whooping loudly. I guessed she was about
six, round face, blonde ringlets, pale blue eyes and a mouth that
looked like a perfect 'O'. She was dressed in a pink t-shirt and  mid-
blue dungarees.

The wife finished laying out the picnic and called out to the
daughter.

"Heather, honey, leave the ducks alone and come and get something to
eat."

The little girl ran back and mounted her father's right thigh,
facing away from him. Then she started rocking backwards and
forwards. I suddenly realised what her parents obviously didn't - the
little girl was using her father's leg to masturbate! She rocked
rhythmically backwards and forwards, turning pink in the face. As
suddenly as she had started, she dismounted and went to sit on the
rug next to her mother and the food. As far as I could tell she
hadn't orgasmed; she was probably too young.

After the family had eaten, the mother and father sat on the bench,
talking. The little girl lay down on the picnic blanket facing away
from her parents and towards me. She was obviously sleepy. She put
her thumb in her perfect 'O' and started sucking on it as her eyelids
drooped and she drifted off to sleep. 

I had never before thought of a six year old girl in a sexual way,
but I had found the sight of her masturbating arousing and my cock
was hard. On a whim, I projected my hands and my cock. I gently
levered the girl's thumb out of her mouth and inserted the head of my
projected cock in its place. I resisted the urge to thrust in and
just sat back, enjoying the warm sunshine and the feeling of the
young girl's hot mouth sucking innocently on my cock.

I deliberately tried to relax my muscles to prolong the pleasure,
but slowly I felt my excitement mount. After about a quarter or an
hour I couldn't delay my orgasm any longer and my projected cock
throbbed and spurted several jets of semen into the girl's mouth. I
quickly withdrew. The girl woke up, coughing and choking.

"Mummeee, there's something nasty in my mouth."

"Here, honey, have a drink."

The girl gulped the drink, after which everything seemed to be ok
again, and she went back to terrorising the ducks. It was a good
thing the mother hadn't looked at what the girl was choking on. I was
a bit shocked that the girl called my semen 'nasty'.

Back home, it occurred to me that I could suck my own cock. When I
had some privacy, I projected my cock up into my mouth and started
sucking. It tasted slightly salty and slightly pissy - I should have
washed it first - but not particularly unpleasant. I experimented
with licking it as well, but I found that licking and sucking your
own cock is a bit like tickling yourself - physically possible but it
doesn't make you laugh because your body knows what's coming. After I
had been sucking myself seemingly for ages with no relief, I used my
hands as well, my real hands that is. As I pumped the shaft of my
projected cock, my arousal grew and my groin tightened. Suddenly my
projected cock throbbed in my mouth as it spurted its load. It was
acrid and salty and stringy, and I looked in vain for somewhere to
spit it out. Failing that, I tried to swallow, and gagged on its
stringiness. There was a glass of water on the window ledge - I had
no idea how long it had been there but I gratefully gulped down the
tepid liquid.

That had been an unpleasant experience. I could understand why the
little girl had hated it, and I wouldn't be doing it again.   
<1st attachment end>


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