Message-ID: <59315asstr$1250856601@assm.asstr.org>
From: Bud Red <redbud@inbox.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Admissions by Redbud
Lines: 279
Date: Fri, 21 Aug 2009 08:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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 Admissions

   by Redbud

   The pretty junior from Mascoma High thanked her for the interview,
collected her jacket and left.  The pretty junior was an A student.  She
was bright, articulate and volunteered in the community.  But what she
liked most was the girl's hobby - she was a competition skateboarder. 
Sarah wished she had done something more with her life and with her youth.
She had been too uptight, too much on the straight and narrow.  There was a
swing and swank in the girl's hips that peeved Sarah.  She couldn't imagine
herself, a fifty year old woman, getting a tattoo or a piercing.  But when
she imagined herself as a sixteen year old - she wished she had had the
guts.  She envied the younger girls - their freedom to be themselves.

   Sarah yawned.

   She regretted having agreed to interview another candidate during lunch.
She was hungry.  Nobody else was in the office.

   "Ma'am?"

   Sarah woke herself from her reverie.  "David?"

   "Yes, Ma'am," the tall boy answered.  "I wasn't too sure anybody was
here."

   "Please, come in," Sarah gestured the chair opposite her.

   "You have a fine office," said the boy.  His hair was short and black
and he had an Adam's apple like Ichabod Crane.  He was a little gangly and
awkward but he walked with assurance.  - a well proportioned young man with
strong and broad shoulders.  His movements were quick, energetic and
youthful.  She stood.  He took her hand, firmly but gently.  His eyes met
hers, warmly and engaging.  There wasn't a hint of shyness or awkwardness
in his blue eyes.  Something like butterflies briefly tickled Sarah's
stomach.

   He sat.  He was wearing jeans and a white button down shirt.  Most boys
didn't wear jeans to the interviews.  Sarah remembered to sit and briefly
glanced through his application.

   "You're from Iowa."

   "Yes, Ma'am."

   She wished he wouldn't call her Ma'am.  "And I see you grew up on a
farm?"

   "Yes, Ma'am.  Still working the same farm as my great great grand-pa's."

   "Well," she said, "I'm glad you came.  What made you apply to this
school?" The boy shifted in his seat.  Sarah guessed he was used to a
thousand acres of earth and big sky.  His presence just didn't fit in the
office chair or the small office.  There was a wildness in his lean frame.
She took the pen out of her mouth.

   "I just thought it was time somebody from our family had a proper
education."

   "This is a quite a ways from home."

   "Yes, Ma'am.  There's more to the world than Iowa."

   "And your interests..."

   "Animal husbandry, Ma'am.  Veterinary Science.  We want to start
livestock again.  There's money in wheat and corn, but we think we can do
better bringing livestock back.  You see, you didn't used to have to buy
fertilizer." The boy leaned forward, interested, excited.  "Livestock, see,
used to fertilize a pasture.  It was a closed system, if you know what I
mean.  You didn't need to buy fertilizer and all that.  You didn't used to
depend on it.  That's the way farms used to be run."

   "I think your father's not alone in wanting to bring back livestock..."

   "Well, we already have, Ma'am.  Somewhat.  We had a stock breeder come
in and I learned a lot from him."

   "Well, that's a head start..." Sarah said, regretting it as soon as
she'd said it.

   "Ma'am?  Yes, Ma'am.  I've seen a lot."

   "Do you have any hobbies?"

   "Breeding, Ma'am."

   Sarah nearly choked on her pen.  Her stomach tingled and she giggled -
like an idiot.  She quickly straightened.  "Excuse me?" she asked.

   "Animal husbandry, Ma'am."

   "Oh..." Had he meant?  Did she misinterpret?  Now she felt like a fool.
He must have known what she was thinking.  Why did she giggle like a 16
year old?

   The young man studied her.  He stared into his lap, then at the rest of
the office.  "These are mighty fine books you have.  I don't think I've
ever seen so many in a room that wasn't a library."

   "Well...  when you get to be my age..."

   "How old are you?"

   "38," she lied.  Why did she lie?

   "My Pa's got books but Ma likes to hide them."

   "There's something of value in every book," she said - stupidly.  That's
not what she should have said!  That's not the kind of books he was talking
about.  He was flirting with her!  He was playing a different game!  Her
heart was racing.

   "I won't tell anybody if you don't," he said as he stood.  He walked
slowly toward the bookshelves.  His jeans were bulging.

   Sarah swallowed, and that was one swallow too long.  She should have
said: 'It's time this interview ended.' or 'Get out!' Instead, she asked:

"How old are you?"

"Same age as you." And the way he said it, with a cock of his head and a
smile.  Jesus, he was a cocky boy.  Her stomach was on a roller coaster. 
"What's this book about?" he asked, trailing his finger along the spine of
an administrative book he wasn't remotely interested in - a book on the top
shelf.

   This was her last chance.  Instead, Sarah put down the folder she had
been holding.  She absent-mindedly straightened her dress and stood.  She
stepped next to him and reached for the book.  He moved behind her, his
arms around her, his hands moving up to her breasts.  She forgot about the
damned book, but her hands were clenching the shelf.  He was so god damned
cocky.  And his palms were moving over her hardening nipples.  She was
shaking.

   "I'm sorry," he spoke quietly into her ear, "if I'm being too bold."

   Like hell you are!  - she thought to herself.  She gasped as he pinched
her nipples.  Then all pretense vanished.  The seducer turned into the boy.
His hands returned to his fly.  She heard the zipper.  She felt him push up
her dress and pull down her panties - all eagerness, all boy.  She kept her
hands above her.  He was awkward, unpracticed.  His first push slid between
her soaked lips but missed her opening.  He pushed again, missed, then
another push and she moaned loudly.  Jesus but he was big!  He groaned too
- the pleasure of a pussy to a young boy!

   Then he was fucking her.  Hard.  Fast.  There was no subtlety.  He
didn't think about her.  His thrusts were hard; and the way he held onto
her hips!  Jesus!  She felt like she was 16 again.  She was going to be
bruised.  She grunted with each thrust and arched her back to him.  She let
go of the top shelf and her hands fumbled for the next shelf down, then the
next.

   He was all boy, fucking her fast and with only one end in mind.

   "HUH!" He cried out and held his pelvis hard against her.  She felt his
cock's rapid-fire twitching , filling her with cum.  Her, a fifty year old
woman!  - filled, hard and rapid, with a boy's cum.  She exhaled.  She felt
him let go and felt his long cock slowly slip out of her.  He backed up to
the desk, sitting on its edge.  He still wore that cocky grin, the one that
made her feel like a silly teenager.  And he was still hard!  Christ but
his cock was big with a head like a mushroom.  It was glistening with both
their juices and still stood arrogantly from his jeans.  The boy was still
hard!

   She wasn't done.  She should have been, but she wasn't.  She needed that
inside her again, she needed to cum on it, to feel it insider her as she
orgasmed.  She knelt in front of him, gazed into his eyes and unfastened
the buttons of her dress.  His eyes fell on her breasts.  His cock
twitched. Hell, yes!  - she thought.  She pulled down his jeans and pushed
up his shirt.  He was all muscle, lean hips and angular strength.  She
licked his legs.  Then she cradled his balls and licked.  She kissed his
abdomen, hard and smooth.  Then took him into her mouth, tasting his cum
and her own arousal.  She sucked.  He groaned and pushed his fingers
tightly through her hair.

   She deep throated him and knew no girl had ever done that.  She felt
another twitch and a syrupy, salty sweetness and the back of her throat. 
No.  The second time was for her.  She stood up.

   "Lie down!" she said.  The cocky boy did as he was told.

   She straddled him, knees to either side, held his farmer's cock in one
hand and pushed the flare of it against her opening, and she moaned again.
Her belly stretched and opened to admit him, stretched and spasmed until
she felt the hard length of him pressing upward, deeply opening her.  He
reached for her hips.  She took his wrists and forcefully pushed them back
to the floor.  "Keep them there," she said.

   The boy did as he was told.

   Then she began moving, slowly.  She ground her clit against the dark
curls at the base of his cock even as she remained impaled on it.  The boy
groaned.  She moved up, just licking the tip of his cock with the lips of
her opening, then slowly lowered herself, engulfing him in her womb.  She
rose and she fell.  The boy briefly smiled at her then closed his eyes,
head back, mouth open.

   She pushed up his shirt, and licked his hard nipples.  No girl had done
that.  She licked and nibbled at his nipples, all the while rising, falling
on and grinding against his pelvis.  The boy was groaning.  He lifted his
hips against her.  "Don't move," she hissed.

   "No girl ever done anything like this, Ma'am."

   Music to her ears.  She rested her palms against his broad shoulders - a
young man's shoulders.  She was taking him and she was also being taken. 
This wasn't a boy's cock.  This was a man's; and she was slowly cumming on
it.  Her pace increased, as did her breath and cries.  With each fall, the
tip of him pushed hard inside her, reminding her, making her feel like that
16 year old.

   She leaned forward again.  She licked his chin, the sparse stubble.  She
sat up, rising and falling.  She brought his palm to her lips and licked
them.  She pushed his hands to the side again.  She pressed her own palms
against his hard stomach and told him not to move.  She felt her pussy
tighten around the girth of him.  She felt his back arch, saw his fingers
claw at the floor, heard the boy cry and grunt, and she came.  She pinched
his nipples.  She threw her head back and closed her eyes.  Her muscles
clenched and released and clenched the boy's cock.

   He was pouring himself into her, again.  She could feel the warmth of
him flowing into her and out of her.

   And he was still hard!

   He was smiling at her with that crooked, cocky smile.  She smiled back.
Her loins and belly felt wet and warm.  She flowed with him.

   "No girl has *ever* done that to me." He smiled.  His adam's apple
bobbed and she leaned forward, licking it.

   Christ, when was he going to go soft?

   Suddenly she was on her back!  He was thrusting hard!  Fast!  She opened
her legs.  She opened them wider.  She gazed at him, breathless and
surprised.

   "Fuck me!" The words escaped her mouth.  "FUCK ME!"

   He did.  His hands were against the floor on either side her head.  The
boy held himself above her effortlessly - young, muscles knotted and
dangerous.  She turned her head, licked and bit at his forearm.  All her
thought and awareness turned to the cock moving in and out of her, taking
her.  She had overheard other girls once: a machine-gun fuck.  This was a
machine-gun fuck.

   Her head snapped back and she came again.  Her hips rose off the floor
in time with her convulsions.  His cock slipped out of her and shot strings
of cum up her belly and between her breasts.  His head was thrown back, his
eyes closed.

   And, finally, after a last dripping twitch, his cock softened, beginning
to dangle between his legs.  He slowly stood.  She did, too.

   They cleaned themselves off.

   "I suppose it will be a month or two before I know if I'm admitted,
Ma'am?"

   "Yes," she straightened her dress.

   "It's been a pleasure, Ma'am," said the boy.

   "Yes," she breathed, not knowing how to end the `interview'.  "I don't
often get candidates like you."

   "I sure hope you admit me," said the boy (that cocky smile again).  "I
can see I could sure learn a lot at your institution."

   And that ended it.  The boy left.  He walked a little more loosely.

   Sarah decided to take the afternoon off.  There was a swing and a swank
in her step.

   She needed a tattoo.
   


-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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