Message-ID: <60666asstr$1286327403@assm.asstr.org>
From: zqmfgb <zqmfgb@gmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 5 Oct 2010 20:55:10 +0000 (UTC)
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: d25g2000yqc.googlegroups.com; posting-host=155.188.183.16; posting-account=ws1rsQoAAAB4q2jt1UtlcmoQne8tu9EW
User-Agent: G2/1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Rose (MF, inc, cons, mast, oral)
Lines: 360
Date: Tue, 05 Oct 2010 21:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This is a true story, with a little creative license to compensate for an
imperfect memory.  The names have been changed to protect the guilty.

   -------------------------------

   It was a two and a half hour drive to the airport.  I left straight from
work, barely slowing through the mellow Wednesday rush hour in Des Moines.
Just before I broke free of the metropolitan area, my phone rang.

   "Hello Ree!  I miss you," my wife said.

   "Hey Love, I miss you too," I replied.

   We talked for about twenty minutes, sharing our days and commenting on
how strange it was to not be seeing each other, and I hung up as I started
passing the windmill fields.  It was late summer, and though I was driving
towards the setting sun, it wasn't yet low enough to get in my eyes.  I
settled in for the long drive, and let my mind drift toward my plans.  It
would be another forty miles before I passed the exit, I decided, glancing
at the odometer.  I didn't have time to check it out on the way, except to
note it and hope I could recognize it from the other direction in the dark.

   "Best international airport 10 years running" read the banners on the
lampposts as I drove into the airport two hours later.  Maybe I was jaded
from living in big cities, but the practically empty parking garage led me
to conclude that it was the best simply because it suffered the least wear
and tear.  I changed out of my work clothes before leaving the car; even
though it was evening, it was still eighty degrees outside.  Khaki cargo
shorts, black t-shirt, sandals - ahh, comfort.  I walked into the building,
checked the arrivals, and called my wife.  "Do you have her yet?" she
asked.

   "No, I just got here.  The screens say her flight's on time, and it
should be another fifteen minutes or so."

   "Okay.  Call me when you're about to leave!"

   "Sure, Love.  Talk to you then."

   "I love you!"

   "I love you too!"

   Only having twenty gates must be another reason this place was the best,
I decided.  Not too much for the tower to keep track of, no long lines for
the runways, everything probably went pretty smoothly here.  I stood at a
corner outside the security checkpoint and watched the crowd.

   I suppose it could be termed a "crowd" only in the loosest sense; it was
more like a slow, sputtering stream of people, surging slightly when a new
flight arrived.  In California and Pennsylvania, I had usually been the
tallest person in any given room at 6'4", but here in the midwest, I was
often not even in the top 5%.  So it happened that I didn't see my sister
coming up the ramp until she was halfway to me; a pair of large men and
their luggage between us had kept her hidden.  Rose was 23, 5'8", 135 lbs,
and proportioned like a dancer.  Her dirty blonde hair was up in a
ponytail, leaving little to distract from her green eyes and excited smile.
Flip-flops, capris, a t-shirt, a blue and silver watch on one wrist and a
rainbow of friendship bracelets on the other were her take on summer
fashions.  Her toenails were painted teal, just a few shades off from her
shirt.

   "Alex!" she called as she hurried toward me, hampered by her bulky
carryon.

   "Hey, you!" I said as we embraced.  "It's great to see you!  How were
your flights?"

   "Not bad.  Oh man, Alex, I have so much to tell you!" She regaled me
with stories of her week in New Hampshire as we collected her checked bag
and walked to the car.  Her suitcase just fit in the Beetle's trunk, and
her purse and carryon went with my work clothes on the children's car seats
in the back.  I had her call my wife as I drove out of the parking garage,
and they chatted for a little bit.  I gave little touristy blurbs as we
navigated to the highway, and then it was almost an hour before I could
bring up what I really wanted to talk about as she continued to gush about
her previous week.

   Finally, as a lull extended long enough that a change in topic could be
warranted, my heart started pounding.  "So . . ." I cleared my throat.  "Do
you recall our last ...  private conversation?"

   "Yes," she said, drawling it out into a question.

   It had been almost exactly one year ago, when she had visited us in
Philadelphia; I had been walking her to the train station on my way to work
so she could get to the airport.  It was a half-hour walk and I had
squandered twenty minutes of it working up the courage to lay bare a dark
part of myself.  "Would you rather have honesty, or avoid awkwardness?" I
had asked her.

   "Truth, absolutely." she had replied.

   "I have a confession to make," I had said.  "This past week, I've been .
. .  lusting after you, hard-core.  It didn't help at all that all you wore
the whole time was spaghetti straps.  And I definitely saw your nipple one
time when you bent over."

   "Does Anna know about this?"

   "She knows I'm attracted to you, yeah.  But she doesn't know the . . .
extent."

   "Well." My sister had paused.  "In the spirit of honesty, you should
know that I've lusted after you too."

   "You know what the best part about having a vasectomy is?  Condom-free
sex." I had said it half joking and half hoping.

   "You know what the best part about PCOS is?  Condom-free sex." Hope was
followed immediately by doubt.  Did she really mean it, or was she joking?
I had been unable to tell.

   I snapped out of my reverie.  "I was wondering if you'd like to do
something about it," I said.  "You see, and I'm sorry for springing this on
you, but I have a plan that could allow us the whole night without
suspicion, but it involves us pretending to have a breakdown in the next
ten miles or so."

   She was silent for a while.  9.5 miles to go.  "Alex," she began.  "You
really are springing this on me.  Can we stop and talk about this?"

   "Okay, I guess we can say I was showing you how to drive a stick." I
started looking for a rest area.

   "I mean," she began, "there's a lot to consider.  Like, how do you feel
about this in light of your religious beliefs?"

   "Jesus said, 'If you look upon a woman with lust, you have committed
adultery with her in your heart,' and I know that's a lame excuse and a
cop-out, but I want to do it anyway.  I've been conflicted about it every
time I've thought about it, and for the first nine months after that
conversation I changed my mind about it several times a week.  I didn't
want to bring it up unless I was sure though, and ever since your
graduation I've still been considering it, and I haven't changed my mind."

   "So are you thinking this might 'cure' you?"

   I found a rest stop, with 5 miles to go, and pulled off.  The sun was
sinking behind us, almost below the horizon.  "I never thought of it as a
'cure'.  It's just something I want to do, and I think I'll regret it if I
don't." I parked the car and shut off the engine.  "If anything, it'll
probably do the opposite of cure me."

   "And what if we do this, are you going to expect to do it again every
time we see eachother?  Because we can't do that."

   "No, of course not.  Honestly, I'm not even expecting anything to come
of this.  Just hoping.  And if anything does, well, no matter what it is,
it'll be more than I expected, and I'll accept it as the gift that it is."

   "Very mature of you." She paused.  "Here's the thing, Alex.  I have a
girlfriend.  We have the most intimate relationship I have ever been in,
and I don't want to do anything to compromise that.  And I could never tell
her about this, because she had a very bad experience with her brother when
she was young."

   "Well, I don't want to ruin anything that either of us have.  And if
doing this will ruin your relationship with her, then we won't do it."

   Darkness lay thick outside.  I watched the clouds of insects orbiting
the streetlights, waiting for her to speak.  "Okay, I've come up with a
compromise.  Something that you'll enjoy and won't be too much lying for
me. What if I gave you a blowjob?"

   I frowned.  "That's . . .  not what I want out of this.  I mean, yeah, a
blowjob would be fantastic, but what I want is to get to know you, to spend
the whole night learning what you like and how to please you."

   "Really." she said, her voice getting a little softer.  "Those who aim
to please are the best."

   "The first time Anna had an orgasm from me giving her head, it took 45
minutes."

   "And that's all you did?"

   "Yeah, my jaw and tongue were pretty sore afterward, but it was totally
worth it.  I love giving head."

   "I think that 69 should be exclusively for lesbian sex.  It's so amazing
to be able to cum together like that." Her voice sounded a little dreamy,
like she wasn't entirely paying attention.  The non sequitor probably
reinforced this impression.  "You know, I've never orgasmed with a guy?"

   "Really?  Wow, that sucks."

   "Not really.  I mean, I still enjoy sex with guys, and I peak when they
cum, but it's nothing compared to the orgasms that I get with my
girlfriend."

   "So, not to brag or sound arrogant or anything, but I've been the first
guy to give at least three girls orgasms - and none of them were virgins.
And you know how guys need a recovery period after they come?  I don't. 
I've stayed hard through five orgasms over the course of about three
hours."

   "Yeah, that's not bragging at all.  You know what scares me?  We're both
really really good at sex, what if we tried it and couldn't ever get
enough?"

   I smiled.  "That's a risk," I declared nobly, "that I'm willing to
take."

   "I can't believe I'm doing this.  Okay, Alex, find us someplace to go.
But not the whole night, that's too long."

   "Well.  Do you have a credit card on you?  Because my web of lies would
really only work if we were spending the whole night here, and Anna's on
all of my accounts, so there'd be no way to hide a one-hour stay
somewhere."

   "Uhm.  Can't we just pull over somewhere?"

   "In a beetle?  There's barely room to sit in here, much less room to
fool around.  Besides, if we don't want to arouse suspicion, we should get
back on the road." I glanced at the clock.  "Half an hour seems like a good
amount of time for this kind of conversation." I started the car and turned
on the headlights.

   As we pulled out of the rest stop, Rose asked, "How are you for driving
distracted?"

   "I can manage," I said.  "Why, what are you thinking?"

   "I'm thinking," she said, "'I can't believe how aroused I am right now.'
Would you rather see, or hear?"

   "Hear, I guess," figuring that I would need to keep my eyes on the road.

   "Okay," she replied, and unbuckled her seat belt.  She fumbled between
her seat and the door a little.  "Where's the seat lever?"

   "It's a wheel, at the hinge of the seat."

   She cranked her seat as far reclined as it could go, then pulled off her
shirt.  In the sodium glow of the highway lights, her bra looked as yellow
as everything else.  My breath caught in my throat.  She was really doing
this.  I tried to watch as much as I could without crashing the car at
seventy miles per hour as she unhooked her bra and slid it off her arms.

   On her slender frame, her breasts were small and perfect, her nipples
pointing slightly up.  After five years of my wife's DD cups, I stared
hungrily at my sister's teacup-sized breasts.  My cock was straining in my
lap, pulling against the fabric in a futile attempt to completely
straighten.  A sudden image flashed through my mind of my lips locked to
her ribs, her whole breast between my jaws as I sucked her nipple down
towards my throat.  I glanced back at the road as she started unbuttoning
her capris, and was relieved to discover that I was still on the road, only
slightly off from the middle of the lane and going five miles under the
speed limit in the fast lane.  As I sped up, I asked, "What are you doing?"

   "Well, I've given road head before, and it's not really comfortable, so
I'm going to masturbate for you." She laid back on the seat and lifted her
long, naked legs.  She spread them wide and propped one against her window,
and set her other foot gently in my lap, feeling my rock-hard penis through
my clothes.  She moved so that she was sitting on the edge of her seat, her
bare pussy less than a foot away from my hand.

   "Oh my GOD, Rose," I croaked.  I could hear the faint whisper of skin
sliding on skin as she slid her hands over her pert breasts, pushing them
together; down her ribs, a score of little bumps as her fingers drummed
their way down to the soft, flat expanse of her stomach, and lower, to her
hips, down the crease of her legs to the open lips between.  Her foot
slowly rubbed my penis along my thigh.

   "Feel free to offer some encouragement," she breathed, her breath coming
in small, sharp gasps through her parted lips as she began to explore her
damp pussy with her fingers.

   I kept one hand on the wheel, and lifted my other hand from the stick to
rest my fingertips on her thigh, next to her knee.  "What kind of
encouragement?" I asked, my voice thick with excitement and disbelief, as I
made small circles on her skin.  She made excited noises, the kind you make
when you're biting your lip because it feels so good, as I slowly drifted
my caresses down her leg.  Her skin was smooth, and soft, and tight, in a
way that said clearly that she was not and had never been fat.

   I ventured another glance at the road as I drifted my fingers through
her down-soft pubic hair to her far leg.  I couldn't reach as far up her
leg as I wanted to, though, so I moved my hand back down to her stomach. 
The noises she was making had progressed into moans, and I started
caressing her torso, encircling her ribcage with my hand, softly brushing
my fingers up and down the length of her.

   Her moans, sighs, and gasps were punctuated by the soft wet sucking
sounds of her fingers gently sliding up and down her pussy.  Rose was a
musician at heart, and she had a decade of private voice lessons to build
from, but I never expected the utter erotic power she could have playing
herself with such virtuosic skill.  In the countless hours of porn I had
watched, I had never heard anything remotely close.  It was the difference
between Little Leagues and Major Leagues.  Her strong, clear voice filled
up the car and pulled me along into its rhythm; I found myself breathing in
time with her, my heart pounding half again as fast.

   I finally moved my hand up to cup her breast in the palm of my hand.  It
was simultaneously soft and firm, a perfect bite-size contradiction of
sensations.  I squeezed it lightly with my fingertips, sliding them up
toward her nipple as we passed a semi.  Her nipple was delicously hard as I
gently pinched and rolled it between my fingers.  Her foot was once again
stroking my penis as I licked my fingers and spread the saliva on her other
nipple, pulling it and twisting it ever so gently, letting it slide through
my wet slick fingers.  I twirled my finger around her crinkled areola,
reveling in the sensation of her soft flesh tightening up.

   Suddenly I realized that her hand was fumbling with my belt.  "Here," I
said as I flicked it open, then opened my fly.  I reached in and pulled out
my penis, shivering in pleasure at my own touch and in anticipation of
hers. As she began to explore my erection with her fingertips, I succumbed
to the temptation between her legs.  I stroked her labia softly, trying to
hold back and take it slow, but as she wrapped her hand around my swollen
cock and began to stroke, I could not resist.  I slid my finger down her
slit, collecting some of her plentiful juices, and rubbed her from hole to
clit, slipping through her soft folds over and over.  Her stomach flexed as
her moans grew even louder and more urgent.

   "Gently," she cautioned, squeezing my dick for emphasis, and I pulled my
hand away.

   "Sorry...  I don't think I can concentrate on everything at once," I
said, fighting to keep my voice (and the car) steady as she resumed her
stroking, as if she had been jacking me off all these years and knew
exactly how I liked it.  As she continued her self-ministrations, I brought
my fingers to my lips, finally smelling and tasting my sister's cunt.  It
was perfect.  I had been wanting this for literally two decades now, I
realized.  Since the time we were in preschool together, she was the first
girl I had wanted, the girl that I compared all others to, whether I
admitted it or not, whether I realized it or not.  As I came to this
conclusion, Rose made a noise somewhere between utterly desperate pleading
and achingly exquisite pleasure and I instantly started cumming.  The first
jet landed somewhere on my lap as I grabbed the base of my cock below her
hand to keep the rest of my come inside.  She shuddered, writhed, and
screamed her pleasure next to me as she gently rubbed the mixture of cum
and precum into the head of my penis.

   "If that's what you're like just peaking," I said once she had calmed
down, "I can't begin to imagine how amazingly earth-shattering your orgasms
must be.  Seriously, Rose.  That was fucking amazing."

   "Thank you," she replied.  "Here, let me clean you up."

   She got to her knees on the passenger seat and, without ceremony, sucked
and licked all of the cum off of my penis.  She had it in her mouth for
less than thirty seconds, and it was beyond the shadow of a doubt the best
blowjob of my entire life.  Her lips and tongue were soft and warm, and
moved carefully, slowly, absofuckinglutely perfectly.  I stroked her back
and grabbed her ass while she cleaned me off.  She even sucked the cum out
of my pants.

   When she was done, Rose laid back on the seat, basking in the afterglow,
completely nude.  The artificial lights swept over her slender, perfect
form as I prayed to the God I had turned away from that we would do this
many, many more times.

   -finWhich sentence was the money shot for you?  zqmfgb [-at-] gmail
[-dot-] com 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+