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Subject: {ASSM} Halloween Repost (4) Meeting Amanda  by Backrub
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Date: Mon, 25 Oct 2010 21:10:01 -0400
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Tis the season --- another story for Halloween.
Seems not to have been posted for a while.  Was rated 10-10-10.
I'm just a reposter.  This says in it "Posting to newsgroups
-- is permitted -- as long as -- no money is charged -- no changes--."
Everything below this line is exactly as posted April 2 1998.

JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.  If you are
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now.  The story
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author
make any guarantee.  You should be aware that the story might raise other
matters that you find distasteful.  Caveat lector;  you read at your own
risk.

The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming
Attractions," which includes some of the thinking behind the pattern of the
reposts, as well as the titles to be reposted in the next week.

These stories have not been written by the person posting them.  Many of
those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work.  If you liked
the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a
comment to alt.sex.stories.d.  Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories
itself.  Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way
to encourage them to continue entertaining you.

The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in
any way.  In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright
below.  If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as
well.

                           =====================
2)   This work is copyright by the author.  You may download and keep
copies for your personal use as long as the author's byline and e-mail
address and this paragraph remain on the copies, and so long as the work is
not modified in any way.  Posting to newsgroups or on websites is permitted
as long as no money is charged for access and as long as the author's
byline and e-mail address and this paragraph remain on the story, and as
long as the work is not modified in any way.
      WARNING: This story contains graphic descriptions of sexual
activities.  Do not read this story if you are below the age of consent or
such material might offend you.


                           =====================
                              Meeting Amanda
                                by Backrub
                              bck...@aol.com


      He noticed her as he was walking down Broadway, just after 11 P.M.
The Village was alive on that September Friday evening, people relieved of
the workweek and the heat of a Manhattan summer.  No more stinking garbage
or sweaty subway platforms, but enough summer warmth to feel the freedom of
evenings without coats and early darkness.


      The scene was as it has been for decades, changing in tone with
generations, but not in substance.   Thousands of people streaming down the
wide sidewalks: colors of skin, hair and clothes, old and young, smiling
and laughing, scowling and dying.   Books, antique clothes, magazine
stores, locals sitting on stoops, students trying to look cool on their
first days at NYU.  Smells of ginger/garlic/soy/sesame, pizza, souvlaki,
onions and killerdogs.


      People waiting for buses, people peering into store windows and
talking, people leaning against buildings reading books, people leaning
against buildings dying.  People leaving the 8th Street subway station into
the night, people sitting on the sidewalk selling old books, new books, old
clothes, incense, the debris of their lives.  Furs and punk, jewels and
bottlecap rings, Brooks Brothers, The Gap and the Salvation Army.


      In the midst of all he saw her turn from Astor Place onto Broadway,
walking downtown.  The first thing he noticed was the way she moved.  Not
just graceful, fluid.  Maneuvering through the crowd deftly but without any
appearance of speed or haste.  At the tail end of the short skirt season
she was wearing a tight black skirt and black tights, a tight black
sleeveless top.  From twenty feet away she looked like a living statue,
weathered brown but taut and strong.  Her short black hair barely moved
with her movements.


      He was in no hurry and was drawn to her.  He'd meant to move
crosstown toward Indian restaurant row but found himself still trailing her
by fifty feet by the time they passed Great Jones Street, heading toward
Houston.  It was not as if she was the only woman on the street.  A blonde
in cutoffs and a silk camisole.  Another woman in a denim miniskirt, one of
his weaknesses and a t-shirt with the neck torn out.  It was this other
woman who drew his interest and his thoughts.


      He imagined her sitting in a large chair with her legs draped over
plush arms.  He knelt before her, gazed into the crotchless black tights
and her pussy at their center.  She grabbed his head, hooked her legs
around his neck and pulled him into her, to lick and suck until she arched
her back and pressed his face deep into her wet musky cunt.


      He imagined pulling her into an alley just out of sight of the
street, reaching under her skirt and rubbing her pussy until she began to
move against his hand.  He pressed her against the brick wall of the
building pulled her hips out, hiked up her skirt and slid into her from
behind, fucking her fast and hard as he reached around and rubbed her clit.


      He imagined her facing him on the crowded street, unzipping his pants
and stroking his cock while she reached beneath her skirt, lifted her leg
onto a fire department connection and fingered herself.  Crowds of people
swarmed by as she jerked him and herself off, never taking her eyes off of
his, watching each other slide over the edge.


      His thoughts came quickly and almost without his conscious
intervention and the thoughts kept him on her trail.


      At Houston Street she stopped abruptly, even though the light was
with southbound traffic.  She turned and looked into his, eyes without
hesitation, as if she'd known all along that he was there.  He saw her
standing there fifty feet away and suddenly felt her presence right before
him, even as he saw her yards in the distance, down to the scent of her
breath.   Sweetish, a smell he could not quite identify.  She looked into
his eyes, fifty feet away and right before him and for a split second he
was struck with visions: Paris as seen from one thousand feet, a dark alley
and a dead body, a taste in his mouth.  An intense rush up his spine made
him shudder slightly right there past Bleeker Street and the No.  6
station.  And then the spell was broken.  She held his gaze, smiled
slightly and walked across Houston.  He'd never had a woman look at him
that way, in a city where women on the street live defensively, avoiding
eye contact.  In a few seconds she'd turned his street voyeurism and
fantasy into attraction, obsession and commitment.  He wanted those legs
wrapped around his waist, he longed for her pussy in his face, he needed to
feel what she was like when she came.


      He quickened his pace, but she was fast and always kept ahead.  He
followed her south past Prince Street and then left onto Spring.  Just
before Lafayette he saw her enter a building.  He followed her up four
flights of stairs she which took as if in graceful flight, music increasing
in volume as they climbed.   At the top he found himself at a large loft
apartment filled with one hundred people, most of them dancing.   The
stereo playing "Burning Down the House" at high volume, the smell of beer,
sweat, marijuana and perfume.


      And then she was there in front of him, dancing, moving, bouncing,
shimmying in perfect rhythm.  Breasts swaying gently, skirt sliding up her
taut thighs, eyes blazing.  She moved onto the floor and he followed.
Never completely comfortable on a dance floor, he now felt that he might as
well be dancing with Nureyev.  She was not flashy, she didn't attract much
attention, but her movements were perfectly fluid: graceful, sensual,
erotic and strong all at once.  They danced for half an hour until a slow
number and she backed into him, rubbing her tight ass against his groin,
feeling him harden.  He placed his hands on her waist - strong and hard and
cool again.   He pressed forward against her ass and she made a hissing
sound in response.


      She broke the embrace and walked toward the door, latching onto his
fingers as she went, and he followed.  Up the stairs again, through a
bulkhead door and onto the roof.  The front of the building had a young
couple fucking rear entry bent over the parapet.  Her skirt was bunched up
around her waist and his hands were slid under her blouse.  They didn't
notice the new arrivals.  Neither did the two women leaning against a vent
housing a few feet away smoking pot and watching the show.


      She took him around the alley side of the building roof, away from
the noise and people.  She grabbed his belt and before he could properly
react, she had him unbuckled and he was falling onto the roof onto his
back.  His shoes came off in a flash and his pants followed.  She was on
top of him, kissing him passionately, sucking deeply on his tongue.  She
reached behind and drew up her skirt and flipped herself around on him,
lowering a musky cunt onto his eager face.  He began to lick and tongue her
immediately, and she responded by rubbing herself over his face, smearing
him with juices already flowing.  The smell from her pussy, like her
breath, was familiar, but he couldn't place it.  But then he had never
failed to enjoy the smell of a woman's sex.


      He felt her lips on his cock and an incredibly fast tongue flicking
its way up and down his shaft, lips pressed against the underside rubbing.
Then she engulfed him.


      He felt a presence, not the same as he had on Broadway, but a
presence.  He was being elevated into a state of pleasure, but had no
feeling of concern that the expert ministrations would make him come too
soon.  Pleasure and control were both there.  He felt as if he now had the
ability to go forever.


      He just kept licking and sucking on her clit, sliding his tongue
inside her.  She stiffened and stopped sucking him, changing to stroking
him with her hand.   She ground herself against him desperately and came
making animalistic sounds.  He almost felt she'd break his neck and his
cock.


      In a flash she had swung herself around and she was lowering herself
onto his cock.  She began fucking him vigorously from above, her mouth now
at his neck and ears.  He felt lightheaded and could not place where he
was, as if another mind was enmeshed in his, his fantasies and thoughts
taking on a life of their own.  Suddenly it was Madonna fucking him and he
looked up into the mischievous eyes.  Seconds later it was Julianne Moore,
earthy and heated, red hair in his face.  Then it was Roma Torre, wearing
nothing but a cropped t-shirt pushed up to her shoulders, breasts thrust
into his face to lick.  Then it was Cindy McCoy, his girlfriend from high
school, whimpering as she used to when she was on top.  Each lover
different, each pussy different, each scent different.


      And then he was back with the woman, pussy gripping and pulsing on
his cock, she had gone from tonguing and nibbling his ear to licking his
neck.  Her tongue drew obscene lines and circles on his neck and nibbled
gently.  He heard her panting and noise and her breath on his neck,
sensations intensified by the coating of her saliva.  Smooth teeth rubbed
against his neck, including two sharp points lightly scraping his neck,
teasing, as a woman does with her teeth when giving head.  Tentative, soft
bites.  Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to tease.


      He felt her begin to tense again, her movements more insistent.  He
also felt his need approach a point of loss of all control.


      He felt her sink her teeth into his neck just as they started to
come.  He couldn't hear the piercing of his skin, although it was the
sweetest sound she ever heard.  She tasted the sweetness of his blood and
had to hold herself in control lest she go beyond where she intended.  The
rich, heady smell and taste took her into a swoon as she sucked and started
to come at once.  His neck, her need and her sex were all that existed in
her world.  He could hear her moans as she felt the sweet blood wash over
her teeth, splash against her lips and overflow slightly as she drank, as
if she were receiving a load of his cum in her mouth.  She licked and
sucked his neck gently but with strength, rubbing her body against his,
drawing herself toward the edge of her being.


      He couldn't decide whether the fangs in his neck and her tongue and
lips slurping his blood were just as much a source of his pleasure as the
spasms from the rest of his body.  They shivered and shook on the roof as
she sucked him, with both sets of lips.  And then her tongue licked the
wound sensually, even lovingly.  She kissed him one last time with bloody
lips.  The same scent he'd enjoyed but couldn't place from her breath and
her cunt.


      "Just a taste tonight, baby," she whispered into his ear before
rising to her feet, looking down at him smiling.


      He lay there with the midnight breeze blowing over his sweaty body,
remnants of the visions departing for wherever visions go.  He was left
with his after shocks of orgasm, a lightheadedness from losing more than a
pint of blood, and the disorientation that comes from suddenly being faced
with the fact that that which you always thought could not be, is.


      He looked to his left to the alley side parapet.  His gut froze as
her saw her rise to the parapet and without any hesitation, jump over into
the abyss.  He jumped to his feet, despite his body's better judgement.  He
ran to the parapet and wincing, looked over.  Below, on the well-lit
surface of the alley next to the building, there was no body.  No damaged
woman with broken legs.  Nothing.  He looked toward the street just in time
to see her pass beneath the security floodlight, rounding the corner onto
Lafayette Street, flowing back into the New York night.


Backrub (a.k.a.  BCK...@aol.com)
July 30, 1995
                           =====================
                              Meeting Amanda
                                by Backrub
                                   -30-

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