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Subject: RP: Small Town Naughtiness    mf
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(Note: I am not the author, only the archivist.

The author's name has come detached from this story.  If you are the
author, please email me.  I like to see writers get credit for their
work.

The following story deals with explicit sex.  If you're not old enough
to be here, you're not old enough to read it.  Scram.)


This is a strange story, told in a floating, almost blissed-out voice.
It seems like it should be longer.  Anybody know any more to it?

Small Town Naughtiness



I have a secret.  It's a secret because it wouldn't be approved of at
all in this small town where I live;  Where Summer evenings are spent
gathered on front porches and back lawns, immersed in the smell of
green grass that has baked all day in the sun, and the soft voices of
neighbors drift murmuring over the hedges;  Where fences are painted
white and the houses are settled serenely behind rows of shady maples
and oaks.

I am wearing my blue dress today;  The one with the delicate flower
print and the lace cuffs.  The wide, white collar lays flat on my
chest beneath my chin, and I enjoy the rustle as Henry and I stroll
toward church.  My parasol is resting on my shoulder and I am feeling
very much a lady.  I have a hidden secret, though.  One that no one
knows about but me, and It makes me blush as I stroll toward the wide
doors of the church -- Beneath my rustling dress, beneath my lacy
underskirts, I haven't worn any bloomers today.  I am naked beneath my
skirts.  I imagine my skirts being whisked above my head in a sudden
gust of wind, exposing my most intimate parts to the whole parish.  I
blush warmer when I imagine this.  I feel so daring, risking such
imaginable embarrassment.

My soft underskirts rub silkily against my bottom and thighs as I walk
and I feel the young Hembrandt boy watching me.  I feel he knows my
secret and I sense his lust. I become acutely aware of the sensation
of my thighs rubbing together as I walk.  The skin is soft and smooth
and rubs ticklishly.

The sermon is uninteresting and I find my thoughts and eyes wandering
as Henry and I sit on the hard pew.  Jon Hansen and his wife Hannah
are on the pew next to us, Jon closest to me.  They are listening
intently to the sermon.  Jon is a lumberman and his square shoulders
are burly and wide.   He is wearing tan colored pants and the material
is tight over his muscular thighs and buttocks.  My eyes find
themselves focusing on his crotch where I can clearly see his THING
beneath the creases and folds.  It rests like a plump sausage and my
mind imagines that I see it move.  I look up and see that Jon is
looking at me. I blush crimson and turn away.  I don't look over at
Jon for the rest of the sermon.

As we walk home, Henry and I nod and wave at the gentlefolk on their
porches.  They all nod serenely back in the thick summer air and
murmur polite salutations.  Our house is cool inside and Henry
disappears down stairs to pursue his own endeavors in the basement,
where he tinkers and toys his weekends away.  I pour myself a glass of
lemonade and settle in a heap on the back porch swing.  I'm not much
in the mood for polite nodding and murmuring.  I am blissfully alone
for a good half hour.

I remember, as I swing gently, my bottom is bare.  My dress is
fluttering around my calves and I daringly straighten them as I swing;
The breeze draws the hem further up my legs, past my knees, and my
heart pounds.  A young man's head pops up over the fence across the
back yard and I snap my legs down in embarrassment.  He smiles at me
reassuringly, though something about him is unsettling.  He vaults the
fence effortlessly and I see that he is impossibly tall and thin, his
clothing hanging on his frame like a wire rack.  His hair is red and
as he approaches, I see his face is endowed with a generous amount of
freckles.

"How'd do, ma'am?" he says, standing in front of the porch with his
hands clasped together.  His fingers are long and ruddy, their ends
slightly spatulate.  The fingers begin to worm amongst themselves and
the young man stares at me earnestly.

"I suppose I'm as well as can be," I say back, eyeing him.  My tone
was one of guarded curiosity.

"But I," said the young man, smiling oddly: "That am not shaped for
sportive tricks Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am
rudely stamped, and want love's majesty To strut before a wanton
ambling nymph..."

He trails off, eyeing me expectantly, and I find I am utterly without
a reply.  His features melt into a smirk and his blue eyes twinkle
puckishly.

"Come over here, there is something you must see," he says.  He turns
his back on me and strides back across the back lawn.  He is assuming
I will follow, and against my judgment, I do.  He enters the black
rectangle that is the door to the garden shed.  The door is framed by
rough whitewashed boards that are so bright, the contrast makes the
tall young man disappear as though he were stepping into a pool of
ink.  I pause at the door and peer in, allowing my eyes to adjust to
the humid darkness.

His hand grabs my wrist and I am pulled inside.  Before I can scream,
the man's cool fingers wrap themselves across my lips, bruising them
with their urgency.  He is standing behind me and I can hear his
breath softly behind my ear.

"We say that Shore's wife hath a pretty foot, A cherry lip, a bonny
eye, a passing pleasing tongue..." whispers the man.

His hand unpetals from my mouth and I find I can't scream.  I am
transfixed.  He pushes me away and turns me around.  At arm's length,
he lets his hands slide down my arms to my hands where he rolls my
fingers between his.

Finally he lets them drop.

I realize, looking at myself, he can see me clearly from my chest down
while he remains shrouded, next to the door.  My upper half is
immersed in the same sort of blackness.  I am awash with strong
feelings of fear and other, more subtle stirrings. Without really
realizing what I am doing, I begin to bunch my skirts in my fists,
gathering more and more of the material into them as the hem rises
from the floor.  The skirt rises above my knees and I know they are
starkly framed to his eyes.  I feel my face flush hotly as my hands
continue to grab the material.  He can see my thighs, but I cannot
judge his reaction, and I do not think he can read my face either.

I pause in my rustlings and I can hear him breathing.  I hoist my
skirts higher, exposing more of my white trembling flesh.  I reach
that point at the top of my thighs and I pause again, this time
greeting the silence of baited breath.  I finally pull my skirts the
rest of the way, showing the man the soft hair growing between my
legs.  I find myself standing, without any further plan, my vagina
exposed to a young stranger.

His body is against mine in an instant and without warning.  His face
is burrowing itself into my neck and I realize, while I was pulling up
my skirts, he was letting his trousers drop to the floor of the shed.
His penis hot against my belly and its stiffness presses with urgency
against my cool flesh.  I can tell as it lays against my skin, that it
is long and thick as my wrist and his sinewy hips tremble against
mine.  I feel him hunching himself down, the round point of his penis
traveling down my front until it nestles in the soft fur between my
legs.

I tremble, stricken with the sudden knowledge of what is about to
transpire.  I feel the head of his penis spread the folds of my vagina
and my hips betray me by pushing forward against my will.

He pushes me back, against the potting table and as I stagger back a
step, my legs spread to accommodate his bony thighs.  The smell of my
own humid vagina fills my nostrils and I realize I have moistened --
become ready to accept his throbbing penis.  He slowly fills me,
hunching himself further and further upward, as I lubricate his shaft
with my tender labia.

He feels huge and substantial inside me and I feel my soft folds are
stretched around the rough root of his penis.  He begins to draw the
shaft of his thing out and then back in, spearing me to my core.  I
find myself becoming very excited and begin to lose myself little by
little to the feelings in my belly.  The huge smooth head of his penis
is rubbing the inside of my vagina and I can feel it travel the
distance from my entrance to my womb and back again.  I realize I am
very lubricated and his penis is sticky and wet.  He begins to plunge
urgently.  He humps his body against mine, soundlessly in the dark
while our mingled juices travel in beads down my thighs.  I feel his
penis grow more rigid in my body and the urgency makes me wanton with
desire.  My mind's eye imagines the white liquid shooting hotly into
my innermost folds and I begin to tremble with a climax.  The ecstasy
envelops my whole being as the thickly veined shaft saws between the
swollen lips of my vagina.

I tilt my hips toward his jack hammering pelvis and lift my feet off
the ground, draping my legs around his narrow waist.  I envelope him
and his wonderfully rigid, hot penis;   Willing him to violate me to
my very core.  He begins to shiver and plow me harder, slapping his
hips against my bare bottom.  A few more strokes and he stops with his
enormous penis thrust fully into my lusting vagina.  I can feel the
shaft pulse as the man deposits his sticky seed in my belly.  We
remain for a time in that manner, breathing, until I feel him begin to
wilt. 



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