Message-ID: <5580eli$9711111058@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/5580.txt> From: dez187lm@hotmail.com (H.D. Meister) Subject: Story: Bitter Cherry - cherry.txt [1/1] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <648ndh$hkj$1@solaris.cc.vt.edu> Greetings from the shadows dear reader! All standard disclaimers apply, so please abide by them. Don't read unles you are 18 or older or are a consenting adult. Don't post this without giving the authro due credit. And don't make a profit off of my work!! _______________________________________________________________________ Bitter Cherry By: H.D. Meister Sometimes, when I find myself caught in the haze between true sleep and the nightmare of waking up to another day, I can hear her voice. It pulls at my mind, daring me to face another winter day in Virginia.... knowing she is nothing more than a phone call away. I feel the thin tendrils of her presence gushing through my veins. And I awake, mad as hell and ready to rip apart any soul which dares to intrude. Cherry. Her name is Cherry. Not really an appropriate name, since Im sure hers is long lost to some bum with kind words and a stiff dick. Shes about as sweet as no- sugar lemonade... laced with vipers venom. Her eyes are the clearest blue, but I know the illusion now. They cannot fool me, although there was a time when all I saw were two calm pools of crystalline water. Her body, wrapped in the synthetic lies of some suit in an office, is well crafted. Firm breasts... pert nipples... slender legs. Yeah... shes every mans dream. Until they get to sleep and find out the truth: not even night terrors are as horrifying. I know the names of some of those who have fucked her. One is even a close friend of mine. I see their faces and chuckle as they thrash about in her well used cunt, sucking a nipples as if the finest beer would suddenly fill their mouths. I watch their hands grab hold to whatever fabric happens to be unfortunate to get soaked with that venom spewing from her cunt. And I laugh. They have no idea what lies within her, sleeping with one eye open. I do. I compare her to a porn star, fucking whatever the director tells her in order to put food, and expensive clothes, on her list of possessions. They are more fortunate; they can say its a job. Cherry? Its nothing more than a few seconds out of her busy schedule. There is never any caring on her part. Get in... get yours... get out. She lives by these words. Words which I taught her. I wonder if she tries to make those same faces as the porn stars do when shes getting her cunt filled by some schmucks dick. Probably not; that would mean she at least cares enough to placate their ego. She doesnt care for anyone... not even herself. Dont let those clear blue eyes calm the raging beast within you; I learned the hard way. And I didnt even fuck her. Oh I wanted to. Still do. And that is most disturbing. I like making love: giving yourself totally to a womans contentment. I have spent all of my sexual life learning the ways to please a woman. But Cherry is another story. I can clearly see her ass quake as I fuck her from behind... while calling my mother to see how shes doing. I watch her blank stare as I eat her rancid twat... thinking about the homework due for physics and the one problem I could not solve. I can hear the degrading smack of my hand as I plaster it again and again and again on whatever piece of exposed flesh happens to be available... while I debate the finer points of special effects to my roommate. Even my orgasm feels life a breath: necessary but not given much thought. Yeah... I can see it all. Then there is the small matter of why I simply havent fucked her. Maybe it would ease the pain of waking each morning. Maybe not. And I will never find out. All because she trusts me. She has fashioned walls to keep out those such as me. People who give a damn about her. Some of them still batter away helplessly at those walls. I dont have to: I have already cracked that precious barrier. She trust me... because she knows I truly care. I have told her that were we to have sex, it would not be because of a stiff dick and/or a wet twat. I would give everything to her. My only goal would be to please her totally. I would care. I would give a damn. When I said these things, I saw the illusion in her eyes shimmer... witness her control falter. I was the thing the walls were meant to keep out. And I was proof that her carefully planned construct was useless. I could smell the sweet scent of lust flow from her, untainted my passage through those walls. I saw her mouth open slightly as her lips begged for the chance to kiss someone who truly cared for her. She willed her legs to remain closed, not trusting herself to act on the impulse to know the touch of someone who cared enough to back up their claim to caring about her. Do I love her? I say NO, but others... say differently. They claim that I love her more than I care to admit. They say that if I were to try to fuck her, I would instead make love to her. Stuff and nonsense; I wouldnt waste the time or effort. Just to spite them, I would fuck her from behind, and during one outward stroke pull free... only to plunge into her asshole with no more caring than a rat gives to shitting out its last meal. My only concern would be where to spray her: face, tits, ass. Even though she claims that no man has ever done that, I will bet that shes know male seed on her face. Shes nothing more than a cheep slut. Yet I still care. If I didnt, I would not even spend the time it took to write down these words. She doesnt care, although she vehemently bellows otherwise. Words. I want to see proof. So I rise again, facing another day of challenges. Her voice fades to black, going away as would a vampire at the sight of dawn clawing its way into the sky. It has been a while since I have actually seen her... even longer since hearing her voice. I dont care. I watch someone I car about fuck her way through the craps game called Life, knowing the dice are loaded and the house hates to lose. I havent gotten close enough to her to smell the musky funk of the cock or cocks she sucked the night before. I dont want to hear about the thousands of positions she tried as he flailed about in side of her well used cunt. I cringe at the thought that she let them maul her breasts, thinking they were pleasing her. My face becomes the mask of fury. I want no one to know how much I hurt, so I exaggerate the pain, fire it in the kiln of loathing, and wear my creation. I go through the ritual of cleansing the body, knowing the soul is beyond the powers of soap and water. And I know what to expect when the day is done and I sleep one more. I will hear her voice once more. And another day will begin. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> .../assm/faq.html> /