Message-ID: <683eli$9705051044@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/683> Path: qz!news.accessus.net!not-for-mail X-Path-Preload: news.accessus.net preloaded to thwart rogue canceller there Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d 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> From: <mrspraycan.an@edtec.com> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.moderated Subject: Seductions: 1 Disclaimer: Adults only, whatever that means wherever you are lucky enough to be reading this. 18, 21, 27? Right, let's all worry about dirty words while violence, evil empires and political corruption rule. 'Not very much' resemblance to real or historic persons, places, etc., is intended. Copyright (c) 1997 by Baton Rouge Thoughtscapes and its author, Mr.Spraycan, who chooses to remain 'anon.' Do not repost, store on public sites without expressed permission. No commercial use is warranted. For personal use and/or entertainment purposes. Visit the Spraycan site: <http://www.sinewave.com/spraycan> for much more 'stuff,' much of it more exotic. SEDUCTIONS 1 By MrSpraycan "In Espana, mille tre . . ." I'm always keen to look for new talent, as everyone knows. So, I've been contemplating the washer. No, not an appliance! Unless you consider working class girls to be appliances, that is. She's 'of a type,' but not the same type as her predecessor, Jacqueline the fake Bardot, who I picked up right here at the same hair salon. This one, my first guess says, is Italian. Rationale: the big black eyebrows, the flashing smile. But, no, as she chatters away, I revise my thinking. I get the impression she's Greek. Demure and living with her parents. Well, this proves to be correct in only the latter respect. She's extremely cute, as indeed are so many of the girls who work here. She's already fully caught up in the 'party-party-party' atmosphere that defines this place. I watch her for a while. She has a huge smile, and everything about her is perky, pretty. Big eyes, beautiful skin. Maria, I hear one of the others call her. When she concentrates on a task, she bites her lip, looks worried. Very attractive, that. She's no more than 5' tall, 100-lb., max. No more than 20 years old. That's a tasty age! Nice lips, dark lipstick, lots of eye make-up. She's sipping on a soda now. Whenever I see pouty lips like that wrapped round a straw, I think "I wonder if she plays it like a clarinet, or trumpet?" That Saturday, I get very lucky. She's assigned to shampoo me. Chatting away, she says to me: "Oh wow, I'm exhausted. What a night!" It turns out, she'd spent the whole night going from one club to another, getting home at about 5 a.m. All I think is, "if I were her father, etc." Then I catch myself remembering that Frank Zappa song and thinking, yes, what would I do? "Cover my daughter in chocolate syrup and strap her on again . . ." I smile. What's the rest of it: "She's my teenage baby, she turns me on, I'd like to make her do a nasty on the White House lawn . . ." Ah, they don't write them like that any more. She's still talking. I may have missed a few beats about where she went, how much more she drank. But anyway, she sneaks in about 5 a.m. and goes to bed. Then, with only a couple of hours sleep, she wakes at 7.20 a.m. to realize she needs to be at work at eight, and real prompt about it. This place is a boot camp, and they get mad if you're late, I know that from the experiences of the fake Bardot. She has ten minutes to make the bus. She rushes out, just makes it. You know how my brain works. Ah! Unwashed, I think immediately. Sniff, sniff. And maybe I can detect it. A little bit sweaty, a tiny bit snatchy. Yum. It's 3 p.m. now, they close at 4. My hairdresser is, as usual, running late, so Marie gives me another splodge of conditioner, and I get more chat. She's not the intellectual type, but she is quite bright. I decide to make a play. "So. Any big plans for tonight?" "Oh. No, I don't think so. Something quiet!" "Oh, you don't have a date?" "Well, I was going to go shopping, then my brother was going to pick me up at 6.30 p.m. But afterwards, no. Uh, are you thinking. . .?" "Yes, if you're interested, we could, I don't know . . . something." She makes a quick judgment. I'm much older. But I have it. "I, uh yes. I might. I mean . . ." "So, tell you what. Meet me next door at Starbucks when you're done. I'm going there anyway." I must have done something right. Is it me, or the highly addictive coffee? She's there, by about 4.15 p.m. I buy her a frappacino, then make my pitch about the impending rendezvous avec le frere: namely that she should put him off. "Hey, you must be worn out. Look, here's an idea. Stop by my place, it's just down the road. I'll make you tea, you can get a shower if you like, take a nap. You need it, huh? Then, whatever. A movie, dinner. Like I said, whatever. I don't mind. Your call." She's flustered. "Yes, but . . I need to do something about my clothes! I look like a bag lady . . ." Right, a Gucci bag lady. She is, I assure you, impeccable. "No, you look fine. Come on. Just take a shower, you'll be much better. Just what you need to feel okay." I hand her my cell phone, and she makes the call. And...? Well, I gave her the cab fare home at 10.30pm. We never made it out, as you might have guessed. She fucks so greedily. I called for takeout. Chinese in, with pauses for us to suck on each other. I'd seen that she had a cocksucker's mouth, and I was right. She uses it like one, as though she has practised. But when I tease her, she's rather timid. No, not much, she says. Her pussy: a great seafood dish, as fragrant as I'd thought. Her panties, as fragrant and gooey as I'd imagined, are now on top of my monitor, providing inspiration, jogs to my memory, and adult aroma therapy. Tomorrow lunchtime, I'll drop by and pick her up. We'll go out to the upmarket mall. Victoria's Secret, Macy's, a movie. Treat her to some nice sexy clothes, a good intense movie. You can't buy girls like her, but they appreciate presents, because face it, she has picked a piss-poor way to make a living, almost minimum wage and tips. So, to be a sugar daddy is not such a bad ploy. And then? I'll bring her back here for the evening. I want to work on her. I foresee her being much more submissive than the fake Bardot, judged by our first night. There's nothing much she says 'no' to, and she's quite aroused by my dirty talk. I think it'll be quite easy to get her into ass-fucking, and not much work to have her submit her cute little rump to a spanking. I detect a willingness to be dominated . . . and if that works, well, all sorts of fun can be had. Copyright (c) Mr.Spraycan "One Man Campaign For Intelligent Filth" A little snippet. Part of "An Unnamed Work In Progress." There's a gateway to a whole helluva lot more Mr.Spraycan stuff (and the brand-new, not-to-be-missed Spraycan Factory Outlet Club) at <http://www.SineWave.com/spraycan>. Enlarge your mind, and various other bits of your anatomy at bargain rates. [ Via EDTec Anon Remail Service: <infos.an@edtec.com> ] -- +--------------' 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> /