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From: Malinov <malinov@mindless.com>
Subject: {ASS} Flowers by Lord Malinov
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Flowers
by Lord Malinov

<malinov@mindless.com>
~~~

The morning started slowly,  pounding with regret.  I opened my eyes
to a blaze of dull pain and moaned, my head throbbing as though it had
been hit with a hammer.  Still in the blue jeans and shirt I had worn
the night before,  I pulled myself out of bed and stumbled into the
bathroom.  My prick bulged stiff with the need to take a piss.

Unzipping my jeans to do what had to be done, I pulled my dick out of
his denim lair.  The dank musk of sex drifted through the air.  I
smiled as I aimed my sturdy manhood, wondering where I had left the
girl who had doused me with her aromatic scent.  Relaxing, stroking
myself as the last drops fell, I noticed that as my arousal grew, my
headache seemed to fade. I briefly pondered the impact my discovery
could have on the pain relief industry, but business doesn't turn me
on and my headache started to return.  So I tried to remember the
night before.  

A pretty smile while titties bounced as she rode my thrusting prick.

Then it struck me.  I had been drinking with Sarah.  The sudden rush
of memories hit me like a runaway train.  Feeling pathetic because
Melanie split for New York.  Sarah's lips engulfing my pecker, her
little pink tongue caressing my staff. Forgetting our understanding.
Pulling down those pretty flowered panties, down creamy thighs.
Sarah's love blossoming . . . velvet tight pussy, melodic laughter and
groans . . . a heady drunk, taking advantage of our friendship . . .
sucking her tight nipples, squeezing her soft ass . . . Bitch Melanie
dumped me like a cold cruel bitch.  Sweet Sarah fucked me like a
raging banshee. Tears in my beer. Licking dewdrops off her swollen
cunt petals . . . .

~~~

The bar was noisy and  crowded.  "Don't you have plans?" I asked. 
"I'll be all right."

"Don't be silly," Sarah said warmly.  Reaching across the table, she
put her hand on mine.  "This is what friends are for."  Sarah paused
and turned her head quizzically.  "Unless you'd rather I didn't. Maybe
I'm not the best person to talk to, about Melanie, I mean."

"Nah, it's all right," I said bravely and took a drink of my beer.  "I
really don't want to talk about her anyway."

Despite this noble, sober thought, I'm pretty sure we spent half the
evening talking about Melanie.  Well, I talked about her anyway, while
Sarah coolly listened.  I don't know how she took it, sitting there
listening me lament through the waves of gooey love I still felt for
Melanie breaking over the utter humiliation she had wreaked upon me. 
I remember Sarah smiling weakly, holding my hand and genuinely helping
me ride out my emotional storm.

Sarah's been in love with me for a year or so.  She's actually the
younger sister of one of my college buddies, so I've known her for
longer than that, but when Rich moved down to Dallas, Sarah realized I
wouldn't be stopping by anymore and she broke down and confessed her
love for me.

Listening to this shy, pretty girl of twenty-two open her heart that
way was one of the most touching moments I have ever known.  Every
sweet word that fell from her lips did its best to break my heart.  I
was engaged to Kendra at the time.  Sarah knew that, knew her
declaration was a cruel interference with a relationship I took
seriously, knew she shouldn't have said anything.  She couldn't help
herself.  I knew that.

And even with Kendra out of the picture, I couldn't be in love with
Sarah.  Hanging out with Rich and me, she had been like a kid sister,
fun and pesky.  I liked Sarah - loved her in a family sense - but she
wasn't my type.  I didn't think so, anyway.

After her heart-rending confession, Sarah swore to me that all she
wanted was to be friends.  I didn't take it very seriously at the
time, and readily accepted the compromise, knowing it would stop her
from crying.  I didn't want to send her away.  More than that - I
liked being adored by her, especially since it didn't cost me much. 
We talked every now and again, catching up on gossip mostly, and then
after Kendra split, we sometimes got together for a pizza or a movie. 
 Just friends.  Sarah really wasn't my type.

When I met Melanie, Sarah quietly withdrew, faded into the shadows
without a complaint.  I didn't intend to ignore her the way I did. I'm
not a man who is really capable of weighing and balancing
relationships and a gorgeous woman distracts me severely.   Whatever
nasty things I might say about Melanie at this point, I would by lying
to say Melanie was anything other than strikingly beautiful - long
legs, firm tits, high cheeks, rivers of hair.  I'm really sorry she
never let me take a few nude photographs.  I'll probably never have
another woman quite so stunning.

But lovely as she was, Melanie dumped me for an New York architect and
I don't think she was even going to say anything except that I found
the plane ticket in her planner when I went looking for a phone
number.  I wasn't even suspicious then, but when I mentioned the trip,
she became irritated and confessed the whole affair.  And Melanie was
gone.

I decided to go out and get drunk.  I hadn't been at Charing Cross
twenty minutes when Sarah showed up.  Someone must have called her.  I
wonder.  I should ask.

I talked and we drank and I stopped telling her about my pain and
started telling her stories about the troubles Rich and I got into at
college, stories she had heard a dozen times before.  Then I remember
Sarah reaching across the table when I told her what a good friend she
was and when she took hold of my hand, I lifted her fingers to my
lips.  The alcohol had rendered me a sentimental idiot by that time,
and I wanted badly to express my gratitude to this angelic friend of
mine.  

Sarah sighed softly.  My heart melted at the sound.  Sarah loved me. 
What was I thinking?

"Let me take you home," I said gallantly.

"All right," she said with a blush that seemed terribly cute.  "But
I'd better drive."   I think she paid the tab because I don't remember
doing it.  I'm not sure how that happened.

We drove back to her place without incident, which leads me to 
suspect that Sarah wasn't very drunk, and she helped me up the stairs
to her apartment.

"I'll make some coffee," she said.  I plopped down on a fluffy tan
sofa.  I had never been inside Sarah's apartment, but I felt
immediately at home.  There was just something comfortable about the
place, about her, about us being together.  I leaned back.  From the
kitchen, Sarah told me about when Rich helped her move.

"Mom told him to get this trunk that was our grandmother's out of 
their basement.  She'd packed it up for me with old dishes and towels 
and kitchen appliances that she'd saved and bought and stuff.  When 
Rich got to their house, Mom and Dad were at Aunt Ida's, so Rich 
took the wrong trunk, stuffed with forty years of paper records from 
Dad's business. It probably weighed six hundred pounds, but Rich 
managed to drag it up the stairs, push it onto the truck, push it up 
my stairs and into my living room.  Mom and Dad came over here in 
the meantime and were helping me clean the place.  Rich collapsed on 
the sofa and Mom says, 'what's that?'  Rich looked up at her like she 
was crazy.  'Rich,' she says, 'that's the wrong trunk.'  Rich just 
shook his head.  'No, it isn't,' he said.  Mom tells him again that 
he brought the wrong trunk. Rich looks up at her and says real 
seriously.  'Mom.  No, it isn't.'"

Sarah handed me a cup of hot coffee and sat down.

"So what did you do?" I asked, waiting for the molten java to cool.

"That's it over there, under the television.  Rich still insists that
was the trunk he was supposed to bring."

I drank the coffee, watching Sarah with blurry eyes as she told me
more stories, and then my head cleared slightly and waves of affection
began to pour through me.  It was as though I was seeing Sarah for the
first time, sitting in her living room at twelve-thirty on a Friday
night, years and years after we'd met.  She told a story about the dog
she and Rich had when they were kids and I put my hand on the bare
flesh of her lean thigh, just below where the short skirt ceased. 
Sarah stopped talking, mid-sentence.

"Oh," she said finally.  I rubbed gently, teasing the hem higher.

"Sarah," I said, tickling her lightly.  She laughed, breathing 
heavily, careful not to chase my roaming hand away.  I squeezed the
fleshy softness of her upper thigh.  Pushing herself forward, she
spread her legs to meet my fingers.

"Ooh," she said as I brushed the yellow blossom print shrouding her
damp cunt.

"Pretty flower," I said, "lovely luscious flowers."  

Sarah gasped and pressed her veiled pussy closer to my touch.

"Let me kiss your petals," I said, slipping to the floor to kneel
between her legs.  Sarah teased my hair as I pressed my lips against
the yellow flower, filling my senses with her fragrant lusty scent. 
"Pretty flower," I purred, stroking the faint lipped impression of her
blossoming arousal.

Sarah pushed her panties down.  I kissed the first glimpse of her pale
brown curls, sat back as the flowers swept down her long thighs. 
 I helped the colorful cotton slip down her calves and off while Sarah
giggled and spread her pink petals wide.  I kissed her taunt clit,
felt her melt as my tongue tasted her nectar.  Sarah shuddered and
pressed her cunt closer, returning my kiss.

"I've dreamed of this," she said.  I looked up to see her 
joyful smile.  "I have wanted so badly to be yours."  Sarah laughed,
"Push a finger inside me.  I always finger myself when I'm thinking of
you."

I drank a sip of Sarah's warm juice and then tickled a finger 
between her wet velvet lips before slipping the stem deep inside.
"Really?" I asked in a pause.

"Yes," Sarah said as she unclasped her bra.  "Being friends with you
has been torture."  She pinched a stiff nipple as I invaded her cunt
with one more finger.  Sarah's tart water poured over my palm.  "I
can't tell you how many times I've wanted to suck on your cock."

I licked Sarah faster, excited by her lewd confessions.

"Oh, you turn me on," she gasped.  My fingers drove inside her with a
crazed, intense rhythm.  "Fuck, yes," she cried, pulling my face hard
against her jutting clit.  "Fuck, yes.  Fuck yes."  I gave another
lick and Sarah exploded, her pussy quivering, her thighs clenching,
her titties shaking.

I leaned back, smiling at the vision I had spread out before me; the
soft folds of Sarah's glistening quim, the black skirt bunched at her
waist, ripe tits shuddering under her dusky nipples, a delighted smile
and a smouldering blue-eyed gaze.  I licked my lips, tasting the
delicious musk smeared across my face.  Sarah sat up and kissed me
with unleashed desire.  

"Let me," she said, while she unzipped my jeans.  "I've got to suck
your cock."  Sarah quickly slipped down to suck the crown of my dick
while she pushed my clothes off.  I sat back on the sofa, Sarah
engulfing my cock in her kiss, licking my shaft like a peppermint
stick.  "I've been dying to suck this prick," she said, with a tease
of her little pink tongue and a wiggle of her broad valentine ass.

"You're a hot little bitch, Sarah" I said laughing.

"I'm your hot little bitch," she said.  My cock slipped deep into her
self-pleased mouth.  Sarah shook her white bottom gingerly as she
excitedly sucked on my stick.

"I want to," I said, pulling myself free of Sarah's kiss to move
behind her.  Sarah tossed her blonde hair aside as she looked back to
watch my progress and then waggled her ass to tease my approach. 
Looking down at the curve of her back, the swells of her bottom,
feeling the moist touch of her pussy as my stick pushed her lips
aside, I felt like heaven.  I sank my stab deep into her cunt.

"Fuck, yes," said Sarah, biting her lip and pushing back against my
hip's blow.  "I knew you were a hot fuck."

I squeezed Sarah's ass, fucking her hard, thinking that this was a
beautiful girl, wondering why I hadn't done this before.  Sarah moaned
and swore as I drove myself inside her, destroying the pesky little
sister image that had made us good friends and replacing it with a
saucy wench picture that made me want to scream.

I backed off, pulled out and sat back.  It was all so crazy, fucking
Sarah this way.  She didn't waste a moment, but climbed onto me,
pushing me back so she could ride my rigid stick.  Her eyes shone with
the ferocity of a hungry cat as Sarah dropped her cunt down along my
cock.  I groaned and Sarah started to thrust.

"You've always wanted me," she said, her titties bouncing with each
stroke of her hips.  "I know you've wanted to fuck me."

"I have," I said.  "I have."

"Fuck my pussy," she said.

"I am," I said, "Fucking you bad."

"You want me to fuck you?" she said.

"Fuck me, Sarah."

"I'll fuck you crazy," she said, shaking her mane loose.

The desire began to run through my body and I couldn't have stopped
the explosion if I had tried, titties bouncing, vulgarity tripping
past Sarah's sweet smile, pussy riding tight, ass pounding.  I poured
my lust inside her cunt, throbbed and shook, tensed and fell apart.

"I love you," she said.  "I always will."

We lay nestled in each other's arms for a long time, whispering 
endearments.  

~~~

I didn't remember anything else, except that I woke up in my own bed,
dressed in my jeans and shirt and still reeking of our mingled sex.

After a bowl of cornflakes and three cups of coffee, I sat down to
think, contemplating at length the whole affair.  As much fun as I had
with Sarah, the prospect of losing her friendship worried me.  On the
other side, I wasn't thrilled with the idea of Sarah thinking we were
hitched up just because of our drunken ball.  She'd been holding
herself back for a long time, torturing herself, she said.  I felt
certain we couldn't be friends, and I wasn't ready to get serious with
her. 

Melanie had left me the day before.  My whole life seemed confused.

I decided to call Sarah.  I wanted to straighten things out, or at
least find out where I stood.  She answered the phone on the third
ring.

"Sarah," I said.

"You still alive, too?" she asked.

"Barely," I said.

"I should be pissed with you," she said, her voice laughing behind the
stern words.

"I'm sorry, Sarah."  

"How could you let me get that drunk?" she asked.

"You?" I answered.  "I was potted."

"How did I get home?" she asked.

"I think you drove."

"No way.  I'm really pissed then.  How could you let me drive?"

"You were supposed to be taking care of me, Sis," I said.

"Oh," said Sarah.  "I guess you're right."

"Anyway, about last night."

"You feeling better?"

"I feel great, considering."

"Well, that's something."

"I just . . ."

"Can I call you back?" Sarah said.  "I need to pull on a sweatshirt
and pour a cup of coffee.  It's freezing in here.  Hey, do you think
we came back here and drank coffee last night?  The pot was burned
black when I woke up this morning."

"I don't know," I said.  "Call me back."

I hung up feeling even more confused than when I started the 
conversation.  Was it possible that Sarah didn't remember our wild
episode?  Surely, after the fucking I had given her, there was some
evidence of our play to pique her curiosity.  Was she pretending to
protect me from what had happened?  Did she just want us to just go on
being friends?  I considered every word she'd said, searching for
clues, and I wondered.

Part of me felt a great relief at the idea that we could pretend it
never happened and go on as before.  Surely Sarah wasn't my type.  One
thing felt certain, I needed a friend more than I needed a lover.

But it stung my pride, imagining that maybe Sarah didn't know what
pleasure I had given her, that the fuck she had wanted for so long
had been lost in a drunken fog.  Or that Sarah thought she'd taken
advantage of me and felt ashamed.  Or that she regretted our romp and
was running from the memory.  Or that she really didn't care about 
me.

Finally too impatient to wait, I called Sarah.

"Hey," she said.  "What's up?"

"Can I take you out tonight?"

"Sure.  Anything in mind?"

"I'll make the arrangements," I said.  "Something nice.  Dress up, you
know, something sexy."

"Well," said Sarah, "this is an unexpected surprise."

"Eight?"

"Sure," Sarah said with a giggle.  I stared hard at the phone.

I knocked on Sarah's door at a few minutes after the hour.  She 
looked ravishing in a tight black dress that makes me ache to 
remember.  I handed her a bouquet of yellow roses I had picked up on 
the way over, an impulsive afterthought to mark our fresh start.

"Pretty flower," Sarah said with a sly smile.  "Lovely luscious
flowers."

~~~
Flowers
by Lord Malinov

<malinov@mindless.com>
-- 
<http://www.gslink.com/~dcain/xanadu/erotica/>

Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude


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