Message-ID: <15675eli$9809280850@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15675.txt>
From: "Sasha Stephens" <november919@hotmail.com>
Subject: ST: Wet, m/f, true,  a luscious little true story with a twist
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Content-Type: text/plain
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: <19980928023209.10352.qmail@hotmail.com>

The rest of November's stories are available at
November's Erotica, a free site:
www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193
_______________________

Wet (1/1) 

by November Tuesday
"Truth is the revenge of the righteous..." --mnt



You don't deserve me. 

There's a spark there, under the blue haze of your eye, and it is 
clouded and
numbed. It makes you beautiful when you stare off into the sky, endless 
reflections
catching it, firm brows, pink mouth tight and masculine and screaming 
when you
cum deep inside of me. When you came. You come, then you are gone, back
somewhere under the clouds. 

I don't have the tolerance for this, and with age and with having 
suffered at the
hands of careless lovers, I don't have the energy for this shit. 

This last time was nice. You came to my window and leaned down. I stayed 
quiet
and let you speak. You want me to come over. You want to come. I know it
though you don't say it. But its no longer exciting, that knowing. I 
want to hear it. 

So I come over, and deadpan in your usual maddening style you tell me to 
get
naked. Finally. I pull my tee shirt over my bare body and your hands 
instantly find
my breasts. your hands are warm and like magnets they are on me, 
tweaking,
circling, pinching, making me shiver. I moan and my head falls to the 
side. My
hair falls into the hollow of my neck, warm on my skin. In so many 
words, you
tell me to leave my panties on. 

I fall down on the mattress and you follow, and your touch is warm like 
sun on
my skin. I shiver visibly from my nipples through to my spine as your 
hand runs
over the curve of my breast. I am wettening and swollen under my panties 
and as
you continue to stroke the hollow of my waist I writhe briefly in 
another shudder,
pressing my legs tight together. "Damn, girl!" you say, and I am 
thinking of how a
perfect man, or at least a better one, would have more satisfaction in 
my reaction.
Savor it as his own, and get hard from it. 

But then you are kissing me, lips warm and sensual on my own, and my 
fingers
are pulling your hair loose so that it falls over your freckled shoulder 
and down to
tickle my skin. 

You have promised to jerk off for me, and as I watch with a heavy gaze 
your hand
drifts absently to the hardness underneath your underwear. Your thumb 
caresses
it, and the motion is so fluid and sensual and beautiful that when you 
realize that
I am watching, you pull away. I smile, wordless, and put your hand back. 
You lift
your hips to remove the underwear and then you are lying spread, hand 
lazily
grazing your cock, lightly down around your balls, and I moan in 
appreciation,
encouragement, and the wetness seeping even more from inside me at the 
sight of
it. 

I watch, smiling, as you forget me, and you begin to graze your fist 
over its
insistent pink length, and your body finds its own familiar motion. Your 
head
thrown back to the side with knitted brows and open lips quickens my 
breathing
and I myself want to stroke, gently, the furrow under my panties. 

You, panting, beg me to suck it. Your penis has a gravity all its own, a 
warmth, and
as I hover down over it, moving between your legs, letting you feel my 
breath on
your thighs and testicles and hard, prone, ready cock. I dust my tongue 
over the
skin where the head begins abd pulls tight the shaft, in a lazy wet 
circle. Gliding
wetly, over and over, I suck you, holding tight around the base of it as 
it throbs
hard more and more, and I pull it into my mouth where its top fits 
perfectly
against the roof of my mouth. My fingers on your balls, tickling, 
swirling through
the hair. You are moaning and your head falls back and forth. I suck 
until my jaw
begins to stiffen and ache, and then I swing one leg over you and hover 
above
your straining cock as your blue eyes open in wonder like a baby's. 

Then, I am sliding, tight, so wet, down over you. Your hands on my waist 
push
down. I smile and narrow my eyes and pull up. You look at me with 
exasperation.
Hovering just around the tip, a circle of maddening wetness. I can feel 
the warmth
of your legs on the inside of my own, the texture of the hair that 
startled me more
than anything when I lost my virginity - that feeling, more than the 
pain, of a
man's leg hair on the bottoms of my feet. With my legs I hold your hips 
down,
and slowly circle my hips, the wet lips of my cunt mouthing your cock. 
Then, I fall
and down and deep to the hilt my breath huffs out of me sharply - you 
are fucking
me. I am fucking your cock hard, up and down, and your hands rise to 
guide me
and push me like your toy up and down on your throbbing cock. I smile 
like a cat
and clench deep inside, and you are tossing your head back and forth, 
moaning,
eyes half-lidded and rolling back, and then with my legs I pull 
completely off of
you , leaving cool air on our skin where it had been- it is time. 

I roll over onto my back and pull you, and wordless you follow, pressing 
down
and rooting between my legs, and I spread, and pull you to me with my 
ankles,
and moan and moan and cry out with how incredibly full I feel as your 
cock is
stuffed inside. You go in and out slowly, hard, so hard that my head is 
moving
back and forth on the pillow, so hard that you are fucking my entire 
body up and
down with the motion of your hips. You are throwing back your head and 
biting
your lip and making pained noises and your mouth opens and grimaces and 
I
clench you as hard as I can, so hard my own face contorts, and I know 
you feel it
and know it and then you are screaming, slamming in violently, and for 
long
seconds you move in, then out, and then slowly in again, relishing each 
inch
which clutches your spasming shooting cock. 

Moments of breathing, just breathing, as if you were starved for air and 
I run my
fingers through the filmy sweat down your back, through your silken 
hair, down
over your quivering body. 

Then you get up, and with concern you pull yourself out of me so that 
there isn't a
wet spot on the sheets, and then you stand up. You pull two tissues from 
the table
and with one wipe down your dick, and before you can reach out with the 
other I
say "don't even hand that to me." 

But so that I don't drip everywhere, although that is what my aching, 
swollen cunt
wants to do, I get up in one smooth movement and walk to the bathroom 
with my
legs pressed tigh together, anger rising in me. I wipe it out, then 
return to the bed.
You, however, have sat down in the chair and with the same worried
concentration you are watching TV. 

No, come here. No, make me cum. I need it so much right now. Hey - it's 
not
over, where are you going? 

I lie down and spread and open the lips of my cunt. Switch on the 
vibrator and so
gently hold it close. So delicate I can only feel the air fluttering 
around it. I press it
closer. My eyes close. Around, slowly. Fingers dipping into our mingling 
wetness. I
open my eyes and look at you. You are watching TV. 

Blue eyes staring, reflecting blue water, fishes undersea, swimming on 
the TV
screen. I am wet wanting so much to cum. You are sitting away from the 
bed now,
watching the TV, eyelids heavy. Are you going to sit there and watch TV? 
I switch
off the vibrator and stretch my fingers. I should leave. Same damn 
diving footage
we were watching a half hour ago, looped, only then you were inside me 
to the
hilt. A new, strong, young voice inside of me says "Go. Go home. Go home 
and
light some candles and play the same CD and get yourself off. He doesn't 
deserve
even to be in your presence." 

But I don't want a scene. And I don't want to leave. And I want to cum. 
Now. 

And if I continue, and lose him in my cries as I come hard, and then 
leave, well
then, what power could that hold? 

I can't concentrate, with the worry of my thighs and humiliation of 
being ignored
and spread open. I'm spreading in defiance, I remind myself, and I push 
the
button. The hum returns. You do not even look up. I close my eyes tight, 
focus on
the images until I am alone, and they surround me, and you aren't there 
except for
being a presence I am defying. I try to picture the way you looked, 
three minutes
ago as you stroked your cock with your head thrown back, the image that 
made me
so wet, and that image is fading somehow. it is just as well. I will 
give my orgasm
life in spite of you and then leave you alone. 

I am lying spread wide and I don't permit myself to move. I spread 
myself far
though my hands are tired from exertion, and I let the vibrator graze 
the pink
folds of my clit. Tease. Because in the long run, having an orgasm is 
not work, but
falling off a log. Ideally, a woman should not have to work to forget 
about her
inhibitions. A woman should be nothing but rapt in the halo of her own 
orgasm. 

My brows knit, harder, force me to focus on the warmth tingling there 
and of the
wetness flowing to join wetness like a delta between my legs. My clit is 
swollen
into a little nub under the skin. With the edge of the vibrator I graze 
it, flutter back
and forth. A sensation in my vagina, which normally is no sensation at 
all, grows
and I realize that the muscles inside are clenching upon themselves. The 
feeling
draws a line up and through my clit, and then I know I am home free, I 
have
conquered, I moan and am peripherally aware that you are waking up, and 
my
cunt is spasming and bursting into such joy that I am moaning, breathing 
and
moaning, crying louder and louder. I turn my head toward the window, and 
when
I click the vibrator off I stare dazed at the ceiling. A few seconds 
later, wobbly legs, I
get up. You are speechless in your chair. 

"Don't get up." My voice even, but sharp. Where are my jeans? Kitchen. I 
pick
them up, then back to where my panties lie in front of you. Pick those 
up, and on
with my shirt. "Sorry to interrupt your show." Sit down opposite you and 
put on
my shoes. You haven't moved from your chair or your underwear. You watch 
me
bustle around. I pack my things and say "good night." 

But you are looking at the spot on your sheet, darkened to a rich 
cranberry color in
an oval shape where I had laid. I point out that part of that is your 
cum but my
bitterness is not due to your rejection of all the things flowing from 
me but how,
in private, I cherish the wetness that swells, crests and lingers 
between my legs. 

You begin to rise, slow, to walk me out. "Don't bother getting up." I 
clutch my keys
and mutter something about just being friends, trying to keep anger out 
of my
voice. I need to be lying still, my legs feel like water, but I say 
goodbye and
negotiate the fire door. My legs are unsure and incompetent. There has 
been rain
in the alley and the scent is sharp and earthen. Down the alley for the 
last time like
this, braless and still wet between my legs. 

Back home, my stereo is still playing. I put on the record called 
Passion and play it
loud as I go back about my life, oblivious to the irony of it. I feel a 
bit sore around
the edges but its better to wait alone for passion and the sting of its 
lack than to be
with someone, comparing their faded colors to the vision you wait for in 
your
heart of hearts. Someday, I will appreciate the strength and brilliance 
of my
actions. Because through my worry about myself and my thighs and my 
worth, the
fact is as hard and real as silver in my hand that you do not deserve 
the sex I can
give you, not half of it or one tenth of it. 

Part of the reason I have so much to give is that I can have it alone, 
in and of
myself. When I take off my clothes and I am again naked in my own 
sheets, my
hands cup my breast and my thigh and they are soft and I am enough, and 
I sleep
in peace. 


_______________________
The rest of November's stories are available at
November's Erotica, a free site:
www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Underground/3193



-- 
+----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+
| <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> |
| Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>