Message-ID: <15975eli$9810042005@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/15975.txt> From: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk (Spoonbender) Subject: ASS *** NEW Spoonbender Story - Corn Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: Theodore@Spoonbender.demon.co.uk MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii 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: <361e1cb9.335305660@news.demon.co.uk> Corn (I ain't got a clue how to classify this!) ************************************************ (c) 1998 Spoonbender. A vignette of an adult nature. Not to be read by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read. Contains allusions to naughty, erotic goings on. Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If it is to be archived on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. Note that the characterisations are mine. I do not like people stealing them for inclusion in their own efforts. Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style. My email is theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk ************************************************* Ma Bertha hefted her pendulous breasts like bowling balls as she shifted her considerable bulk behind the cash register. She scratched her expansive backside and sighed heavily. It was lunchtime in her restaurant, in the heart of the city's financial district, and as usual it was packed out. It was a typical day. With the queue of willing diners forming an orderly line all the way down the block as they shuffled impatiently, waiting to be admitted. Once inside they would perch uncomfortably on the padded bars that served as seats, with their elbows resting on the chipped formica table tops. Luxurious it wasn't. It just had fancy prices. It wasn't your typical yuppy grazing place either. For a start it didn't have a menu as it only served one thing. The only choices were small, medium and large. Large being the most expensive of course. After all it took a lot more work to create a large one than a small one. The clientele were hardly the usual culprits that could be found boozing their way through an elastic lunch-hour. There were businessmen of course, in sharp suits, mobile phones glued to their ears. Except when they were eating of course. One didn't want to spoil a gastronomic delectation with a distracting call from an important client. These men usually came alone. This wasn't a cosy place in which deals were carved and contracts formalised. One came here to eat. Just eat. Alone. They didn't flirt with the women in the crowd either. Red blooded men didn't associate with the type of girl who frequented Ma Bertha's. These were not your mini-skirted typists or power dressed executives. These were a more earthy type of woman. The types who had close cropped hair, dungarees replete with gay power badges and big boots. Which were, in may cases, prettier than their wearers. And they came. And they queued. And they ignored the lack of ambience. But they loved the food. The corn. Ma Bertha's corncobs were famous throughout the city. None knew how she did it, nor her secret recipe. But the taste was both serene and highly charged, all in one mouthful. All that she'd let out was the fact that they were marinated for a whole day before serving. She had been offered a King's ransom to try to secure the secret of her marinade. She had venture capitalists and sharp eyed corporate fat cats drooling over her. They offered to franchise her, take her international. She'd be bigger than McDonalds, richer than Coca Cola. But she wouldn't budge from either her beloved cash register or her principal of not having a business bigger than she could see all in one go. Which wasn't, as she was the first to admit, entirely true. There was a small corner of her business that couldn't be seen from her current vantage point. Maybe she should have stolen a look back there from time to time. If she had she would have seen the schoolgirls creeping into the rear of her restaurant, shortly to emerge with a fistful of small denomination banknotes clutched in their hands. And a curious waddle. A hard to describe swing of the hips that suggested that there was something buried inside her that wouldn't normally be there. Especially inside a girl who had never known a man, in the biblical sense. Lots of girls passed this way during the day. Every day. Some of them left with the uncomfortable look on their faces that denoted the fact they were working on a larger than normal portion. Which is, of course, why they are more expensive. ************************************************************************* What can I say? Weird huh? Email with comments. -- +----------------' 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>