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From: malinov@mindless.com (Malinov)
Subject: ASS The Last Call by Lord Malinov
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The Last Call
by Lord Malinov

His sister's words echoed like the cathedral bells on a holy day,
drowning out all semblence of reason with the tolling of a life's
passing.  Peter bit his fingernails, spitting out each torn shred as
his fibrous claws tore under his ferocious despair.

"Eric," Felicia had said, enunciating the syllables with an over
pleased distinction.  Peter knew she was relishing her role as gossip
fatale.  Felicia had always despised Theresa, disliking her at once on
the day her younger brother first brought the girl home for dinner.
Even after becoming her sister-in-law, Felicia couldn't help but jab,
stab and needle at every opportunity any weakness she could pinpoint
in Peter's pretty wife.

The news, "Eric," marked Felicia's final, grand achievement.  Peter
felt defeated at his sister's wounding.  She was right and had always
been right, and he knew it.  "Eric."  Peter approached the house.  Her
car, Theresa's pale blue Ford, waited guiltily in the drive.  

He sat for a moment before deciding to step out of his own automobile,
uncertain.  Although Felicia took unqualified pleasure in watching the
news of his wife's infidelity cut through the sinews of his love, her
cruel stroke had also drained Peter of the rage he thought, perhaps,
should be leading him forward at this point.  Instead he found as he
approached the front door of the shabby little brick Victorian, that
he couldn't bring himself to care.  Sadness gripped him, but nothing
more.  He tried to imagine ringing the bell and the scene that might
ensue.  Peter walked around through the gate to the back of the house.

A tall hedge of azaleas ringed the patio, and Pete pushed his way into
a narrow gap in the thick green leaves.  A clutter of aging aluminum
chairs had been scattered over the concrete slab.  Peter moved closer,
cautiously, moving with purpose toward the back door.  He peeked
inside.  Theresa kissed the man he assumed must be Eric.

Peter felt a burst of jealous rage, but the fire of his anger was
doused almost at once by the sheer beauty he encountered.  Theresa
lifted her sweater over her hair, tousling her golden mane.  She shook
her head and the unkempt strands fell seductively past her cheeks,
framing a coy smile.  The straps of her beige satin bra adorned her
pale shoulders; the swells of her breasts strained against the
slightly frayed cloth.

The vision reminded Peter of a moment they once shared, the impact her
simple beauty had on him, when first he watched this girl undress.  As
Eric kneaded her smoothly encased tits, Peter saw Theresa through her
lover's eyes, and knew she was lovelier than he remembered.  Peter
cowered by the half open door, peeking audaciously into the dark room,
watching as his wife offered herself to the stranger's hands.

He watched her stand and pull down her slacks.  She wore flowered
panties he had seen a hundred times before, yet watching her shy,
almost timid motions, Peter discovered a beauty to Theresa he had long
since ignored.  He longed to kiss the supple fullness of her belly,
the creamy white of her thighs, the downy golden softness of her neck
as she lifted her hair, the valley between her hilled bosom.  The
panties descended awkwardly, and Peter held his breath.

He knew that heaven found design in Theresa's sweet pussy and round
bottom, a delectable epitome of feminine grace.  As Eric smiled to
discover the swell of lips nestled in the gleaming floss of her muff,
Peter watched, remembering an afternoon in the park when his wife, a
few years younger, had shocked him by revealing her naked puss in the
brilliant sunlight of a warm, spring day.  Peter found his arousal
mounting as he watched Theresa kneel and begin to kiss the dark man,
remembering the way she had wiggled her bare bottom to the breeze and
dared him to take her then and there.  Peter had always regretted he
had let the chance slip, and wondered now if he would ever know that
daring shard of bliss.

The stranger's prick stood tall and hard and Theresa caressed it
knowingly, hungrily, wildly, taking the strength of his rock in her
sweet, pretty mouth.  Peter felt the twang of envy, so different from
the jealousy he thought he should be feeling, centering in his desire
to feel Theresa's loving touch, already abandoning the feeling he
should command it.  Peter burned with the flush of wanting, and the
ache of having let her go.

The cock stood poised at the verge of Theresa's succulent lips, and
Peter watched, eyes gleaming, to see the plunge that would steal her
away forever.  She moaned deeply, a dark sound of ecstastic pleasure
he yearned to hear close, but as soon found changed.  Theresa's kisses
ceased and she raised her haunches high, offering Peter a final
glimpse of the moist cleft nestled between her full bottom cheeks.
Then Peter knew the moans had fallen, descending into sobs.  He wanted
at once to burst in and hold her, and knew at once his chance was
gone.

"I'm sorry," she cried, turning onto the floor.  Eric looked at her,
surprised and calm.

"It's all right," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"I shouldn't be here," she whimpered.  "This isn't what I want.  I
mean, you're fabulous, and I would want you if things were different,
but they aren't.  All I keep thinking about is the love I used to
share with Peter, and that isn't fair to you.  I don't want to fuck
you because I wish I still had him."

"I thought you were still . . . "  Eric's lack of interest in the
complexities of the woman's situation were making him frown.

"I am," Theresa said, her sobs turning to full fledged tears.  Peter
felt his heart tear, knowing he should embrace her, knowing he
couldn't.  Not yet, anyway.  "He's just been so distant, and his
family won't get off my back.  They're cruel, and Peter won't do
anything to stop them from hating me."

"Isn't Felicia his sister?" Eric asked, glad to have found a point of
conversation to make him care about the woman's distress.

"She a bitch," said Theresa with spite.

"Felicia's not that bad," said Eric.  "She introduced us, didn't she?"
Theresa's eyes opened wide.  She started to speak, paused and then
burst into tears.  Peter backed away from the door, cautiously.  Once
through the hedge, he ran back to his car and sped away.

Peter watched out the front window of his house.  The phone rang and
he ignored the ringing.  About ten minutes later, the pale blue Ford
pulled into the drive.  A red-eyed and diminished Theresa opened the
door and stepped shyly inside.  Peter took his wife in his arms
fiercely, strongly and kissed her sad lips passionately.  Theresa
began to cry softly, and Peter kissed away her tears.

"Oh, God, Peter."

"Hush," he cooed, kissing her downy neck.  His hands ran possessively
over her body, taking stock of the gentle curves of flesh.  "I adore
you."  He held her tightly, wantingly, desperately.

"I love you, too, Peter."  The phone rang.  Peter assured his wife
with a touch and stepped over to pick up the receiver.

"Well, Peter?" said Felicia with a gloat.

"Don't ever speak to me again, Felicia.  You can go to hell.  We've
had enough of your cruelty.  As long as you don't show some respect
for Theresa, for my wife and marriage, you are no sister of mine."
Felicia began to protest, but Peter interrupted with a stern
"Goodbye."  He smacked the receiver down emphatically.

Theresa dashed over to kiss her husband.  "I'm sorry," he murmured and
the young couple fell again, forever into each other.

~~~

Malinov

Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude

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