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From: Celeste801 <Celeste801@aol.com>
Subject: {ASS} Story: The Review by Celeste
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Disclaimer: People who shouldn't read this story shouldn't read it.

I originally posted this story as a review of "The Call of Desire" by DG
(dionysian1@hotmail.com).  I thank DG for the inspiration.  It was a good
story and received straight 10 ratings.

When I reread the review, I discovered to my horror that an important line
referring to possible indecest and bestiality had been inadvertently omitted;
and so I am reposting the story here.

I hope you like it.

The Review
by Celeste

As I loaded the word-processing file to write this review, I became aware that
my husband was gazing at me from the doorway.  At least I thought it was me he
was gazing at.  Sometimes it's hard to tell.  We share the same computer, and
he has two Sports Illustrated calendars hanging on the wall right above the
computer.  He refuses to throw away the 1995 calendar.  He says it might
become valuable some day.  And so this babe with a leopard-skin bathing suit
and sand on her breasts is probably going to stare down at me into eternity. I
have a religious calendar of my own - complete with Catholic fish symbols -
right between his calendars.  Anyway, sometimes it's hard to tell what he's
staring at.  However, on this occasion, judging from the bulge in his shorts,
I quickly ruled out the religious calendar.

"Are you happy to see me, or is that a banana in your shorts?" I asked.  Ever
since I started reading and reviewing stories for this newsgroup, my clever
repartee has improved.

"Can you do this?" he asked.  He was wiggling his nose and moving his mouth in
grotesque circles.

"Sure I can," I replied, imitating his facial contortions.

"Good!" he said. "Why dontcha stop what you're doing, and we'll go to bed and
fuck like bunnies?"

I smiled.  It WAS a good imitation of those cute little rabbits that eat the
lettuce in my garden each spring and summer. 

"Let me finish this review first."

"What's it about?"

"A guy who writes stories has been discussing his stories with his wife, and
she's fucks him during the story.  It's pretty hot stuff!"

"I'll bet!" he said, as he walked over and stood behind me at the computer.

"He's always been a good author," I continued; "but his stories are getting
better and better.  I'd like to think I had something to do with that
improvement."

"You don't need to wear this shirt in order to write a good review, do you?"
I had been wearing nothing but my panties and a South Park Elementary tee-
shirt proclaiming that someone had killed Kenny; and so when he pulled the
shirt over my head, I was topless.  My panties were already moist from the
story I had just read; and when he began to fondle my nipples and kiss my
neck, I guess you could say I was primed and ready for action.

But I was a bit miffed at the fact that he had been ignoring the intelligent
conversation I had been trying to have with him.  Fair is fair, I told myself.
If he can ignore me, I can ignore him.

"I mean, this guy would probably write good stories without me, but I suspect
that my reviews help motivate him."  I was impressed at the fact that I could
make this reasonably intelligent statement while my hormones were already
registering about 5.7 on the Richter scale.  "At the very least I have helped
get him an audience, and that's gotta be a factor in his development as a
writer."  I nodded with pride.  Not at my influence on this author - which was
probably negligible - but at the fact that I had managed to utter a sentence
that was almost as insipid as a Rye Crisp.  A nun in high school had once told
us that if we ever found ourselves getting sexually aroused, we should think
of something insipid or really bland to cool ourselves off.  Rye Crisps used
to work for me.  So did her lectures.

My husband continued his ministrations, but he glanced at the screen.
"Straight 10s!" he said.  "What's so good about this story?"

"Well, first the husband and wife have a great relationship."

"So do we."

"And the first half of the story describes a really sexy, intimate fuck
between the two of them."

"Better than ours?"

"No, but a lot like some of ours."  The bastard was clever.  He had stopped
ignoring my conversation, but now I was more turned on and more distracted
than ever.  My Rye Crisp was becoming a chocolate sundae.  Pretty soon I would
be imagining Sister Mary Sex Education in the nude.

"Then the man quotes to his wife from his fan mail.  A woman who runs a
phonesex operation had written to him.  She said she liked his stories and she
offered to return the favor by giving him a free phone call.  That's why the
story is called 'Call of Desire.'  The woman's name is Desire - or maybe Day-
zee-ree, but Usenet can't transmit the French accents."  If this digression
about computers and linguistics didn't cool his fervor, I was going to be in
real trouble soon.

Fortunately, the phone rang at just that moment.  With any luck it would be
for him, and I could finish the review and then join him for a romp in the
sack. 

"It's for you," he said, grinning roguishly as he handed me the phone.

The caller was a really boring old biddy from the PTA.  The kids in our high
school band had been invited to perform at Epcot Center during spring break;
and she was trying to get us to cancel the trip, because the Disney people
have been letting gays and lesbians have a Gay Pride Day or some such thing at
the park.

Now you may think that this phone call would interrupt my husband's attempted
seduction, but that's not the case.  He loves it when this woman calls,
because he considers it to be a personal challenge to make me have as many
orgasms as possible while I'm on the phone line with this prissy bitch.

I knew when I was defeated, and so I faced the inevitable.  I turned away from
the computer, leaned back in my chair, spread my legs, and let him remove my
panties.  He immediately slid around in front of me and knelt on the floor
between my legs.  While he kissed my thighs, he slid two fingers into my
pussy.  My husband is a very generous winner.

Now, you may think it's hard - er, difficult - to be brought to a roaring
orgasm while carrying on a telephone conversation; but with Rose it's no
problem at all.  She talks constantly.  She never listens.  So all I had to do
was say "uh-huh" several times in the next five minutes.  She had no idea that
I was bucking up and down with my free hand wrapped around my husband's head,
desperately pulling his face into my muff, while his tongue played my clitoris
with the expertise shown by a Cajun fiddler manipulating his instrument.  

When I finally collapsed in exhaustion, my husband was short of breath, and he
withdrew his head for a moment.  I think he had some pussy hairs in his mouth
as well.  I took the opportunity to speak a few complete sentences into the
mouthpiece.

"Rose," I said; "Disney isn't sponsoring the Gay Pride Day.  They are simply
letting gays and lesbians do their own thing.  Nobody is going to be
copulating on the midway. I'm sure the gays and lesbians are every bit as
discreet as heterosexuals."

By this time my husband was back in action again.  He began to kiss and caress
me again, and by now I was really getting into the swing of things.  If I
didn't have to talk to the MotorMouth on the phone, then surely I could put my
mouth to a better use.  I startled him by engulfing his cock completely in my
mouth.  I moved up and down on it gently, each time withdrawing completely on
the up-thrust and muttering "uh-huh" into the telephone.  I wasn't really
certain what I was agreeing with, but I was pretty sure it wasn't anything
important.

After a while, I realized that maybe Rose could go on forever, but my husband
could not.  I was also getting pretty pissed at the self-righteous bitch who
was interrupting my review writing with her petty nonsense.  Well, maybe not.
But anyway, I decided it would be fun to do something really outrageous -
something that would blow Rose away if she knew it was happening.

Gently, I removed my mouth from my husband's cock, kissed the pee-hole gently,
and shoved his face away.  Before he could register an objection, I rose from
the chair, turned around, knelt down, leaned into the chair, and spread my
asscheeks. 

My husband grinned with delight.  I know this even though I couldn't see his
face - because I don't have eyes in the back of my ass.  We don't do anal sex
very often, but he and I have both grown to like it.  My first anal experience
came during the Tonight Show, when I found myself awakening with my ass
pulsating in a manner strangely similar to a pussy having an orgasm.  As I
gained consciousness, I realized that I had fallen asleep while my husband had
been lying with his head on my asscheeks, caressing me from behind.  I found
out later that he had switched to my asshole after I started snoring, and
since my ass had begun to pulsate, he assumed I liked it and had been doing it
for fifteen minutes or so.  It sounded dirty and felt dirty, but only in the
best sense.  And so we discovered something new.  On that first occasion I
simply played with his cock while he continued to diddle my asshole; we both
came gently, and we fell asleep very comfortably.

Back in the present, he replaced my fingers with his, caressed my buttocks,
and began to kiss around the edges of my rosebud.  With my freed hand I
reached into the drawer next to my desk and found a can of WD-40.  Casting it
aside, I found the tube of KY lubricant and passed it back to him.  I keep KY
in several places around the house.  You can never tell when you'll need a
lubricant to help insert a large object into a small aperture.  I also keep
WD-40 and duct tape in the same places, because they are almost equally
useful, but for slightly different purposes.  Ooops - I forgot - I'm no longer
trying to restrain my passions.

Anyway, while my husband unscrewed the cap and prepared to prepare my anal
cavity for heavenly rapture, I found time to express a coherent thought to
Rose.  "You know, Rose," I said, with rising irritation in my voice, "I don't
think Minnie and Mickey were ever married.  And what about those three
'nephews' who lived with Donald Duck?'"

My husband didn't miss a beat.  I had barely completed my sentence when I felt
first one finger, then two, and then three fingers gently slide into my
freshly lubricated backdoor.  I knew that he was just priming me for the Real
Thing.  Almost on cue, as I returned to my "uh-huhs," I began to experience
the wonderful fullness of his penis filling my ass.  I know lots of women
don't like anal sex and lots of stories present it as a form of humiliation,
but I consider it to be a rare delicacy.  I also knew that Rose would be
horrified to know that the woman she was talking to was really a slut who
enjoyed having her ass reamed out by a sexy stud.

My ass muscles are even easier to control than my cunt muscles.  I knew my
husband had been almost ready to shoot his wad near the end of the blowjob,
and his thrusts and undulations suggested that he was at least equally ready
now.  A joint orgasm during anal sex can be scary, but we have learned to
coordinate our efforts wonderfully.  My ass muscles gave him one last kiss,
and immediately I felt warm cum shooting into my asshole.  Simultaneously, my
entire body began to shudder in an enormous orgasm.  The earth moved.  Our
bodies continued to share this ecstasy for what seemed like an eternity - a
very nice eternity.  I'm getting wet just proofreading this.

As his cock eased out of my ass, I regained my composure and spoke calmly into
the phone.  "Rose," I said, "your problem is that you don't have a life.  You
oughta go out and get laid by a real stud.  Why don't you try taking it up the
ass like I just did?" I paused, then added, "I wish you could see me now, with
cum oozing out of my asshole, and my husband's cock continuing to throb as he
removes it from my ass and continues to gaze at me with unbelievable lust."
Then I hung up the phone.

My husband looked at me in amazement. "Did you just say what I think you
said?"

"Yes," I replied.  "But she hung up back when I made the crack about Huey,
Dewey, and Louie."

While my husband went to get some towels to wipe off the wet and sticky stuff
from our bodies, I turned back to my computer.  I had a feeling that we
weren't quite finished for the night.  When he returned and handed my a towel,
I already had my tee-shirt snugly stuffed between my legs, preventing stains
via leakage onto the chair.

"So this guy wrote a story about writing a story, and it turned out to be
really sexy," he commented, as he kissed me several more times.  "Too bad you
can't write a review about writing a review and have the review turn out to be
really sexy."


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