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From: "Paris Waterman" <the_panda@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jasmine I   MF
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Date: Sat, 20 Nov 1999 16:10:01 -0500
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Jasmine I

On A Late Sunday Afternoon
(Fourth in the "Warren" Series)

By Paris Waterman
Copyright 1999


2:20 PM:
Jasmine poured bath oils into the tub, turned and looked at herself in the 
full-length mirror, and humming along with Previn and the Pittsburgh 
Symphony, slowly stripped off the shirt,let it fall away from her shoulders, 
turned again, this time sideways, and studied her breasts.

She acknowledged their firmness with a tight smile reaching under them and 
traced the curve with her fingertips. Her fingers slid out to the nipples 
and gently squeezed them. Jasmine's mouth opened in a quizzical 'O' as she 
watched them grow hard at her touch. Unbuttoning her jeans, Jasmine pulled 
them down over her hips, letting gravity take them to the floor. Her panties 
had pulled down too and she
gazed at her hair curling up over the top of them. Her mouth still shaped 
the 'O' as she ran her hand across her flat stomach, permitting her little 
finger to slip down under the elastic and enjoy the soft, silken tufts just 
above her mons.

With a deep sigh, Jasmine finally edged them down and stepped out of them. 
Pausing a second before running her hands along the inside of her thighs, 
while her thumbs rippled along the dark brown down of pubic hair.

The symphony approached a crescendo as she tested the water with her big 
toe, and then slipped into the oily warmth, letting it envelop her.  Jasmine 
chose to lie back with her eyes closed and languidly caressed her legs, 
thighs and breasts. Her thumb meandered around until it found her belly 
button,lingering at its edge while her remaining fingers drifted down 
between her legs. Slowly, Jasmine pinched thumb and forefinger together. 
Tweaking lightly, deliberately dawdling, while she thought about Warren. 
About his trim, hard body, handsome face and his adorable broken nose.

Jasmine almost dozed off in the warm scented water, but Warren kept 
intruding.

Intruding.

Intruding.

Wrapped up in a hazy lust, Jasmine's fingers moved deviously, curling here, 
poking there; moved faster, moved deeper,fasterandfaster . . .

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

Jasmine's climax reverberated off the foggy, steam-clad mirrors and  tiles 
while her cat scurried to its safe place in the bedroom.

********************************************************************

3:15 PM.
Jasmine opened the door on the first ring and stood there facing Warren, 
chin slightly raised, an arrogant, but impish expression on her face. Her 
thick, chestnut brown hair, not quite dry, hung damply about her ears. She 
wore no makeup. She didn't need it and knew it.

She wore a black floor-length kimono of purist silk, trimmed in brilliant 
yellow(actually tiny canaries)and split up both sides almost to the hip. 
There was nothing under it, nothing but Jasmine; Warren could tell by the 
way it stayed with her, molded to her breasts, her hips, clinging to her 
flat stomach. Jasmine's eyes sparkled mischievously and the sweet odor of 
marijuana swirled past Warren.

Jasmine smiled and said, "Well, I just lost a bet with myself."

"How come," Warren asked, returning the smile and presenting the dimple 
women found so enticing.

"I bet you wouldn't come."

"Hey," he said with another smile, "I can always go away."

She stepped back and swung the door wide and leaned against it. Cocking her 
head to one side, she said, "No. No, I don't think so."

Warren went past her into a well-furnished living room and looked around.

"Sumptuous," was all he said.

Jasmine closed the door and came very close to him, staring up at his face 
before saying, "Thank you."

She had set the table for two. Wedgwood china, delicate silverware and tall, 
fragile wine glasses waited patiently to serve them.

"If you'd like to wash, the bathroom's over there," she pointed to the far 
left.

"Thanks, I will." And he followed her finger's direction into the bathroom 
and carefully washed his hands. The room was still warm with the memory of 
her bath and smelled vaguely of bath oil. He absorbed these factors into his 
memory bank.

When he returned, Jasmine was pouring white wine into two glasses. Motioning 
him to sit, she handed him a glass and held hers up in a toasting fashion.

"To us," she said.

Warren smiled and said, "To Jasmine, to Warren and to pleasure."

"Pleasure?"

"Well, you know what I mean," he added lamely. He'd thought he was further 
along towards bedding her.

The mischievous look crossed her face again and Warren didn't miss it. Their 
glasses pinged as they touched. Jasmine leaned forward on her elbows, 
holding her wine glass between her fingertips and stared at him again.

"I have to ask you something personal," she said, very quietly, almost 
confidentially.

Warren wondered what she'd heard about him. Was it damaging? But kept his 
face expressionless and said, "Ask away. I'm not a politician and have 
nothing to hide."

She smiled, pleased at his response and asked, "How did you get that?" 
pointing toward his nose.

"What?"

Jasmine reached out and ran her middle finger very delicately down between 
his eyes, lingering for a moment where his nose flattened out between them. 
"That."

"Oh, that."

"Um hum," Jasmine grinned, adding, "If it's not romantic, please lie to me."

"Ahhh, when I was in the Navy, I was conned into entering a boxing 
tournament. The worst thing possible happened. I won my first two matches. 
Boy, was I full of myself. Then I stepped into ring against the Navy's 
middleweight champion. I must've lasted . . . oh, forty seconds or so. He 
did 'that' and a couple other things the surgeon managed to repair.

Jasmine found herself laughing hard at this revelation into his past and 
shook her head.

"Did you really? Did you really do that?"

"I really did that." He jumped to his feet and danced around the room, 
flicking left jabs at an imaginary opponent, then falling on his behind and 
looking dazed, while an imaginary referee counted him out.

Tears of mirth rolled down Jasmine's cheeks as she dabbed at them with her 
napkin.

"Even . . . even if it is a lie, don't ever change that story. It's 
absolutely delicious."

She sighed and her eyes glittered as she finished dabbing at them.

"I'm so glad we got that settled," she said.

"What?"

"The business about your nose."

"Does my nose bother you?" he asked seriously. His eyes darted from her face 
to her nipples, now prominent as they swelled against the fabric of the 
black silk kimono.

"No," she said, shaking her head slowly, continuing to stare at it with an 
intensity that made him a bit uncomfortable.

"No," she continued,"it gives you character."

"Thanks."

A bell or a chime sounded faintly from the kitchen.

"Oh!" Jasmine cried out as she rose from the table.

"What is it?"

"Our dinner is ready." Jasmine said softly. " Please excuse me. I'll only be 
a moment."

He watched her walk into the kitchen and thought if he had seen a finer body 
on a woman he couldn't recall her.  And he was impressed with her intellect. 
No movie magazine princess here, no sir, he thought. Sitting back in his 
chair, Warren conjured up erotic thoughts about the remainder of the evening 
even as he admired the expensive furnishings.

Then as promised, Jasmine was back with their dinner. Filet mignon, 
oven-baked potatoes and asparagus with hollandaise sauce.

"Jasmine, this is . . ." he paused. "This is not a little thing here. This 
is . . . like your place, sumptuous. The presentation is  . . . well; I feel 
I'm looking at a page from 'Gourmet' Magazine.

Jasmine felt a flush of guilty embarrassment creeping from her neck to her 
cheeks as she thanked him for his simple praise. Many other guests at her 
table had formulated more expressive, more flowery compliments, but she felt 
Warren's to be much more sincere. The guilt was a direct result of Jasmine's 
having ordered everything from a nearby restaurant and merely zapping it in 
the microwave.

They ate in earnest, after a while Warren put his knife and fork down and 
smiled at her.

"What is it?" she smiled back. "Do I have something on my teeth?"

"No he laughed. You're just so . . . beautiful. I can't help staring.
If it bothers you I . . . I'll keep my eyes averted." As if to demonstrate 
his sincerity, he looked at his hands.

"Warren?" Jasmine said quietly. "I've been a model. I'm used to people 
staring at me. I accept it and don't take offense. After all, you weren't 
raping me with those brown eyes of yours, were you?"

He smiled at her, appreciating her candor. "No," he said flatly. "Undressing 
you, maybe, but rape? Never. Well not at the moment anyway."

She laughed, it was a tinkling that he savored as much as the meal.

"Good," he said,"I'm glad that's over with. Now, I've got a joke for you."

"Oh, good! I love a good joke."

"Well I should preface this by telling you that I love humor and have made 
it a kind of hobby of mine."

"Really?" she exclaimed, her surprise reflected in a gay voice.

"Oh yeah." He folded his napkin and placed it on the table next to his 
plate. "For example I've collected all of W. C. Fields' movies. Even have 
some tapes from radio shows he appeared on. Anyway, one of my all time 
favorites was a guy named Myron Cohan."

Warren's eyes dropped to the plate in front of him as he searched for the 
precise words, he didn't want to mess this up. She took a small sip of wine, 
her eyes never leaving his.

"Cohan was a master story teller, like Bill Cosby is today," he said 
tentatively. "In fact I think Cosby polished the timing of his early acts 
watching or copying Cohan."

He became more buoyant as his confidence in the story to come surged through 
his body.

"I came across several tapes of his and I treasure them. He was a salesman 
in the garment district here in New York, and he was so entertaining to his 
clients that they forced him into show business. He was around fifty when he 
started professionally."

She was thoroughly enjoying his honest enthusiasm.

He was looking straight into her eyes now, "Anyway," he stopped to laugh at 
himself. "I'm not sure if this is one of his stories, maybe not. But it 
should be. It's kinda got his stamp on it, ya know?"

"Yes I know what you mean." She gave no indication of impatience with his 
long prologue. Instead, her hand slowly massaged the stem of her wine glass 
as she took him in with her smoky eyes. Her tongue flicked out trying to 
capture an imaginary speck of food on her lip.

Warren saw this and was momentarily distracted. He took a deep breath and 
continued.

"All right, here goes: Jesus is wandering around one of Jerusalem's markets 
when he decides he really needs a new robe. After looking around, he sees a 
stall with a pile of robes for sale. He enters and meets a gnarly little man 
named Finkelstein and asks politely if Finkelstein can make him a robe.

"Can I make for you a robe? Of course, of course, of course. I'll make for 
you the perfect robe."

Finkelstein prepares a new robe for him, which is a perfect fit.

When Jesus asks how much he owes, Finkelstein brushes him off.

“No, no, there's no charge. But, may I ask a small favor, a little tiny 
favor? Maybe whenever you give a sermon you could just mention a little 
something about how your nice robe was made by Finkelstein the Tailor?"

"Sure, sure," Jesus readily agrees and, as promised, plugs Finkelstein's 
robes every time he preaches.

Some months later, Jesus is walking through Jerusalem again and happens by 
Finkelstein's shop. There is a huge line of people waiting for Finkelstein's 
robes. He gently makes his way through the crowd to speak to Finkelstein.

"Jesus, Jesus, look what a marvel you've been for business!" gushes 
Finkelstein. "Would you consider a partnership?"

“Sure, sure," replies Jesus. "Jesus and Finkelstein it is."

“Uh . . . no . . . no," says Finkelstein. "It should be Finkelstein and 
Jesus. After all I am the craftsman.”

The two of them debate this and other topics for some time. They have quite 
a good theological discussion as well. Finally, they arrive at a compromise 
decision.

A week later, the new sign went up -- "Lord & Taylor."

Jasmine burst into an unpretentious peal of laughter that gave Warren a 
warm, contented feeling that lasted beyond the meal.

After dinner they sat on the couch enjoying brandies. There was occasional 
contact. No---they brushed against one another, as if by accident. Could it 
have been premeditated?

"Ever play football?" Jasmine asked to get a conversation going after a long 
silence.

"In High School. Wasn't big enough for college."

"Where did you go?"

"Rutgers."

"What was your Major?"

"Psychology.”

"Why?"

"I like analyzing people."

"So why aren't you a Psychologist?"

"Well, the Navy happened along . . . ."

"And after the Navy?"

"Other things happened."

"You spent all that time and energy on Psychology and went nowhere with it 
afterward?"

Warren squirmed uneasily before answering. "Yeah, well . . . it made my Aunt 
Mary happy. She . . . well, she ummm, paid my way. She wanted me to go to 
college. So I did."

You're a nice guy, Warren, Jasmine thought. "That was good of you," she 
said.

"Like err, my Aunt was good to me. She raised me when my Moth . . ." he 
ended his sentence abruptly. "It made her happy, so . . ."

"What happened with your Mother?" She asked this although she feared she 
might be crossing over a line.

"Good question," he said slowly, drawing out both words. "As far as I can 
tell, she aban . . . she err, left when I was two years old. We never heard 
from her again."

Her heart went out to him. And Jasmine realized instinctively it was this 
facet of his personality even more so than his honesty and compassion that 
probably caused him to go from woman to woman in what amounted to an endless 
search for the unattainable.

And another insightful concept burst upon her a moment later. This was why 
women found him to be almost irresistible. He was an Adonis to behold and 
inadvertently stirred the maternal soul in every woman he met.

"Do you have any idea if she's alive?" she asked, probing deeper into this 
mystery man.

"None." He hesitated and then continued.

"There was one instance, I was maybe twelve. I thought . . . well, I saw 
this woman watching me. She was obviously trying to be unobtrusive about it, 
but I'd played too much cops and robbers to be fooled. She was definitely 
following my movements. I tested her by turning into a side street and 
waiting to see if she followed me to make sure. She came to the street and 
stopped, looked in and must have figured out what I was doing. She turned 
and walked away. When I got the corner she was gone.

A month later, my Aunt received a letter postmarked Boise, Idaho. It was 
from her. She mentioned she'd seen me and castigated herself for her actions 
in leaving me, but said she'd never do it again and apologized to both my 
Aunt and me for her cowardice. There was nothing more."

He grimaced and clenched his fists. "Oh, yeah, I've looked for her. Hired 
investigators too. Nothing. She's gone."

Without asking, Jasmine stood up and poured both of them another glass of 
brandy. He emptied his glass immediately. And she quickly refilled it. 
Jasmine stood behind him fingers a fraction away from caressing his neck.

"Would you like to split a joint with me," she asked.

"That sounds like the perfect desert to me," he said and rubbed his stomach 
as though to assure her, the dinner had been totally satisfactory.

Crossing the room to a small chest on the mantle, she withdrew a large brown 
cigarette.

"Looks like Cheech and Chong have been by here from the size of that bomb," 
Warren kidded her.

"No," she laughed, "but you're right about the large size. It's a powerful 
toke or two. Here."  And, leaning over his shoulder she held a lighter out 
in front of him and flicked it. It worked the first time.

He drew in a deep breath, held it for ten seconds and exhaled. Then he 
passed it back to her.

"Ummmmm," they both said in unison. They both laughed softly. She handed it 
back to him and after he took it from her, Jasmine began to massage his 
temples. Her touch was so light he hardly felt it. She pressed her thumbs in 
the middle of his forehead, held the first three fingers of each hand inside 
the depression of his temples and rotated them in small circles. Her 
fingertips relaxed him. The food relaxed him. The brandy relaxed him and the 
marijuana relaxed him. He dozed off. Quietly, she removed the joint from his 
fingers, put it out and left the room.

Warren awoke to the melody of a solo saxophone playing a soft samba and 
discovered he had a massive erection. Jasmine lay in front of him on a bed 
of pillows, the slits in the kimono permitted her to tuck the material 
between her legs so that Warren first thought he was looking at her panties. 
His mouth grew dry as she began to tighten and relax her thighs to the beat 
of the music.

Her hands moved slowly, but confidently, across her chest, to her stiffened 
nipples, whereupon Jasmine squeezed them for both their benefit.

Jasmine stared at him with eyes already fogged with passion. Her mouth was 
open. Her breathing so slow it was almost tedious. She looked at the 
swelling between his legs and grew even more excited. Now, her right hand 
casually traversed the space across her navel searching for the slit in the 
kimono. Warren leaned forward and bent over her, eyes transfixed on hers. 
His right hand reached out and his fingers closed upon her nipple, rolling 
it back and forth under the silken material.

The thrill of his touch shot through Jasmine, like electricity---into her 
breasts, her stomach, her neck, her vagina, her rectum. She caressed her 
neck and slid her fingers under the opening there to feel the dimpled ridges 
of her nipple. Emitting a long sigh, she squeezed her nipple again. Warren 
did the same with the other, but outside her kimono. The voltage shot 
through her again.

Jasmine listened to the metallic sound of a zipper going down.

Her other hand disappeared under her kimono, slipped along her thigh, 
brushed over her pubic hair and continued its downward journey to the 
wetness below.

She began to rock up and down to the rhythm of the music, which coincided, 
with her breathing. Rising up to meet her questing fingers as they 
penetrated dampened folds of flesh. Probing, probing, eyes closed, head 
stretched back tautly---neck veins bulging as the blood rushed through her 
excited body Jasmine barely felt Warren's hand as it pulled the kimono 
aside---but she gasped---then rocked faster and still faster as his cool 
lips touched her labia for the first time.

After she came the first time, he took the opportunity to undress her. Only 
then did he remove his clothing. Jasmine looked up and was captivated by the 
enormous erection hovering above her. Forcing her eyes away she took in the 
rest of his body. She had a fleeting thought that she was paying homage at 
the foot of a Greek God. But Jasmine's attention was quickly diverted back 
to his cock as he idly manipulated it, mere inches above her head.

Before Jasmine could react further,(and she did so long to take him in her 
mouth)Warren knelt beside her and began to caress her body. She lay back, 
almost in a swoon, luxuriating in the thrilling sensations. His touch was 
feathery light and knowing. From the soles of her feet,to the hidden 
recesses behind her knees; to her freshly shaved armpits, he missed nothing. 
Every nerve ending was lit with firey passion. Warren kissed and caressed 
her, murmuring soft, undistinguishable words of love all the while. He 
sucked upon her breasts, and told her how gorgeous they were. He buried his 
face in her throat, sending her pulse soaring. On the verge of losing 
control, Jasmine cupped her mons; then moved on to tease her clit; managing 
to maintain her balance as though on a high wire in the circus---staying on 
the edge.

Warren shook his head and droplets of sweat flew across her body. His mouth 
returned to a distended nipple; teased it by licking and kissing; he 
pleasured her by chewing, biting and sucking; he made love to her better 
then anyone ever had before.

Jasmine rocked at a quicker pace now, fingers teasing her clitoris, and 
began to sob as she chanted.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . ."

Jasmine groaned loudly as her vaginal lips continued to swell as the surging 
blood raced through her sexual apparatus. Jasmine's fingers toyed with her 
trigger, felt it harden and grow under her touch.

Warren continued down her sweat sheened body at a snail's pace. Jasmine 
thought he'd never get THERE in time. Her wet muscles contracted around the 
three fingers she'd guided inside herself---holding them captive for long 
seconds and then releasing them to start another cycle of joyous torment.

She rocked even faster.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .yes . . . yes . 
. . yes!" The chant continued unabated.

Jasmine gasped for breath and sobbed.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" "Yesssssssss! Yeeessssss! Yeeessssss!"

"Wait for me Baby," Warren cajoled. "Wait for Warren sweet thighs."

But he held off, preferring to tantalize her further. His tongue entered her 
navel. His fingers pinched and twisted her nipples, then plied her breasts.

He paused and observed her actions, captivated by her fingers as both hands 
in feather light whispers grazed and brushed her outer folds--- until 
accompanied by another groan, they halted---only to hold her lips apart for 
her thumbs to enter and stroke the fires burning within.

Warren moved to Jasmine then, he was quick to locate her clit and lightly 
brush around it with his fingertips. This delightful torment galvanized her 
into a frenzied rocking motion. Warren inhaled and savored her redolent mist 
through flared nostrils. His mouth began to work its magic upon her and in 
turn, her hair wove frantic patterns across the pillows as her head jerked 
back and forth.

"Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes 
YESSSSSSSSS!"

Her body went rigid.

Head thrust deep into the recesses of the pillows; pelvis raised as high as 
could possibly go without separating from her vertebrae Jasmine underwent 
the delicious spasms of orgasm. Using her elbows to prop her up, Jasmine 
rose slowly, tantalizingly to her knees before him and with a tiny cry 
enveloped him in her mouth. As the first sensations of her tongue brushing 
against him reached his brain, he erupted, thinking only of how sweet the 
moist membranes of her mouth felt upon him.

Warren opened his eyes, found himself lying on the pillows and tried to 
figure out how much time had elapsed.

"Twenty minutes," Jasmine said, reading his mind.

She was standing over him, staring down between her breasts at him, 
massaging her nipples. Her kimono lay at her feet. He reached up and touched 
the soft skin behind her knee. Gently, ever so gently he stroked it, then 
pressed lightly.

With an ethereal moan coming from deepest recesses of her throat, Jasmine 
lowered herself down towards him, but didn't touch him. Until her thick, 
brown tuft teased his fully erect cock.

They kissed, tongues searched . . .

He kissed her neck, her throat, the bulge of her breasts, her nipples and 
felt her settle easily against him---then he was inside her, inside her 
silken tunnel.

Warren lifted Jasmine by the hips and held her suspended until neither could 
stand the separation any longer, then he brushed his hand across her 
dampened mound and she came.

"Ohhhh . . . yes! Oh my God yes!"

He plunged deeply inside her and she began to ride him up and down, side to 
side, fierce, staccato movements that quickly brought on her second orgasm.

Her hand rested on his stomach, partly for balance, partly because she loved 
the feel of his abdominal muscles rippling with his thrusting efforts. She 
gazed through lust filled eyes at the veins bulging in his neck, at the 
taut, strain upon his arms as he strove to lift her up with each stroke. She 
felt him ready himself for ejaculation. Her body stiffened a split second 
before his as she clenched her vaginal muscles against his pulsing cock to 
retain it as long as possible. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" he cried out.

"Ooooooooooooo!" she countered, as his hot lava flooded her.

And they collapsed on one another and slept until noon the next day.

Continued.


Please let me know if you enjoyed Jasmine I:  the_panda@hotmail.com

Paris

For other selections why not visit my site?

/~Paris_Waterman/

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