From bronwensm@aol.com Fri May 23 12:45:07 1997
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From: bronwensm@aol.com (BronwenSM)
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Subject: The Offering (m/m/f, cons, teen, exhib)
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WARNING: People are having sex in this story. If you or your local
legislation have a 
problem with this you read further entirely at your own risk. If you are
under the legal age of responsibility please go and do something
completely different. None of what happens below is necessarily real or
recommended by the management.

Copyright (c) 1997 Bronwen S-M. You are granted permission to transmit
this file across computer networks and to make one hard copy for
personal use. Apart from this submission to a.s.s.m., this story is
not to be sold or otherwise republished without permission from the
author. Constructive comments very welcome at BronwenSM@aol.com. 


The Offering (M/m/f, cons, teen, exhib)

We strolled unobtrusively through the gates and, no one having challenged
us, walked swiftly towards the imitation Greek temple at the top of the
rise. Dusk was falling, a school day in autumn. I was on fire with lust
and fear of discovery.

One genius forefinger slipped inside my panties under the table in the
coffee shop was all it took. Although he cared nothing for me, silly girl,
that boy could make me forget my name with his dexterity. My tiny
non-uniform panties were already soaked and I could feel my juices cooling
on the bare thighs under my skirt. I was "in lurve" regardless of his
indifference. In those days he was always welcome in my pants. Looking
back I wonder if it was his expertise I adored rather than any more
romantic attraction.

Safe under the eaves of the darkening stone folly we sat watching the
stragglers leave the park. There was a moment when we must have both
decided we were alone. I dropped my school mac on the flags as some sort
of blanket and at the same time threw back my head and arched my back,
offering my aching little cherry-stone nipples to his mouth.

Christopher leant down and gripped a nipple with his teeth, not quite
hurting, a sharp deep pleasure and I groaned low in my throat. My hands
were clumsy with lust, trying to reach his jeans while he half-crouched to
pull my blouse open and suck my breast tips into his hot mouth. It was so
cold, cold and damp, but his mouth, my cunt, his cock, our hands were
burning. I couldn't reach his jeans without pulling him away from his
intense labour at my nipples and a moment later it was clear I still
couldn't get him out of his pants without disturbing the other hand moving
down inside my waistband towards my clitoris. My excitement was so
powerful I could not bear to move. I just stood there, vibrating, only my
arms still inside my unbuttoned school blouse, my flesh white in the dusk
as he sent near-orgasmic excitement through me with his hot pointed tongue
and sharp teeth.

"Fuck me, Chris", hoarsely, "Please fuck me. I need you inside me". His
breathing was jerky, he ripped off his jeans, no underwear, and hopped for
a ludicrous second in a boot until he'd dragged the rest off. He kept on
his sweater. It was colder now, and the light was nearly gone.

I was already on the ground, fingers slithering in my pussy, legs high and
wide. Not a time for maidenly modesty. "Fuck me, I need it so badly, you
don't know how badly", then "YYEESSS!"  I shouted in triumph as his cock
hit bottom with a satisfying brutal thud. Straight in like a piston, he
knew the trick.

We went at it like cats - no fancy positions, no endearments - just hard,
focussed fucking in the dark, and a lot of noise. I loved the friction of
the firm-edged flange of his cock. Some men's dicks are smooth shaped,
like a banana. Me, I love a dick with a strongly pronounced head like a
baby's fist and forearm, arching out to catch me both directions of the
stroke.

Soon I had a raw spot on my back where it took the pressure against the
stone floor, and God knows what was happening to his knees (as it happened
I never found out). Gasping and sobbing I felt orgasms hit me like
hailstorms, gripping his waist with my thighs and tensing everywhere until
the energy came through me, and straight, and I felt my guts open like a
flower.

I fell back temporarily as he straightened up above me and then, full of
gratitude, scrambled to my knees and started to fellate him. His cock
tasted gorgeous, the fresh juice of two clean but desperately horny
people. Deep into giving him pleasure I suddenly  realised his back had
stiffened. I raised my head - surely I hadn't hurt him?

"I think there's someone out there", he whispered.

Kneeling there, with cooling cumjuice on my thighs, I felt rich and
beautiful and oddly powerful. "Who's there?" I called clearly. "Come out
and say hello".

"Nooo", hissed Chris. "Don't. You're crazy."

"Come out, come out, whoever you are!" I sang, and giggled.

Out of the shadow of some laurel bushes came a short bulky figure. His
whole posture was defeated, timid. We stood up to watch him.

"Come up here" I called. And he came. Chris said nothing. His flared
nostrils and his eyes showed me he was turned on, and intrigued, but it
was my party.

The man was not old, not young. Maybe 40. At 15 everyone seems old. Chris
at 19 was a man of the world to me.

The man wore a heavy raincoat, which he never took off while I knew him.
He had a white face like a disappointed potato, but his eyes were black
and huge and he was staring at me like a disciple. He climbed the steps of
the temple and walked very slowly towards us. It was a matter of half a
dozen steps, but I think he thought he was dreaming.

"Could I? I mean, would you mind if I? Could I .. touch you?" he asked
very gently.

"It's my pleasure", I said smiling, and cupped my breasts to offer them
with both hands. For the first time I deliberately, confidently displayed
myself in the knowledge of my power.

He made some sort of choking sound and fell on my tits, sucking and
stroking them with amazing tenderness as though they were baby animals. He
was not clean, and even now I remember the charity shop smell of old
clothes (perhaps not even his old clothes), and a faint whiff of mould.
His hair smelt dirty, but the sense of worship was intoxicating.

Chris was behind me, watching the man's head over my shoulder while his
hands kneaded my arse. His breathing was a cross between shock and extreme
lust. I don't think he knew what to do. I knew exactly what to do. I moved
my hips slightly and touched the back of the man's neck. "D'you want to
kiss me?" I asked.

As I well knew, he didn't even think of my face. He sobbed and fell to his
knees, burying his face between my legs, working his surprisingly large
warm tongue between my fat wet labia. He licked and sucked in a frenzy, as
if he wanted to coax his way right up inside and hibernate there for the
winter. He reeked of loneliness. I felt strong and full of pity - I had
never been able to give another person something they wanted so much
before. I thought, in my innocence, how unfair it was that there were
people cut off by looks and shyness from the glories of sexual expression.
I was glad to be of assistance.

After a minute or two of watching, Chris urged me to fuck again, rather
grumpily, partly just to show this guy he was there first I think. I slid
easily onto the cold stone and we slickly resumed our frantic rhythm, me
flat on my back with my legs round his waist. I could see the night sky.
The man sat down on the floor beside us and talked quietly. "I was
watching you when you were doing that before", he said. "It was so
beautiful".

I turned my mind aside from him and absorbed myself in the sex I loved so
much.

As I felt Chris's thrusts gain that unmistakable urgency that always flips
me over, and he plunged deep and savage inside me, I gripped the man's
hand as I took the impact of another orgasm. His fingers were wet. I was
lost for a second or two, and when I started taking notice again the man
was pleading very softly with us both. "Please", he said. "Please".

Chris was looking a bit confused, but he disentangled himself from me. I
gave that little sad dumpy man a slow smile and said "Come here, then".

And we fucked. On a cold damp autumn schoolnight. And while we fucked he
wept. He touched me with some sort of reverence. I felt like the goddess.
I stood up and walked home with cum stains on the inside of my uniform. It
was only about 6.30.

I don't know why I did it, but it's a good memory. Now I am older I
overlay it with complicated motives. At the time I think I was just so in
love with sex, my new find, my new fluency, and couldn't bear to think of
anyone being left out.

Chris and I met up ten years later. "You scared me", he said. "I was such
a dickhead. I didn't understand you."

I still sometimes wonder what the sad, lonely man thought, and if he ever
thinks about it now.

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