Message-ID: <6598eli$9712201925@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MyFrThAl Subject: New: Mark Aster: Room with a View (MF, seduc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Content-transfer-encoding: 7bit Content-type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <965eabb3.349c1fe7@aol.com> The "seduc" code may not be quite accurate; all the disputes about story codes over on assd have my mind warped! Here is the story that I wrote for Malinov's Solstice Orgy, which is at It more or less stands alone, also, so I thought I'd post it here too. But do stop by the orgy; it's going very nicely! Most of the other room have lots more sex than this one. .. Mark Room with a View by Mark Aster I was sitting on a couch in a room somewhere high up in the Malinovs' big old castle, slowly becoming aroused. The Solstice Orgy was heating up, and sounds of humor and passion came in through the walls. In this room, a dozen or so people sat on the floor or the big couches, talking and laughing, exchanging meaningful glances, exploring the borders of each other's desire. In one corner, someone with a guitar was leading a group in old bawdy songs. On a couch across the room, a tall woman in a long gown was being undressed by a shaggy brown man with large hands. As I watched, he slowly unbuttoned the front of her dress and pushed it back. Her body was long and bare, her skin creamy white. He squeezed her breasts in his fingers and she spread her legs. I got up and walked to the glass doors that led outside. The night was dark. I went out onto the balcony. The air was surprisingly warm, perhaps from the day's sun-heat seeping back out of the old stone. I sat down on a long wooden bench by the railing and looked out over the quiet sea. I was surprised by a breath, and turned, and there she was at the other end of the seat. "Oh, hello," I said, "I hope I'm not intruding." "No, no." She was small, dark-haired, pretty, in a short skirt and a sweater that zipped down the front. Her eyes were uncertain, shy, but amused. "Are you enjoying the party?" I asked. "Yeah, it's great. I mean..." We each moved sociably a little closer on the bench. "I don't know." "Your first?" I guessed. "Mm-hm." She nodded. "It's strange, isn't it? That any of those people, you could just -- just ask, or just have a dance or whatever, and then..." "Go off somewhere and make love?" I looked where she was looking, in through the windows into the lighted room. A small woman with waist-length blonde hair walked past, her halter loose over large bobbing breasts. Beyond her, a couple stood in each other's arms, pressed tightly together, dancing to some private music. "Have sex, anyway," she said. Her hand was on the railing of the balcony. I put out my hand and gently touched the backs of her fingers. She sighed. "Not sure about the love part?" I asked. She took a deep breath and put her other hand over my hand, twining her fingers between mine and now looking out over the ocean. "Maybe we could pretend?" she said quiety. I touched her hair with my other hand and she turned her face to me. Her eyes were wide and uncertain, her legs not crossed, feet on the ground, knees slightly parted. The sweater was tight across her chest, and her breasts moved as she breathed. "I know this girl --" I started. Her fingers stopped moving in mine, and she frowned. "That you do love?" "I think she loves everyone in the world," I said. "Oh." The light from the windows made a deep shadow on her neck. "Where is she now?" I said nothing for a minute, and the sounds of the castle came out to us as we sat, touching but still, on the seat. "She's nearby," I said, "Have you heard that little scream, coming through the walls, that sounds like a tiny perfect piece of the sky falling down and breaking?" Her forehead creased. She said nothing. "That's her," I finished, "That's her when she comes." "I'm sorry," the girl said, and her fingers caressed my hand again, "I'm sorry she's not with you." "But you're with me," and I brought her face very gently to mine and kissed her small soft mouth. She made a low sound in her throat. Her breath was sweet and warm. On the bench, the sides of our legs touched. I kissed her again. "I'm not beautiful," she whispered, her eyes closed. "You're very beautiful," I said. I took her head in my hands and laid it on my shoulder, drawing her into my arms and holding her. "Are we pretending?" she asked. I stroked her back. Inside, someone began to groan loudly and rhythmically. I could hear my blood in my ears. She raised her head and, eyes wide open, kissed me hard on the mouth. Her lips closed over mine at an odd angle for a moment, and she licked my teeth uncertainly with her tongue. Then the awkwardness dissolved, and our mouths pressed warmly together, and our tongues met smoothly and wonderfully. She moaned and moved one leg up, her thigh over my mine. I touched her leg; her skin was cool. She kissed me again, kissed my mouth, my cheeks, slow soft kisses like angels; I caressed her head and breathed her scent. "You should tell me what you want," I said, my face by her cheek. She kissed my ear. "I want you to tell me what you want," she said. Her hands tentatively touched my chest, my sides. I grinned and bit her neck, holding her body, the outer slopes of her breasts against my plams. "Tell me about yourself," I said, "tell me your dreams and fears, tell me your people, maybe even your name." Another silent moment, the surf rolling below, the sounds of ecstasy from inside. Then she took me by the ears and kissed my mouth again, eyes closed, and she spread her legs and came up into my lap, and as she kissed me she pressed herself against me, rocking her hips so that her crotch rubbed my swelling penis and her breasts pushed into my chest. Her tongue was strong and insistent, and I wanted very much to have her. "Did you mean it?" she whispered hotly in my ear, still writhing in my lap. "Mean it?" I asked. Without orders, my hands had slipped down her body to her thighs, and I stroked her hips and her rear through her skirt. "That you -- that I'm beautiful." "So beautiful," I said, and kissed her, and hugged her body to me, "so beautiful." And she moaned and kissed me again, her fingers twined in my hair. Then she lifted herself out of my lap and back onto the bench. "What I want you to do," she said, one hand toying with the zipper of her sweater, "what I want you to do is take me into one of Malinov's little rooms with the bed and the mirror, and take off all my clothes, and -- and then tell me I'm still beautiful." I did. She was. Room with a View by Mark Aster The End -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |