Message-ID: <13569eli$9808011243@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Subject: Celeste's Lost Files - Hands On {Deidre Ng} TTT Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: NNTP-Posting-Host: panix5.nfs100.access.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: TTT Archive (Treasure Trove of the Titmouse) Celeste listed several stories as "lost" in her Cumulative Monthly List posted in late July. I'm posting those I have to ASS/M and hope those who have others will do the same. My reposting will include: Bushido {Sachi Mizuno} Excerpt only. Anyone got the rest? Cleave it to Beaver 1 {MrNatural} Is there more? Dispensation of Grace 3 {Horangi} Anyone got parts 1-2? Face of Betrayal {Morpheus' Twin} Hands On {Deidre Ng} Meeting Shirley {The Observer} Open Big {Thomas A Long} Silent Intruder {Annette} Tammy's Game {Tammy Ng} Terri's Dilemma {The Observer} Tonya Harding, Slave Girl {Your Friendly Author} These stories have been minimally cleaned up. If I have it, the text includes original headers and footers. Still missing, as far as I'm concerned: "Let Your Fingers Do the Riding" by Solo Polyphony "Under the Table" by DOLFAN353 "Shower Buddies" by Stone Wolf "'D' Is for Driving" by Dulcinea "So Shy" by Scott Sanders (young love) "Stuffing the Old Gobbler" by MrSpraycan Best, Titmouse [in:HandsOn.txt] Sisters Ng/dl/ao961101.b >From Deidre.htm Sisters Ng: Hands On, by Deidre Ng "You know, you've never made me come in your hand." "I can fix that." I sat on our bed and he stood in front of me, between my legs. I could smell myself, the smell of excitement rising from my pussy. His cock bobbed in front of me, stiff and eager. I fought the urge to kneel, to slip off the bed onto the floor and take him in my mouth. The urge to run my hands up the back of his thighs, over his buttocks, while I kissed around his groin. The urge to plant kisses along his shaft from base to head, to play with him, wetting him, before taking him, swallowing him whole. How long had it been since I gave a guy a hand job? I did it so often in high school. I remember the first time my boyfriend (of the time) opened his pants. We had been kissing, deep passionate sloppy kissing. He had reached into my shirt to squeeze my breasts through the padding of my bra. That night I took the step of unhooking the clasp and letting his hand slip the sweaty cup off my breast and feel me directly. As his hand found the hard, tingling mountain of my nipple I gasped. Suddenly I had to have my hand similarly occupied with his flesh. I wanted to explore by feel the contours of his erection, just as he was exploring the surface of my breast, tracing the transition from smooth taut skin to rougher aureole, from rough aureole to stiff nipple. I wanted what I knew was straining for release behind his zipper. I wanted my hand to experience what I had only seen in pictures, the veined shaft, the smooth space below the head, the bulge of the head itself. I wanted to cradle his cock head and feel it's blood warmth. He gave my nipple a tentative pinch between his thumb and forefinger. I slipped one arm from around his neck and let my hand fall against his pants. I ran the back of my fingers along the bulge that his erection made in his jeans, that was all the prodding he needed. We broke our embrace as he unbuckled and unzipped himself. I pulled off my shirt and bra. He stopped to admire my breasts for the first time before pulling his underwear down and freeing his cock. I shivered from the sudden coolth on my skin mixing with the warmth and ache in my pussy. He responded by gathering me into his arms again. I resisted. I wanted to look at him. I reached down and pulled at the elastic band of his underwear. His cock swung completely free. Starting in about the fourth grade, the girls in my school began sharing rumors about boys, and what they had in their pants, and what they wanted to do with it, to you. "Don't you know, it's huge! And they want to put it into that little hole that's behind where your pee comes out, there's no way it fits. And after they push it all the way in and you feel like your gonna break in two 'cause it's all the way inside you then it shoots all this milky stuff inside you. And that's what babies come from." This nugget of information was passed around the school yard, causing squeals of terror and revulsion by myself and my classmates. But whenever we told it over to each other, there was always a certain breathless excitement to the teller's delivery that belied the shared reaction. These tales always made us blush, but not the blush of embarrassment. I would lay awake at night and think about what "all the way inside you" meant. Meditating on this mantra, I would pull up my nightshirt and trace the naked lips of my pussy under my covers. Into this hole, where my finger barely fit? I probed there. It was damp inside there, and tight around the tip of my finger. If I held the tip of my finger inside and thought about "all the way inside you" it got tighter all of a sudden and a little shiver went up my spine. There was this other place inside my pussy that I found then, because it tingled when I did these things. It was a kind of buried itch. I used to rub myself outside my pussy to calm that itch, but when I started to explore that damp hole I discovered that my dampened finger, rubbed between my lips, made the itchy place feel so much better. It made my whole pelvic area feel warm. It all came back to me when I saw his cock swing free. I wrapped my hand around the base of it. He reached for my breasts again and we resumed kissing. He fondled me as we kissed, and my hand crept slowly up the length of his cock. Finally, I had his cock head cradled lightly in my hand. I could feel the sweat on my hand. He squeezed my breast and I responded by squeezing his cock. We began trading squeezes. His fingers found my nipple and stroked it. My hand curled around his cock till my thumb lay in the cleft of his cock head. I found a dot of fluid there. I wiped it onto my thumb. He pulled at my nipple and nibbled my lip. I wiped the fluid down his cock. He pulled at my nipple again. I rubbed the wet streak of skin. He was breathing heavily into my mouth. He pulled, I rubbed. He pulled, I rubbed. Suddenly, he grunted and I felt his come spilling onto my hand. I was afraid I had hurt him somehow. I looked down, my hand frozen, watching the white come ooze out of him. We both said, "I'm sorry" at once, and then giggled at our shared unease. His come was sliding off my wrist into the hair of his balls. With my other hand I unclasped my pocketbook and reached for the tissues my mother insisted I always carry. Together we cleaned up his come. That night I lay in bed after I was dropped off. I kept smelling the back of my hand as it traveled between my pussy and my mouth. Finally, I switched hands and put the one that was marked with the smell of his come over my nose while I stroked my clit with the other, till the thought of him all the way inside, spilling that odd smelling stuff into me, made me convulse. Over the course of several boyfriends, I learned how to lubricate my hand, and when to make a ring of my thumb and forefinger to slip the head through. How to catch the come as it spurted out and use it as a lubricant itself. How to finger myself to sleep with one hand cupped over my nose to recall the smell of their come. When I was very familiar with how it smelled and what it felt like in my hand, I began to take the first steps beyond hand sex. One night I jerked off my boyfriend. It had become routine for me. I always followed my mother's rule about tissues. I gave some to my boyfriend, who dabbed away at the base of his cock. I had a glob of his come caught in the depression that can form between thumb and forefinger. I turned away from him, holding my hand so as to not let the come spill. I pretended to reach for a tissue, because I didn't want him to suspect the truth of what I had screwed up the courage to do. First I brought the come under my nose and sniffed. It was the smell I learned to expect, but stronger, fresher. Before my resolve could dissipate, I raised my hand to my lips and wiped the come across them. I could still turn back, wipe my lips with a tissue and retreat into girlhood for a little while longer. My lips parted and I inhaled. The smell again, and with it, courage. My tongue flicked out, circling, tasting, collecting to be savored and, yes, swallowed, the come I had wiped there. I tasted more and more come in that surreptitious way. One night there weren't enough tissues, and I made a big impression on my new boyfriend by calmly licking his come off my hand. After that my mouth was always closer and closer at hand when he came, until the night I short circuited the transfer of my saliva from my mouth to my hand to his cock by applying it directly with my tongue. I brought him off with my hand, and licked his come off my lips. Shortly thereafter, I was taking his cock in my mouth from exhilarating start to intoxicating finish. Crossing that threshold seemed to close the door on the era of the hand job, as much as open the era of the blow job. Once I was comfortable with cocksucking, neither I nor my boyfriends were satisfied with a mere hand job. I can only remember once in college, sitting in Lover's Lane, the last row of seats in a cavernous lecture hall, so high up you needed lift tickets to sit there. The hall dimmed for the presentation of slides, and there was no room to kneel, so I pulled slowly on his cock as the art of the Hudson River School flashed past on the screen. Back in the present, I wet his cock with saliva pooled in my palm. I thought about how easily it would slide into me, slick like that. I often got him slick with my spit applied by hand, before he entered me. Now I just had to remember all the old lessons that I used only occasionally now, like when I needed a breather during a blow job. I looked up at his face. He was smiling dreamily, enjoying my warm liquid massage of his cock flesh. I looked down at his cock, sliding in and out of view, splendidly hot and stiff. "I know you love me. I love you. I love to make you come. I love your come inside me, when I'm tight and slippery. I can feel your cock getting bigger, the head getting bigger and hotter right before you come. I love that feeling. I love feeling you come in my mouth. I love feeling your come splash against my lips and then I open them and lick it off and take you in my mouth again and suck the last of it out of you. I love it when you come really messy- like, and it goes all over my cheeks, and I feel little hot drips running down my neck and between my breasts while I suck you till your soft in my mouth. I love it when a big glob of come lands on my chest and I wipe it up with my finger and lick it clean. I love wetting my nipple with it and making myself excited, smearing it around on my nipple, knowing you're watching me, feeling you get hard again in my mouth from watching me." Talking so much about his come was getting us both very excited. He shifted his stance, spreading his legs and pushing his hips forward. His cock was just outside my pussy. He had fucked me many times in a position like this, standing at the bedside while I lay with my pussy just at the edge of the bed. I leaned back, propped up on one arm. Through my own spread legs I held him so that the head of his cock just grazed my pussy lips. "You're gonna come all over my pussy. That hot white come is gonna splash onto me, between my lips. Right on my clit. You're gonna make me come, just by coming on me." I lay down completely. With the hand that wasn't wrapped around his cock, I spread my pussy lips. I held him so that the cleft in his cock head formed wet slick walls for my clit to rub against. Like intercourse in miniature, with the roles reversed. Pulling on his shaft, his head rubbed back and forth over my clit. With a bit of self control and a lot of experience of each others bodies and rhythms, we teetered on the edge of coming together. With one last bath of saliva covering him, I looked down at his cock head sliding puffy red and purple against my pussy lips, butting against my clit. "Come on me, please, spill it on to me. I can feel it in your cock. I..." He was coming on me and the white wave of come filled the narrow end of my pussy and spilled out over my lips. His cock shuddered against me as I pulled on him. A shot of his come engulfed my clit and I was over the edge myself, coming as my clit throbbed against his cock in a bath of his come. I lay back, happy. He was wiping his cock against the walls of my pussy, not really penetrating me, but not wanting to pull away. His come got all runny and crept down the sides of my pussy. Just like that old boyfriend, he started to get hard again when I started licking up the come he had spilled on me. I looked at him between licks. "Happy?" "I knew you had it in you." "Now I have it on me." "Touche." "That, too. Are you planning on fucking me with that?" His semi hard cock slipped into me. I sighed. "Yes." One last lick to spread my lips so that he could really get inside me, then I put my arms over my head and let him take me. The phrase "all the way inside me" bounced around inside my head. I held my fingers under my nose, inhaled his smell and let the memories take me, too. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----