Message-ID: <14823eli$9808290045@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Elias Neil David Subject: Contest entry - ROMANTIC FRICTION Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: eliasn@netvigator.com 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: <3581CAE2.330D@netvigator.com> Dear people I have just discovered the ASSM archive with much enjoyment. This is my first attempt to write and post a story - I hope my computer skills are sufficient to get it through. I enjoyed the challenge - be gentle, it's my first time. Thanks for the work you put in to making life fun. Neil ROMANTIC FRICTION by Wombat99 This story is an entry in Celeste's virtual reality contest. This is a work of fiction. It includes slightly graphical scenes describing what some might call an inappropriate relationship between consenting adults, even if they don't know they are consenting. In other words, if you are not old enough don't read it. Go and watch TV instead. Monica may be on. This story is copyright Wombat99, and may be downloaded or posted anywhere free. Please enjoy. Romantic Friction By Wombat99 The pirate galleon rocked precariously as another wave broke over the deck. Emily felt the water flow over her thin silk bodice, making the material almost transparent and revealing her voluptuousness to the world, or at least to any of the crew who might notice. She was half sitting, half lying, lashed to the mast, and unable to protect herself. As the ship rose on the next wave crest she heard the lookout, perched atop the mainmast yell, "Land ahoy on the starboard bow!" There was a buzz of talk from the crew, and the captain's voice rang out: "Head for the harbour, lads. We can rest up, make some repairs, and have some fun with our captive here." He walked over to the captive and stood over her, legs astride, and a sardonic smile on his face. "How now, my pretty," he said. "D'you feel like some fun?" Emily looked up. He was handsome, but did he look a little too much like Errol Flynn? Damn! It happened again. Just as she was losing herself in the fantasy a little reality wormed its way in and spoiled it. With a long sigh, she extricated herself from the Emily character and switched off the machine. She knew from bitter experience that it was hopeless trying to revive the feelings after such an interruption. Never mind. Try again next time. On her way out she stopped to chat with Rebecca, the receptionist, whom she'd got to know over the past few months. "You didn't take long today, Ms Davis," she said, "how was it?" "Oh," replied Emily, "same as ever. Whenever I feel almost ready to let go something always gets in the way. I think I'm just too inhibited." "No need for that here," said Rebecca brightly. "No risk, no disease, no inhibitions. It's like the sign says." She waved her hand towards the poster hanging behind the desk. Have FUN And Protect your Virtue at VIRTUAL DEPRAVITY Check your Inhibitions at the Door "I know," said Emily tiredly, "but I still haven't worked out how to do that. I've tried coming here drunk, but I just fell asleep; coming with a friend, which was really embarrassing; and even coming with a man from an escort agency, which was even worse, because he got off and I didn't, and I was the one who was paying." She broke off, halfway between tears and hysterical laughter. Rebecca smiled. "Never mind, Ms Davis. Everything comes to those who wait. Will we see you here tomorrow?" Emily nodded. "Yes, please, book me in at seven o'clock? Can you make it Studio B?" "No problem," said Rebecca, "See you then." On the way home, Emily replayed that conversation in her mind a hundred times. Why had she said so much? She had never told anyone about her failures before, never confessed her inability. Could she face Rebecca again? Should she give up on the Virtual Reality option? No, that wasn't really an option. And as for facing Rebecca - well, Emily knew that, despite everything, as soon as work finished she'd head straight for Virtual Depravity as if nothing had happened. It was the one chance. Emily went to bed early so that she could plan out tomorrow's fantasy. As usual, she went to her bookshelf to gather a collection of her favourite historical romances to stir her imagination. Not the seafaring ones - not an option for a week or two at least - and not the servant-girl-and-master ones; they had set the scene with her paid escort , and she never wanted a rerun of that. Impatiently, she pulled a stack of books from the shelf and dumped them on the bed before heading for the shower. Padding damp and naked back to bed, she stopped to examine herself in the mirror. "Not bad," she thought critically. "Not too bad: slim, no cellulite. Okay proportions. Shiny hair, with a bit of bounce. Eyes could look seductive in the right light and with the right make-up. It's just..." She wouldn't let herself continue. "It's just" would be followed by something derogatory like "I look boring", or "I seem to give out this 'leave me alone message'." Emily didn't want to dwell on these. She looked at herself for some minutes, lost in maudlin thoughts. "A flower," she thought, "destined to die before it blooms, unless it can be liberated by that magic..." and she whispered, "an orgasm." She was sure that was the answer: it was only a question of when. They were hiding behind a bank, watching the Mongol warriors wheel their horses through their village; Emily and three other girls, frightened but fascinated by the speed and dexterity of the horsemen. The air was thick with dust and noise: the screaming of men and the thudding of hooves, and the villagers were running in all directions as tents and lean-tos were torn and trampled. The battle - the rout, rather - was over in minutes, and the girls heard the leader of the invaders call out, and stop and dismount. He stood still, breathing heavily, his chest swelling with every breath. Emily gazed. He looked magnificent, lean and muscular, with his bare chest and arms gleaming with sweat. One of Emily's companions, a girl of barely fifteen, could not contain herself. "He's beautiful," she breathed. "I hope he takes me as a hostage." The warrior must have heard something, for he was heading over towards their hiding place. Emily watched him stride in her direction, noticing his thick dark hair tied back behind his head, and his powerful chest, rippling in the light. She was becoming wet at the thought of him finding her. He drew closer... "What have we here?" he cried. "Come and see these fine prizes, my friends." Emily was startled. Why had he spoken in English? Surely a Mongol would be speaking in Mongolian. The warrior spoke again, this time in an unintelligible language, but it was too late. Once again Emily unbuckled the helmet and went home unsatisfied. The next day was the end of the month, Emily's busiest day at work, because all the figures needed to be finalised and sent off to head office. She worked in the Accounts Department - in fact she was the Accounts Department, together with her boss, Peter Dawson. Like her, Peter was on the downward slope to forty, but unlike her he was rumoured to have a very active social life. According to the office gossip, he had a stream of girlfriends flowing in and out of his affections and his bed. At one time Emily might have been one of them, but somehow it had never happened. She and Peter had been working together now for about three years, long enough to have set habits and ways of working together. At month end, for example, she collated the sales figures while he did the bank reconciliation, and then each checked the other's calculations. That was just the way it always was. This month end was the same as ever, and the numbers were duly collected, input, and transmitted to Head Office by five o'clock. Emily fetched herself a cup of coffee and relaxed, settling back in her chair. Tonight was going to be different; she was going modern. The Virtual Reality machines gave many options of time, place and people, and she had always chosen the historical and exotic. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe if she was more in the here-and-now she could avoid being spooked by the intrusive anachronisms. Tonight would be ... romantic, one on one, in an everyday sort of location. She would be - Her reverie was interrupted by Peter, looking flustered and waving a paper obviously torn off the fax machine. "We have to redo the numbers," he said. "Somehow we missed a whole set of returns from the Rochester Branch; the manager has apologised and is faxing them now, but we'll have to stay late and.." He broke off as he noticed her stricken expression. Emily had seemed about to burst into tears before she regained control. "I'm sorry," he continued, "but I tell you what. I'll make up for it by buying you dinner when we finish." "There's no need for that," said Emily. "Of course we need to do it. I was just feeling so pleased at having finished everything that you shocked me. It's no problem." They worked for over two hours; more figures, spreadsheets, and ratios, until Peter finally stopped typing and hit the 'send' button on the computer. "Done," he said, "now for that dinner." Emily sat back and rubbed her forehead. Her eyes were sore and her head ached. "No," she said, "I'm beat. I'd be lousy company tonight." She removed her glasses and began massaging the back of her neck. The pose accentuated her cleavage and thrust her breasts forward and her chin up. "My god!" said Peter, fervently, "I never noticed before, but when you take your glasses of you're beautiful." Emily smiled. "Thank you Humphrey Bogart." "No, I mean it," said Peter, and walked around behind her to assist with the massage. His fingers stroked lightly and then firmly on her neck, and she felt herself relaxing as the strain ebbed away. Suddenly, she felt his lips brushing her neck, and a series of kisses started at the nape and trailed around to her throat. Then his mouth was on hers, and it was as if the pent up hunger of so many years was struggling for release all at once. The kissing became passionate, urgent, and she felt herself pulled up into his embrace. After what seemed hours, Peter pulled away, breathless. "Emily," he sighed, "oh, Emily. I can't believe this. It's as if I've never seen you before. I need to make love to you." "Yes," she replied gently, "I feel that too." In an instant they were pulling at each other's clothes, discarding shirt, skirt and underwear where they lay, pausing only to kiss and lick new areas of naked skin as they were revealed. When all the clothes were scattered Peter again stood back and looked appreciatively at Emily. "Wow," he said, "I said you looked beautiful when you took off your glasses. When you take off everything you look sensational." He seized her again, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. He sucked one nipple deep into his mouth and rolled his tongue over the tip, while his fingers strummed the other. Emily felt that her body was on fire: she felt her legs could not support her. His mouth moved down; his tongue flicked into her navel and slid over her stomach to her sex. The sensations were overwhelming. He was nibbling her clitoris, and she collapsed like a rag doll so that they were both half lying on the floor. Peter pushed his jacket behind her for a pillow and laid her back. Suddenly his penis was in her, filling her, and it was too much: her body thrilled with intensity and she hit a climax. It was all true: waves crashed on the shoreline, fireworks exploded in the sky, her mind went spinning up into the heavens. At thirty seven, Emily had her first orgasm. At home in bed that night Emily was still on a high. So much time wasted in chasing romantic fantasy when it was reality that was the answer. A familiar face in familiar surroundings was all it took. She laughed at the memory of Rebecca's expression as she had emerged from Studio B. "Wow, Ms Davis, it looks like it worked for you this time." "Yes," said Emily, "I finally cracked it." "Good for you," said Rebecca. "Same time tomorrow?" "Same time tomorrow," said Emily. * * * * * * This is an entry for Celeste's Virtual Reality contest. Email me at eliasn@netvigator.com: I'd love to get feedback. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----