Message-ID: <15272eli$9809130536@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: john_dark@anon.nymserver.com Subject: {Twassel}JDR"Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories 3"()[3/3] Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Note: This message was posted by a secure email service. Please report MISUSE OR ABUSE of this automated secure email service to . Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <6te078$br9$1@sparky.wolfe.net> JOHN DARK REPOST The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults. If you are below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now. The story codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author make any guarantee. You should be aware that the story might raise other matters that you find distasteful. You read at your own risk. The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week. These stories have not been written by the person posting them. Many of those e-mail addresses below the author's byline still work. If you liked the story, either drop the author a line at that e-mail address or post a comment to alt.sex.stories.d. Please don't post it to alt.sex.stories itself. Posting the comment with a Cc: to the author would be the best way to encourage them to continue entertaining you. The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in any way. In most cases, the author will have further notices of copyright below. If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as well. ===================== Mat Twassel has given John Dark permission to repost this story. This story is copyright by the author. ===================== Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories by Mat Twassel mmtwassel@aol.com Part 3 ========================================================== As I trudged glumly back to my dorm, I tried to understand what had happened, but I couldn't make sense of it. If only Laura hadn't been so long on the phone. If only she could have come out twenty seconds earlier. I wondered who she was talking to. I wondered, too, if Laura had actually glimpsed my penis, the tip of its head peeking above the waistband of my underwear, gleaming with slipperiness. I thought: that detail shouldn't matter. And yet it did. It seemed to cement the disgrace. I was sure the smell of my semen must be all over the room, not just on Rikka's fingers. Likely the three of them were laughing about me. "What a silly boy! He sure can't hold his sperm. Ha-ha. Ha-ha. Ha ha ha ha ha." I felt ashamed and slightly ill. Why were Rikka and Big-Guy Guy in Laura's apartment anyway? Helping her paint? How come I hadn't smelled any paint? How come I hadn't seen any buckets or brushes? And, if the phone were in Laura's bedroom, how come earlier Big-Guy answered? About half-way home I began to feel indignant. It wasn't my fault that Rikka did what she did. No way could I have stopped her from walking towards me. I remembered the little tilt of that pale pink nipple... It all happened so fast. I tried to slow things up, to put them in order, to figure it all out, but everything blurred together. Could I have stopped Rikka from reaching into my pants? I remembered her thumb circling, her fingers tight, stroking. Her teeth biting her plump lower lip. And then... and then the look on Laura's face. Angry? Sad? Puzzled? I don't know. It's not as if I had slipped MY hand inside Rikka's pale yellow sweat-pants, into the slot of her sex. Found her clitoris between my fingers, and... Oh, Celeste, how can I write a sex story when I don't even know what a clitoris feels like? How can I write a sex story when I don't even know what it feels like to touch someone's clitoris. When I don't even know what it feels like to have one's clitoris touched. Is it at all like an earlobe, or the tip of a nose, or a nipple, or the tippy-top of a penis? Does it feel like a dried pea, or something even smaller, scant seed? Maybe a pumpkin seed slippery with that semi-slick pumpkin goo? Or dry like a sunflower seed? But less elongated? Slightly fattened? A little knot of flesh, a mere nodule as small and hard and firm as an unpopped popcorn kernel? And beyond that: how does a clitoris feel to knead, to be kneaded? If my experience with Rikka is anything to go on, it's a million times better, I mean more exciting, to have someone touch you than to touch yourself. But does that apply equally to the clitoris? Does it swell so quickly then, and explode with feeling if not juice? Can I write a sex story without involving the clitoris? I'm sure you could tell me, Celeste, you could tell me everything I'd need to know about the clitoris. But would it do me any good? By the time I'd reached the middle of campus I decided I'd write a sex-story after all. I'd show her! I sat down on the steps of the English Building, my underwear still sticky, and tried to think where to begin. Rikka's popcorn bowl. Her fingers picking up a single piece of popcorn. So light and white, it must feel like nothing between her fingers. Slyly weightless, with a film of butter imparting a hint of slipperiness. And then into Big-Guy's mouth. She can feel the tip of his tongue against her fingertip. He can feel her fingertip with the tip of his tongue. Her fingertip, and then the morsel of popcorn. Fingertip. Tongue. Tongue. Fingertip. There must be a thousand or more morsels of popcorn in the bowl. And he's going to get them all, one by one. Would he rather have her take a whole handful and stuff them at once into his mouth much the way I imagine he'd eat them on his own? I can almost hear Rikka's voice telling Bob not to be greedy. "One at a time is next to nothing," Bob insists. "One at a time is all you're going to get," Rikka teases. The next thing you know, Rikka is on her back, her hips turned up, her lower body bent way over herself, in that doubled-up, upside-down sit-up position: breasts squashed against thighs, face touching between the knees, one long smooth line of girl-body; only this time Bob Big-Guy Guy is on top of her, fucking her, his silo-fat cock jammed inside her girl-slim cunt, his cock coming and making her come. The image is there for a moment, there for the taking, wonderfully clear in my mind, and then it disappears. Bob is so big he's made Rikka vanish. I realize I know almost nothing about sex. Surely Rikka and Bob have fucked. Maybe they have fucked so many times it's almost meaningless. Just another morsel of popcorn. A thousand fucks. Bob's cum filling Rikka's cunt. For him it's just another tackle. For her it's just another sit-up. There they are in that empty living room, fucking, while Laura is in her bedroom, talking on the telephone, her sweet lips whisper-close to those little holes, her ear gathering in the soft sounds of ... Maybe it's just her dad saying hi, while Big Bob's cum overflows Rikka's cunt, surges up into the red ringlets of pussy-hair, as he continues to fuck her and fuck her and fuck her. The sticky sex-juice drenches her. Maybe that's what would have happened, if I hadn't rapped at the door, interrupting the flow of the evening. "What happened?" Laura asks, moments after I've closed the door and scurried into Twilight Park. "It was that Madam Adam guy," Bob says. "Adam Renner," Rikka corrects him. "That shy sex story boy you were telling me about. He has a nice enough cock, but he comes awfully quick." Rikka wipes her hand on her bare breast and then pulls the shirt down. "I wouldn't have minded a little taste of him. I was about to kneel down and take him all the way out when he shot." "Oh, Rikka!" Laura sighs. "Well, I couldn't help it," Rikka says. "He was just too... something. So innocently out of it. It made me mad. No, not mad. It made me... It made me... I don't know... horny." "You're always horny," Laura says, her hands on her hips. "I know," Rikka admits. "I know... I shouldn't have done it. But, really, I couldn't resist. It's not like I expected him to be the fuck of the century or anything, but Goodness- gracious-McGoo. What I really need now is a good hot fuck. What I'm gonna do is have Bob here fuck me. I'm gonna have him fuck me until there's no tomorrow. Wanna watch?" "No thanks," Laura says. "I think I'll just take a shower." Even with the bathroom door closed, Laura can hear Rikka and Bob. "Oh you're so big! Oh yes. Put it in. Put it in me now. Oh yes. Oh that feels good. Oh you fill me so good. Oh. Yes. Oh, baby, yes." Laura turns on the shower and the thin spattering sounds cover the sex words, and the steam quickly clouds the mirror. Laura pulls off her top, steps out of her trousers, slips off her socks, picks everything up and puts it all atop toilet tank. Last she draws down her panties, adds them to the pile of clothing. She notices the tiniest circlet of moisture in the center of the crotch. She bundles the panties inside her shirt just in case Bob or Rikka should come in to pee while she's showering. She stands on tippy-toe to take two large fluffy towels from the top of the towel cupboard. She makes sure her bathrobe is on the hook of the bathroom door. It is. She swings the curtain aside, steps into the tub. The spray is hot and fine. It pelts down, a thin slow stream, hot, but without the volume she'd really prefer. She takes the soap from the soap dish and quickly lathers her shoulders and arms, and under her arms; her breasts, her belly, and the crack of her bottom. She rinses and then lathers again, turning herself in the hot spray, and then decides to wash her hair after all. She squirts a puddle of shampoo into her palm. "Is this what cum looks like?" she wonders, and she works the creamy shampoo into her hair, her eyes squinted shut, her shoulders tense. She bends into the spray and rinses out the soap. The water is still hot. The soapy water streams down between her breasts, across her belly, into the fat little wedge of pussy fur and then down between her legs. I shouldn't use so much soap, she thinks. She squirts conditioner into her palm and rubs it into her scalp. The water sprays against her breasts. Her nipples are soft and puffy. Her skin is red where the hot water has been striking. She steps back and lets the water caress her belly. She wonders if Rikka and Bob are done fucking. She reaches behind her and gently presses her middle finger a quarter inch into her asshole. It feels good. She works her fingertip in another quarter of an inch, not quite to the first knuckle. She thinks about what a boy's penis might feel like pushing against her hymen. She wonders what it might be like to take a boy's cock into her mouth, to feel it explode against the back of her throat. The water feels good against her belly. It is still hot. Her finger feels good where it is, especially when she clenches herself. She wonders if someday she will put it all the way in. She takes a deep breath, then takes the finger out of her behind, sniffs it briefly, finding no more than the shyly spiced scent of shampoo, and then she washes her hands in the hot spray. She rubs the conditioner out of her hair. The water is still hot. She lets it rain upon her for another minute, her back, her breasts, her face. The spray is little more than a mist. She opens her mouth, lets the drizzle play upon her tongue. It is almost too hot, and getting hotter. She turns off the water. She stands there dripping. There won't be enough hot left to shave her legs. She lifts her right leg and runs her fingers along the front from the knee down to the ankle, and then back up the back of her calf. Not too bad. It should last for another few days. A few beads of water sit on the top slopes of her breasts. With her fingertip she gives one a nudge. It flattens and flees. With the same fingertip she touches the flesh just above the nipple. She presses in slightly so that the puffed nipple leans against her finger. Her fingertip circles the nipple. There is just enough exposed nail to scratch the nipple skin. Laura contracts her center. The pleasure makes her lift her chin. She takes a deep breath, lets the air out slowly, and steps out of the tub, quickly takes a towel from the top of the sink and wraps it around her body above the breasts, then takes the other towel and gently pats her hair. "I feel so relaxed now," she says to herself, "So very very relaxed." Maybe I should have just said "Laura takes her shower while Rikka and Bob fuck." Mostly dry, Laura slips into her robe. She opens the door a crack. The air feels cool, especially on the backs of her legs below the knee-length terry-cloth robe. Laura turns and notices that the window is open an inch--tendrils of fog climb the frosted window-glass. She gathers her clothing in her arms. Barefoot, the robe loosely cinched about her, Laura steps into the hallway. No sound comes from the living room. Laura steps barefoot down the hallway. Almost at the corner, she calls out, lightly, "Is the coast clear?" There's no answer. She's not absolutely certain she wants to see. "One living room surprise a night," she says to herself. "You guys better not be tricking me," she says aloud. She steps around the corner. She sees Rikka, lying there spent and sticky. "Are you all right?" she asks. "I don't know," Rikka says sleepily. "I'm a sticky mess." "But you're ok?" "I guess," Rikka sighs. "I feel sort of like I took on the whole team. I feel sort of like I'm just one big puddle of cum." "Is there anything I can do?" Laura asks. "Maybe help me get into the shower?" Rikka says. "Oh dear," Laura says. "I'm afraid I used up the hot water." "Little piggy," Rikka says, a tired grin. "I could wash you off a little bit," Laura says. "Clean me up?" Rikka says. "That would be nice." "I'll fill a bowl full of hot soapy water. You won't have to move a muscle." "That sounds nice," Rikka sighs. "And do you think maybe you could..." She trails off. "What?" Laura asks. "Do you think maybe you could shave me? Shave my pussy? I feel so sloppy and slutty. I want to be a little girl again." Laura takes the popcorn bowl to the kitchen and empties the last of the popcorn. Then she rinses the bowl with cold water. Next she fills the tea kettle with cold water and sets it on a burner to boil. Then she carries the popcorn bowl to the bathroom. She lets the water in the sink run until it's as hot as it's going to get, and then she sets the bowl under the spigot. While the bowl is filling, Laura finds a soft cloth, and then her razor, the double-edged Gillette that was her dad's, and she opens it up and shakes the old blade into the trash basket and unwraps the new blade and holding it carefully by the ends deftly fits it onto the razor, and tightens the top down by twisting the fat handle, four succinct turns. Now the bowl is almost full, the water almost all the way up, mildly cloudy, the sound of water running into water strangely comforting. Laura twists the hot-water handle stopping the flow, all but two last drips, and then it's quiet. Laura picks up the wash cloth and puts it over her shoulder and then she sticks the shaving cream can under her arm, and with the razor in her fingers, she's still able to lift the water- filled basin and begin to carry it back down the hallway towards the kitchen. The water is hot and clear now, all the cloudiness has eased away, and as Laura walks, the water wobbles. Could it be that she's nervous? The kettle is whistling in the kitchen. Sex juice is drying in Rikka's bright red pubic curls. Some of the water sloshes over the edge of the bowl onto Laura's light-gray bathrobe. It isn't much of a spill, not enough to burn her through the fabric of the robe, but it makes Laura overly conscious of her balance; and not wanting to spill again, she brings the bowl against her belly. This is probably a mistake--now the water sloshes over with each small step. Her robe becomes wet. She attempts to make an adjustment, and what happens is her robe begins to open. She stops too suddenly, and an over-sided splurch of exceedingly hot water flows down her belly, rushes through her pubic hair, trickles into the heart and heat of her pussy. If Laura were to read this would she get excited, or would she think it foolishness? Forgive me, Laura, but it makes me hard to think of scaulding hot water trickling against your clit. Shameless stupidity by one who obviously knows nothing of sex? Do girls masturbate when they read sex stories? Does Laura masturbate? I'm fairly certain that she doesn't, that she's innocent that way, and that these words abuse her. Or maybe I am kidding myself. Maybe she loves to touch herself. Maybe she has a hundred ways of making herself climax, each more delicious than the last. If I weren't in a semi-public place, sitting on the steps of the English Building a few minutes after dusk, I'd probably touch myself into orgasm. Oh, Laura. In the kitchen she pours the boiling water into the bowl. "I'd better not spill this," she thinks. She re-cinches her robe, and then she carries the water to the living room. "You're really going to do it?" Rikka says in a happy little voice. "To clean me and shave me?" "Yes," Laura says. "I'm going to clean you and shave you and make you into a little girl again." First she cleans Rikka with the cloth, mopping as much of the cum as she can out of the tangled hair. The water is exceptionally hot, but Rikka seems to like it. Then Laura jets a big billow of shaving cream onto her fingers, and she works it thoroughly into the delta of hair atop Rikka's plump little mound. "Should I go top to bottom... or?" Laura asks. "Whatever," Rikka says. Laura's touch is firm but gentle, her stroke careful and exact, and gradually the lather and Rikka's red pubic curls disappear. After each careful stroke, Laura cleans the razor by wiggling it briskly back and forth in the hot water, making a wrinkle of noise which pleases her. Her daddy's Gillette scraping quietly across Rikka's most private skin also makes a nifty little noise, frayed electricity, or burnt toast getting lightly scraped. "You're all smooth now," Laura tells Rikka. "All but this last little part." Rikka sighs. "I don't want to cut you," Laura says. "If you could just spread a bit, and hold the skin to stretch it a little, to tighten it so..." Has Laura seen Rikka's clit before, or is this the first time? How easily does a clit come into view? Does it vary from woman to woman? Does the shaving excite them? Does Laura want to take Rikka's clit between her fingers, pinch it this way and that? Does Laura get wet thinking about this? Rikka's outer labia carry a faint fuzz of light red down. "Should I shave here, too," Laura asks. "Where?" Rikka says. "Here," Laura says, touching the fuzz of these lips as lightly as she can with her fingertip and the tip of her thumb. Rikka's cunt opens. Contracts. A liquid bubble of Bob's cum pools at the opening. When Rikka contracts again, the cum-glob begins to slide quite slowly towards the wry wink of Rikka's asshole. "Oh," says Laura, entranced. Without thinking about it, she puts her forefinger on the glob of semen, pushes it back into Rikka's cunt. Rikka moans softly. Laura adds a finger. The fit is snug and hot and completely slippery. Laura moves her fingers together. "I'm making you into a little girl again," she tells Rikka. "It feels like fucking," Rikka says. "It feels good." "Yes," Laura said. "But it's not fucking. It's unfucking. My fingers are your hymen. Squeeze and feel how tight you are, all new and girl-good. That's it, squeeze, squeeze good and hard." "Oh," Rikka says. "I'm coming now. I'm coming so hard and good." "Mm," Laura says, feeling Rikka's coming. "You're a good girl. Such a good girl." After a long quiet time, Laura removes her fingers from Rikka and brings them to her lips. Rikka is asleep. Laura carries the basin of tepid water along the hallway back towards the bathroom. Small hills of spent shaving foam slosh in the tepid, faintly pink water. She pours the water into the sink. She gives her dad's razor a final rinse. She takes a deep breath, and walks back towards the living room to help Rikka to bed. When I get back to my room, the telephone is ringing. "Hullo?" I say. "Adam? It's Rikka." "Hi," I say. I fear I sound dreadfully stupid. There is a long silence. "You're not mad at me, are you?" "No," I say. "You left so quickly and all." "Well," I say. "I'm sorry if I..." "That's ok," I say. "I'm sure Laura would like it if you'd come back." "She would?" "Yes." "You're sure?" "Please come, come now, ok?" "I guess so," I say. "Good," she says. I have my finger on the top of the Coke bottle. Pressing in a little. Before I can ask Rikka if I should bring it along, she's hung up. I know I should shower, but I don't. I just change my underwear. I hurry out taking the philosophy notebook, and at the last second I decide to take the Coke bottle, too, not because I think Rikka wants it or cares about the deposit, or because I'm afraid that my roommate might mess with it. I just take it. Rikka answers the door. I give her the Coke bottle. "Thank you, kind sir," she says. There is no sign of Bob Big-Guy Guy. His book, Mechanical Man, the Physical Basis for Intelligent Life, lies on the floor next to the popcorn bowl, which is empty. "We won't need this, either" she says, taking my philosophy notebook. She sets the notebook on the floor, and places the Coke bottle on top of it. "Come with me." She takes my hand in hers. As we walk, I wonder if she's washed her hands since earlier this evening. Despite myself I grow hard. Rikka takes me around the corner. The hallway looks familiar. I can hear the noises. The bedroom door is not all the way closed. Rikka pushes it open. We stand in the doorway. The bed is right in front of us. Bob Big-Guy Guy is fucking Laura. She is underneath, nearly obliterated by his huge body. Her toes touch the mattress above her head. Bob's hands pin her ankles--her middle rises to meet his plunging prick. Otherwise she is immobile as he jack-hammers into her. "Our girl sure does grunt when she's getting a good fucking," Rikka says. It's true. The noises are clearly Laura's, deep grunting gasps quite unlike anything I've ever heard before. "They've been at it a long time," Rikka says. "They're both close to coming, so close." Rikka leads me to the foot of the bed. "Isn't her little asshole pretty?" Rikka says. "What I like to do is stick a finger in... a finger in her and a finger in him. When they start coming it's incredible. Here, why don't you put a finger in Laura's pretty little asshole while I put one in Bob's. It'll take them right over. You'll see." Part of me really wants to do it. But I don't do it. I don't wait around for Rikka to do it, though I'm sure she does. As I leave Laura's apartment, I hear a high keening cry. Halfway back to my dorm I realize I've left my philosophy notebook under the Coke bottle. I have no need for it--I'm going to drop the course. I feel sad, but it's not a sadness about anything that has happened, it's a sadness about what now will not happen. Can you tell me, Celeste, would anything be different if I hadn't said I wrote sex stories? Would Laura and I still be able to meet for cocoa? Talk about philosophy and life and ordinary feelings? Would we walk across campus, hand-in-hand, thinking shy, sweet, sometimes sexy thoughts? And one day would we fall in love, fall fully, deeply head-over-heels in love? I'm just curious, that's all. I pass that little off-campus coffee-house. It's dark in there locked up for the night. I stare for a moment at my reflection in the dark glass. I look ok, I think. But then as someone I once knew said, appearances can be devastating. Sincerely yours, Adam Renner PS It's three weeks later now. Nothing much has happened. Life goes on without Philosophy, without Laura. I did see her this morning. I went back to that coffee-shop. First time since... well, since. I don't think anything special drew me there. I was just walking around. I've been doing a lot of that lately, and I happened to be passing. Laura was sitting at that same table. Her back was to me. I recognized her right away, of course. I was used to looking at her back. She was sitting with a boy. Just an ordinary guy, probably an underclassmen, not someone I recognized. The boy had Laura's hand in his on top of the table. He looked immensely happy, as if the world were a wonderful place. I thought about walking right out, but I didn't--I took a chair at a low table along the back wall. The waitress came over. She looked confused at first, and then she recognized me. "One cocoa?" she said. "I think I'll try the coffee," I told her. The waitress had a really nice ass. Full and firm but not too big. A few minutes later when she brought out my coffee I thought she had nice tits, too. She poured the coffee. It was good. Oh, and one more thing... pre-cum... does it have a hyphen? END ========================================================== Author's note: Comments welcome. Write to Mat Twassel (mmtwassel@aol.com) or post to alt.sex.stories.d ========================================================== ===================== Re: Proof Reading Sex Stories by Mat Twassel -30- -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----