Message-ID: <7611eli$9801201638@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Celeste801 Subject: {ASS} Story: The Review by Celeste X-Good-Crosspost: not a review 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: <61230de2.34c4ae1e@aol.com> X-Is-Review: yes Disclaimer: People who shouldn't read this story shouldn't read it. I originally posted this story as a review of "The Call of Desire" by DG (dionysian1@hotmail.com). I thank DG for the inspiration. It was a good story and received straight 10 ratings. When I reread the review, I discovered to my horror that an important line referring to possible indecest and bestiality had been inadvertently omitted; and so I am reposting the story here. I hope you like it. The Review by Celeste As I loaded the word-processing file to write this review, I became aware that my husband was gazing at me from the doorway. At least I thought it was me he was gazing at. Sometimes it's hard to tell. We share the same computer, and he has two Sports Illustrated calendars hanging on the wall right above the computer. He refuses to throw away the 1995 calendar. He says it might become valuable some day. And so this babe with a leopard-skin bathing suit and sand on her breasts is probably going to stare down at me into eternity. I have a religious calendar of my own - complete with Catholic fish symbols - right between his calendars. Anyway, sometimes it's hard to tell what he's staring at. However, on this occasion, judging from the bulge in his shorts, I quickly ruled out the religious calendar. "Are you happy to see me, or is that a banana in your shorts?" I asked. Ever since I started reading and reviewing stories for this newsgroup, my clever repartee has improved. "Can you do this?" he asked. He was wiggling his nose and moving his mouth in grotesque circles. "Sure I can," I replied, imitating his facial contortions. "Good!" he said. "Why dontcha stop what you're doing, and we'll go to bed and fuck like bunnies?" I smiled. It WAS a good imitation of those cute little rabbits that eat the lettuce in my garden each spring and summer. "Let me finish this review first." "What's it about?" "A guy who writes stories has been discussing his stories with his wife, and she's fucks him during the story. It's pretty hot stuff!" "I'll bet!" he said, as he walked over and stood behind me at the computer. "He's always been a good author," I continued; "but his stories are getting better and better. I'd like to think I had something to do with that improvement." "You don't need to wear this shirt in order to write a good review, do you?" I had been wearing nothing but my panties and a South Park Elementary tee- shirt proclaiming that someone had killed Kenny; and so when he pulled the shirt over my head, I was topless. My panties were already moist from the story I had just read; and when he began to fondle my nipples and kiss my neck, I guess you could say I was primed and ready for action. But I was a bit miffed at the fact that he had been ignoring the intelligent conversation I had been trying to have with him. Fair is fair, I told myself. If he can ignore me, I can ignore him. "I mean, this guy would probably write good stories without me, but I suspect that my reviews help motivate him." I was impressed at the fact that I could make this reasonably intelligent statement while my hormones were already registering about 5.7 on the Richter scale. "At the very least I have helped get him an audience, and that's gotta be a factor in his development as a writer." I nodded with pride. Not at my influence on this author - which was probably negligible - but at the fact that I had managed to utter a sentence that was almost as insipid as a Rye Crisp. A nun in high school had once told us that if we ever found ourselves getting sexually aroused, we should think of something insipid or really bland to cool ourselves off. Rye Crisps used to work for me. So did her lectures. My husband continued his ministrations, but he glanced at the screen. "Straight 10s!" he said. "What's so good about this story?" "Well, first the husband and wife have a great relationship." "So do we." "And the first half of the story describes a really sexy, intimate fuck between the two of them." "Better than ours?" "No, but a lot like some of ours." The bastard was clever. He had stopped ignoring my conversation, but now I was more turned on and more distracted than ever. My Rye Crisp was becoming a chocolate sundae. Pretty soon I would be imagining Sister Mary Sex Education in the nude. "Then the man quotes to his wife from his fan mail. A woman who runs a phonesex operation had written to him. She said she liked his stories and she offered to return the favor by giving him a free phone call. That's why the story is called 'Call of Desire.' The woman's name is Desire - or maybe Day- zee-ree, but Usenet can't transmit the French accents." If this digression about computers and linguistics didn't cool his fervor, I was going to be in real trouble soon. Fortunately, the phone rang at just that moment. With any luck it would be for him, and I could finish the review and then join him for a romp in the sack. "It's for you," he said, grinning roguishly as he handed me the phone. The caller was a really boring old biddy from the PTA. The kids in our high school band had been invited to perform at Epcot Center during spring break; and she was trying to get us to cancel the trip, because the Disney people have been letting gays and lesbians have a Gay Pride Day or some such thing at the park. Now you may think that this phone call would interrupt my husband's attempted seduction, but that's not the case. He loves it when this woman calls, because he considers it to be a personal challenge to make me have as many orgasms as possible while I'm on the phone line with this prissy bitch. I knew when I was defeated, and so I faced the inevitable. I turned away from the computer, leaned back in my chair, spread my legs, and let him remove my panties. He immediately slid around in front of me and knelt on the floor between my legs. While he kissed my thighs, he slid two fingers into my pussy. My husband is a very generous winner. Now, you may think it's hard - er, difficult - to be brought to a roaring orgasm while carrying on a telephone conversation; but with Rose it's no problem at all. She talks constantly. She never listens. So all I had to do was say "uh-huh" several times in the next five minutes. She had no idea that I was bucking up and down with my free hand wrapped around my husband's head, desperately pulling his face into my muff, while his tongue played my clitoris with the expertise shown by a Cajun fiddler manipulating his instrument. When I finally collapsed in exhaustion, my husband was short of breath, and he withdrew his head for a moment. I think he had some pussy hairs in his mouth as well. I took the opportunity to speak a few complete sentences into the mouthpiece. "Rose," I said; "Disney isn't sponsoring the Gay Pride Day. They are simply letting gays and lesbians do their own thing. Nobody is going to be copulating on the midway. I'm sure the gays and lesbians are every bit as discreet as heterosexuals." By this time my husband was back in action again. He began to kiss and caress me again, and by now I was really getting into the swing of things. If I didn't have to talk to the MotorMouth on the phone, then surely I could put my mouth to a better use. I startled him by engulfing his cock completely in my mouth. I moved up and down on it gently, each time withdrawing completely on the up-thrust and muttering "uh-huh" into the telephone. I wasn't really certain what I was agreeing with, but I was pretty sure it wasn't anything important. After a while, I realized that maybe Rose could go on forever, but my husband could not. I was also getting pretty pissed at the self-righteous bitch who was interrupting my review writing with her petty nonsense. Well, maybe not. But anyway, I decided it would be fun to do something really outrageous - something that would blow Rose away if she knew it was happening. Gently, I removed my mouth from my husband's cock, kissed the pee-hole gently, and shoved his face away. Before he could register an objection, I rose from the chair, turned around, knelt down, leaned into the chair, and spread my asscheeks. My husband grinned with delight. I know this even though I couldn't see his face - because I don't have eyes in the back of my ass. We don't do anal sex very often, but he and I have both grown to like it. My first anal experience came during the Tonight Show, when I found myself awakening with my ass pulsating in a manner strangely similar to a pussy having an orgasm. As I gained consciousness, I realized that I had fallen asleep while my husband had been lying with his head on my asscheeks, caressing me from behind. I found out later that he had switched to my asshole after I started snoring, and since my ass had begun to pulsate, he assumed I liked it and had been doing it for fifteen minutes or so. It sounded dirty and felt dirty, but only in the best sense. And so we discovered something new. On that first occasion I simply played with his cock while he continued to diddle my asshole; we both came gently, and we fell asleep very comfortably. Back in the present, he replaced my fingers with his, caressed my buttocks, and began to kiss around the edges of my rosebud. With my freed hand I reached into the drawer next to my desk and found a can of WD-40. Casting it aside, I found the tube of KY lubricant and passed it back to him. I keep KY in several places around the house. You can never tell when you'll need a lubricant to help insert a large object into a small aperture. I also keep WD-40 and duct tape in the same places, because they are almost equally useful, but for slightly different purposes. Ooops - I forgot - I'm no longer trying to restrain my passions. Anyway, while my husband unscrewed the cap and prepared to prepare my anal cavity for heavenly rapture, I found time to express a coherent thought to Rose. "You know, Rose," I said, with rising irritation in my voice, "I don't think Minnie and Mickey were ever married. And what about those three 'nephews' who lived with Donald Duck?'" My husband didn't miss a beat. I had barely completed my sentence when I felt first one finger, then two, and then three fingers gently slide into my freshly lubricated backdoor. I knew that he was just priming me for the Real Thing. Almost on cue, as I returned to my "uh-huhs," I began to experience the wonderful fullness of his penis filling my ass. I know lots of women don't like anal sex and lots of stories present it as a form of humiliation, but I consider it to be a rare delicacy. I also knew that Rose would be horrified to know that the woman she was talking to was really a slut who enjoyed having her ass reamed out by a sexy stud. My ass muscles are even easier to control than my cunt muscles. I knew my husband had been almost ready to shoot his wad near the end of the blowjob, and his thrusts and undulations suggested that he was at least equally ready now. A joint orgasm during anal sex can be scary, but we have learned to coordinate our efforts wonderfully. My ass muscles gave him one last kiss, and immediately I felt warm cum shooting into my asshole. Simultaneously, my entire body began to shudder in an enormous orgasm. The earth moved. Our bodies continued to share this ecstasy for what seemed like an eternity - a very nice eternity. I'm getting wet just proofreading this. As his cock eased out of my ass, I regained my composure and spoke calmly into the phone. "Rose," I said, "your problem is that you don't have a life. You oughta go out and get laid by a real stud. Why don't you try taking it up the ass like I just did?" I paused, then added, "I wish you could see me now, with cum oozing out of my asshole, and my husband's cock continuing to throb as he removes it from my ass and continues to gaze at me with unbelievable lust." Then I hung up the phone. My husband looked at me in amazement. "Did you just say what I think you said?" "Yes," I replied. "But she hung up back when I made the crack about Huey, Dewey, and Louie." While my husband went to get some towels to wipe off the wet and sticky stuff from our bodies, I turned back to my computer. I had a feeling that we weren't quite finished for the night. When he returned and handed my a towel, I already had my tee-shirt snugly stuffed between my legs, preventing stains via leakage onto the chair. "So this guy wrote a story about writing a story, and it turned out to be really sexy," he commented, as he kissed me several more times. "Too bad you can't write a review about writing a review and have the review turn out to be really sexy." -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |