Message-ID: <19460eli$9901290448@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Gaucho <100550_1306g@csi.com> Subject: Viviane 1/5 The appointment (F/? subway nc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Reply-To: 100550_1306g@csi.com MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii; x-mac-type="54455854"; x-mac-creator="4D4F5353" X-Accept-Language: en 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: <36B0DAA5.C9D19772@csi.com> This is a work of fiction written for my own entertainment. Please refrain from reading if you're offended or too young. If you like it, send me a note: 100550_1306g@csi.com There are yet three parts, and I intend on writing two more. Vivianes Appointment Part One This was definitely not going to be Viviane's day. When she woke at around 8:30, she realized she had ignored the alarm. A strange dream had kept her in a soft, warm and wonderful place. It took her an eternity to fight her way out to reality. She felt physical pain when she became aware that it had only been a dream and when she looked at the alarm, she already had forgotten what she had dreamt. What remained was the feeling of great loss and loneliness. Viviane raised from the bed. "I've gotta speed up," she thought, tumbling to the bathroom. She stepped out of her boxer shorts and sat down on the toilet. Sloppy as she was she had completely forgotten to run the washing machine so she was left with what underwear she could find in the stack beside the tumble dryer: a gray cotton body stocking with only one button left to close it. She brushed her teeth while checking her face. With twenty- nine years she still had the looks of a little girl: A small stubby nose covered with freckles and big green eyes, that shone in a dreamy stare. Even though she had quite a good figure, sometimes she looked just like she had grown too fast. Her wild mane of dark blond resisted every effort to bring it into shape, so she gave up combing after some useless strokes with the brush. She fought her way into the body stocking and went to the bedroom to complete her wardrobe: A gray cotton skirt and a pair of white cotton tennis shoes. In the kitchen she gulped down some cold coffee that was left from yesterdays breakfast and while tumbling down the stairs she slid in her jacket. Today she had to make a presentation at a clients office. For two month now she had been designing logos, artwork and color schemes for a new company. A difficult task, because there was not much she new about the company itself - a TV producer, preparing a new game show for the pay-tv-market, all top-secret. Some brainless nonsense, where moron housewives had to guess the price of washing powder, microwave ovens and beauty lotions, Viviane thought with distaste. The design had to be sexy but decent, her boss had insisted. Whatever that meant. Sexy seems to be the new fashion word of the entertainment business, she thought. Well, her layouts were sexy, the goddamned best artwork she had made in month. Funny thing was, the client's company had urged her boss that the presentation had to be done by herself. Gerard wasn't quite happy about that. He'd rather have his marketing-assistant Jean-Luc do the job. Jean-Luc was gay, but he had charm and was great in convincing hesitating clients. Viviane was not really charming. She had a blunt way to deal with people that would not share her opinion. But Gerard had to give in even though he knew her opinion about TV-people and now she was on her way. Halfway down the staircase it came to her mind that it would be a good idea to bring along the large cardboard folder containing her layouts. She climbed up to the seventh floor again - to find out that she had forgotten to close the front door. ********** Viviane worked as a graphic designer in a down ridden art bureau in Paris' IXth Arrondissement. Her office was located in a grayish building on the lower Rue St. Denis. Making the way to her workplace was always running the gauntlet: Whether the hookers that usually line the pavement of Rue St. Denis took her for a competitor, or passersby whispered obscene invitations to her - there was no single day that passed without insults, molestation or worse. After two years Viviane still hadn't found out why: She was six foot tall, so she never wore high heels. Her breasts hadn't grown since she was fourteen and with what little she had, she didn't have to bother wearing a bra. Her fingernails were short and colorless because she couldn't quit the habit of biting them down when she was concentrating on a problem (she spent hours to trim them afterwards because she didn't want anybody to find out about nevertheless). Apart from a pair of simple Creole earrings she never wore jewels either. And day in day out she dressed in simple cotton or woolen skirts, mostly in black or gray. To cut it short, her outfit couldn't be the incentive to all the humiliations she had to endure on the short way between subway and office. It was in fact her physical appearance, the dreamy, startled look on her face, her long slender arms and legs, that gave her an air of being most vulnerable and inviolable at the same time. When she left the office yesterday, Gerard, her boss, had once more tried to make sure she was aware of the importance of this particular client: "Yanel will be the key player on the pay-tv-market in one year, you can bet. If WE get the account, we're back in business. Don't mess it up!" He went on with half an hour's explanation about what they would do with the money - building up a whole department for the animation- and trailer-stuff, their TV-client would need, web design and all that crap - if only Viviane would get the account and so on and so on. Viviane shrugged. She had her own ideas about selling her abilities. She played with a pencil as Gerard again outlined the offer he wanted her to explain to their future client. When he was through with it she gathered the files she would need from her desk. It looked a mess, she admitted in her thoughts. Piles of unread magazines with pizza cartons and filthy dishes on top beside her Macintosh, whose keyboard was covered with a grayish layer of grease. Some photos she had clipped from newspaper were pinned to the wall, showing the grotesque side of life - she had a weakness for absurdities like cows with two heads or the like. "Not much to give up," she thought. ********** Viviane entered the metro station and a wave of human scent hit her like a wall. It was a warm day in June and people seemed to emanate even more natural odors than on any other day. The station was packed and she had to push through the crowd, trying not to get caught with the unhandy cardboard folder. She checked her watch. The metro heading to Rive Gauche seemed to be late. If she caught that train, she would have an hour or so till the appointment. She relaxed as the train entered the station. She got on a wagon holding out the huge briefcase in front of her like a shield. When the doors closed, she was trapped in a closely packed crowd. All of a sudden she fellt the strong urge for a restroom. Dammit, she tried to eliminate the thought from her mind, but when the metro rolled on, a huge ad for Evian mineral water came into view, showing a clear blue waterfall. Viviane swore. Everybody around her stared into thin air, trying to avoid the looks of their fellow passengers. Viviane could hardly breathe. The air in here was even worse than in the station. The train gathered speed and the acceleration pressed her against an amorphous wall of human flesh. She struggled to hold her balance, unable to reach out for the handles hanging from the wagons ceiling. Just in front of her stood one of these businesslike guys in an indefinable age between thirty-three and fifty-five. She tried to read the ads fixed in plastic frames above the wagon's windows. The train rode through darkness, the lights from within the wagon illuminating just now and then some graffiti, that some crazy sprayers must have had the nerve to paint here in the guts of Paris. Viviane mused about the rendez-vous with the Yanel-people when suddenly she felt an irritating movement in her back. She was unable to move, the large folder she carried across her chest had caught between the nearby standees, immobilizing her. There it was again, a hand nestling in her back. In a feeble attempt she tried to turn but soon had to realize there was no way. She breathed a little faster, feeling alarmed. Viviane turned her head as far as she could, but couldn't make out the perpetrator of her irritation. The fumbling went on. She tried to relax, to get accustomed to the activity at her backside, when suddenly something cold forced its way between the waistband of her skirt and her body stocking right in the small of her back. Viviane started, her sudden movement causing angry looks from her fellow passengers. "This is outrageous," she was about to exclaim when suddenly her buttocks felt a slight breeze and she realized that whoever had fumbled in her back had cut the waistband of her skirt. Viviane's face flushed bright red with embarrassment. Her helpless struggles started to draw the attention of the fellow passengers. "Some f - ing teenage creep tries to make fun out of me," she thought, persuading herself to keep calm. She forced on a blank smile. An elderly woman, who had studied her with curiosity turned away when Viviane made a face at her. But now an impudent finger pulled at the thin strap of her body stocking that disappeared between her buttocks. The cloth was drawn away from her skin and that force was enough to let the remaining button, that had fastened the body stocking in her crotch, give way with a light snap, leaving her sex exposed to the warm humid air that filled the wagon. Viviane shuddered, her heart began to race and she tried to move forward, when the business guy turned his head. "Can't you see that there is no space to move in here? So would you please refrain from pushing." She stood still, sighing. At her back, she could feel a slim finger entering the cleft between her buttocks. She tried to press her checks together when she felt something being moved between her knees, forcing them apart. Struggling to keep her balance she fell forward again. "Now would you please stop floundering," was what it earned her. Whoever was standing behind her was slowly pushing a suitcase or a box between her feet, preventing her from closing her legs. Viviane started sweating. The train slowed down and came to a screeching halt. The doors opened and more people forced their way into the packed crowd. The doors made several attempts to close and finally the metro picked up speed again. As soon as the shaking journey continued, the slim finger made contact with her bare behind again and entered between her spread buttocks. ********** As a matter of fact Viviane never had a lot of pubic hair. Since adolescence, she was always subject to the jokes of her classmates when they found out that she was almost as bare as an egg at places where the other girls grew hairs in thick curls. She tried to avoid going to the showers after sport lessons, knowing that her childish appearance would provoke nothing but mockery. Over the years, not much had changed. Now and then, when she paraded in front of the mirror, trying on new underwear, inspecting her flat tummy and butt, she came to a stop, putting her hands on her hips, standing square in front of the mirror: "I'm looking like a thirteen year old girl." Even with her legs closed the space between her thighs was four fingers wide and nothing concealed the pink bud of her clitoris protruding between her bare labia, giving her vulva the appearance of a flower about to open. "My lips are way too short," she thought angrily. She would never wear a silken skirt without panties - at first look everybody, who saw her at the right angle against the light, would know every detail about the most intimate part of her anatomy. "At least I haven't got to trim my hair when wearing a bikini," she thought, but it wasn't much help. ********** Suddenly Viviane felt the smooth fingertip on her sphincter. A shudder went through her body and she jolted. The finger made a little circle over the taut ring of muscles and traveled further down, trailing the fissure between her labia. The tall girl was trapped, her knees spread at least one foot apart by a bulky piece of luggage, her hands clasped around the folder, her backside exposed from the hem of her leather jacket to her feet. Viviane gasped when the warm hand between her thighs gently forced her to open her legs a little more. By now she nearly had to stand on her tiptoes and was about to stumble. "Excuse me," she mumbled to the gentleman standing right before her, "I just wanted to - oh!" When she made a little step to have a better stand, with the lightest of movements a cheeky fingertip made contact with her protruding clitoris. Her heart stopped for a second. The passenger opposite to her, blocking her way, himself cramped in the crowd, turned his head again. "Are you OK?" he asked, studying the confused expression on her bright red face. "Thank you, I'm - ahhh - nghh," was all she managed to answer, when the sleek intruder continued his assault. Right now the fingertip was running in a delicious circle around the tip of her clitoris. Whoever stood behind didn't want to hurt her, so much for sure. Quite the opposite. Viviane was startled. The finger playing with the most sensual part of her body must belong to a woman- she was sure she felt the soft scratching of a long nail against her labia. A man would never be so sensitive, she thought. She grasped the cardboard harder, her knuckles turning white, when the finger retreated towards her vaginal opening. She held her breath and sensed her inner lips opening like petals of a blooming flower. "This is not happening," she tried to gather her willpower, but when the fingertip lightly slid over her urethra, her clitoris filled with blood as it was touched by a fingernail. Then the finger made contact with the soft tissue of her vaginal opening. Viviane felt the moisture that had gathered at the entrance of her vagina, cursing herself, hoping that her tormentor wouldn't feel it too, and realize her arousal. When the tall girl felt a small trickle of saliva running over her chin she realized she had her mouth open. Just when she was about to close it, the finger slowly started to slip into her vagina. The air, that had built up in her lungs, escaped with a long sigh. "Unghhhhhhhhhh - " was all she was able to articulate, when she felt the first joint of the intruding finger passing the ring of muscle, that guarded the entrance. Due to the lubrication she emanated, there wasn't much resistance and the finger slid in as easy as if penetrating melting butter. "Ahhhhh - " the second joint had made its way inside. The finger advanced ever so slowly until it was completely buried inside her and she could feel the flat of her assailant's hand resting against the skin of her buttocks. Viviane's heartbeat sped up a considerable rate, her breath became flat. The finger came to a halt. At the same time, two fingertips, belonging to the same hand, started a slow stroking motion through the folds of her drenched labia, alongside the swollen shaft of her clitoris. Viviane had to bite her lower lip as the lust, radiating from her genitals, raged through her nervous system. Another movement, a slight bending and as slowly as it entered the finger began to retreat, sending delicate shivers down her spine each time a joint passed the entrance. She felt the walls of her vagina contracting in an involuntary movement, trying in vain to prolong the retreat. When finally the finger, covered with a film of her fluids, broke free and her flesh closed again, she couldn't prevent arching her back, sticking out her bottom. Her knees felt like jelly and Viviane was afraid they might give way when the man in front of her turned his head again, having heard her dreamlike sound of disappointment. He managed to turn around and stood now only inches away, his body separated from hers only by the huge cardboard folder she held on to. The man, clad in a dark double-breasted suit, white shirt and a red silk tie, began to study her face. Viviane realized she gave indeed an astounding sight, her mouth and eyes wide open, her cheeks bright red, her face a contorted mask. Suddenly a musky smell hit her, and Viviane thought she would die from shame. The scent of her fluids dispersed from her sex and through the trains compartment. "He must smell my arousal," a panic filled thought raced through her mind: "I must stop this." She fought to regain her composure, trying to concentrate on her business meeting, third-world-hunger, her grandmother, anything, when the finger started his cruise again. This time it spread the fluid escaping her sex around her tight anal opening, traveling between her sex and her anus in a slow and gentle massage. Viviane's eyes started to fill with tears. This delicious torture was more than she could bear. The fingertip went the other way between her inner and outer lips on one side towards her clitoris and back again on the other side. Another massage of her sphincter and the finger returned to her clitoris, which by now stood out like a sprout between her open labia. Again the fingertip started a circle, avoiding direct contact with the bud itself. Viviane started to sob. This was too much. She knew that only one touch would send her over the edge. Orgasming in the middle of an indifferent crowd, in a metro wagon, in the face of a stranger who wouldn't let his eyes off her face, who studied the contorted expression of lust on her face, the silent begging for release in her wide open eyes, the tears of frustration running down her cheeks. "Just touch it - please," was the only thought she was able to hold, herself indifferent to the crowd, to the stranger in front of her, to the humiliating nakedness of the nether half of her body, her juices by now trickling down the inside of her thigh. "Oh my god, please," she whispered when the tormenting fingertip finished another circle. Her clitoris felt like it would burst any moment. Viviane had lost all notion of where she was and where she was going, her mind centered around her painful lust. Her tormentor must be perfectly aware of her state of arousal. The finger moved with a delicate ease through the soft folds of her sex, touching her most secret places with exception of her clitoris: It stroked the left side of the shaft, the right side, then tensed the tissue at the entrance of her genital cleft so that the hood of her clitoris retreated further and the engorged bud came to stand out still a little further. Viviane couldn't stand no more, her eyes sending pleading looks. "Please - hrch - ohmygodohmy - gnnnrrach," she gritted between her teeth, yet the finger retreated again, collecting more fluid from her vagina, massaging her anus once more. Viviane was about to burst, her genitalia felt like a volcano, hot lava running down her leg. She prayed for an eruption, sensing it so close yet out of reach, beyond her control. The fingertip continued to massage her sphincter, applying more and more pressure in the center until suddenly it broke the slight resistance of the ring of muscle. Viviane lost control. When her rectum relaxed, she felt her she couldn't hold the content of her bladder. A few drops of urine escaped her urethra. She tried to hold it back, but a constant trickle of liquid found its way out. She closed her eyes in shame, avoiding the staring look of her spectator. The invading finger stayed completely still. "Oh my god no please don't stop it I can't take no more please," she sobbed - and, as if her tormentor's heart finally found pity on her trembling body, he withdraw his fingertip from her rectum and without further delay placed index and thumb on either sides of her clitoris and started a rubbing motion - as if counting money. Viviane jerked, caught off guard in her tantalizing reverie, her eyes about to pop from their sockets. And with opening her eyes again, she saw the red recording light of a handy cam, pointing at her face. The shock swiped away what little composure she still had. With a ferocity she never thought possible, the orgasm flashed through her body like a lightning. Her muscles gave way and a stream of warm urine washed over the hand which continued its stroking motion. "Ohnohh - ohhhhh - nooohhhhhrch -." Her nervous system approached overload, the knuckles of her fingers pale white, wringing the cardboard in her hands, saliva dropping from her open mouth. The camera was only inches from her face, still recording. Her whole body shook. The fingers around her clitoris exercised the same movement over and over again and still there was no stop to the stream of warm liquid escaping her bladder. The smell of warm urine spread through the wagon. Viviane was about to collapse, but then her climax subsided and the warm trickle of urine came to a halt. The eyes of every passenger in the compartment were set on her. The subway came to a screeching halt. The doors opened with a hydraulic hiss and passengers poured from the wagon out into the station. The man with the handy cam had vanished, she couldn't remember when. Viviane felt the suitcase being torn out between her weak knees (it must be covered with piss, she thought in a blush of shame). She didn't have the strength to turn around. Already new passengers made their way into the wagon when Viviane came to her senses and pushed her way out of the train. The doors closed behind her, the train pulled out of the station and gathered speed when she realized, that from her waist down she was naked. Her skirt - probably soaked as well - was on its way to the outskirts of Paris. to be continued -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----