Message-ID: <20151eli$9902220734@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: azil@my-dejanews.com Subject: {ASSM} Repost: My Reward Ch22 (MC, MF, soccer, near-rape, mention of mF, inc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d 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: <7apfbh$5h8$1@nnrp1.dejanews.com> My Reward By Azil Copyright 1998-99 Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction. No character is meant to resemble any specific person, living or dead. Sexual actions of various types will be depicted in this story. This does not mean that the author approves of these actions, has ever performed any of them, or would perform them if given the opportunity. (Nor does it mean that he doesn't, hasn't, and/or wouldn't). This is inappropriate reading material for minors. In many jurisdictions it may be illegal for minors to read it, or for adults to make it available for minors to read. The author urges you not to disobey these laws. Even if it isn't illegal where you are, keep it away from kids anyway. CHAPTER 22: OWN GOAL It's a little difficult to characterize my life as "routine", but there does come a point, even in a situation as bizarre as mine, where things settle down a bit. In the first weeks and months following my acquisition of Reward, I was like a kid in a candy store -- a kid with an unlimited budget, a voracious appetite, and good dental insurance. But there comes a point, even for a kid in a candy store, where the saturation point is reached. I now had full-scale affairs going with Beth and Sharon and, as Tom O'Malley, with Ashley. In addition, I had an occasional rendezvous with Diana (the waitress), LaShonda (the hotel maid), Heather (the hooker), and from time to time with assorted other women who attracted my attention for one reason or another. That was in the here and now. I also had my visits to the Mallory Empire (which had expanded somewhat with the conquest of a few neighboring islands and the expropriation of their women), and to other times and places. I was the dissolute son of a robber baron in 1889 New York; I owned huge plantations near New Orleans in 1850 and factories in early Victorian England; I was Emperor of China, a Roman aristocrat, a wealthy merchant in Renaissance Venice, a provincial governor under the pharaohs, and an Ottoman Bey. Among other things. I had lost count of the number of wives, mistresses, girl friends, concubines, courtesans, slaves, servants, harem girls, and assorted kept women I had in my various lives. So when I say that things had settled down to a routine, I'm speaking in relative terms. I was simply not acquiring new playmates and was concentrating (not exclusively, but mostly) on the ones I had. So I'm going to skip lightly over the next few months, in which Tom Mallory continued to have lots of fun with Beth and Sharon and the others, Tom O'Malley continued his courting of Ashley Benedict, the Great One continued to fuck his assorted wives and slaves, and my various other personae continued their various pursuits. I was having lots of fun, but for the most part what happened in those months was pretty similar to what was described in the preceding 80,000 or so words. I don't want to make you sit through another 80,000 words describing the various women I had over that time period. Besides, I know you're not interested in that kind of stuff - you're just here for the plot and character development. But a few things changed. Now that Beth was in on my secret, and had experienced the pleasures of Reward when I let her have fun with her teen crush, she wanted more of the same. I stopped over for my morning coffee and fuck the next day and asked her how Dan Peters had been. She giggled. "What would you expect from an 18-year-old boy?" she asked. "He was totally inept and totally focussed on his own crotch. But at the same time, he had lots of energy." She giggled again. "I had fun teaching him a few things." "Like what?" I prompted. "Mainly to eat pussy," she replied. "I'd just given the little bastard a hell of a blowjob, and then when I asked for reciprocity, he had the gall to make a face and say 'Eww, no way!" She laughed at the memory. "I pointed to my pussy and said, 'If you ever want another blowjob, you'll get down there and start licking - now!'" I could picture it - Dan Peters had never come up against a girl his age who had the self-assurance of an adult woman. It had to be an eye-opening experience for him. "Well, it sounds like you had fun," I said. "How many times did you get him up?" Beth raised an eyebrow. "You know, at times you can be terribly crude, Tom." But she laughed. "I got him up, and off, three times." "Not a bad day," I answered. "Did you have anything left for Mike?" "Thankfully," she laughed, "he wasn't in the market last night, or I would have really had to struggle - I was worn out." "Are you still worn out?" I asked. "Not for you, lover boy," she answered archly. So we repaired to the bedroom where we fucked and sucked and licked and nibbled and etcetera'd for the next couple of hours. Before our last fuck, she asked me to make her eighteen. I made us both eighteen, and we had a great time. When I was leaving, she asked if she could have Dan again for the rest of the day. When I asked if she'd be too tired for Mike she said, "Fuck Mike," and giggled, "or better yet, don't fuck him." I figured Mike was her problem, so I told Reward to send her Dan. "Can I watch?" I teased. "No way, pervert," she replied ungratefully. A few days later she asked for Dan again, and then it became a regular thing for a few weeks. Once or twice I felt a twinge of jealousy, but overcame it, remembering that I was fucking everything I could lay my hands on. And I'd certainly seen no sign that Beth's passion for me was decreasing - much to the contrary, in fact. After a few weeks, as we lay in bed after our morning fuck 'n' suck, Beth varied her request. "You told me one time that Dan isn't really Dan, that he's a clone Reward makes for me, and he disappears when I'm done with him, right?" "Right." "I'm not sure how that works," she said, "but I'll trust you on it." "Thanks," I replied. She repaid my jibe by sticking out her tongue. "Don't take it out unless you're planning to use it," I warned. "Shut up and be serious," she answered, but took a moment to use it anyway. "Now, to get back to the subject," she said, after giving my cock a couple teasing licks, "if I have sex with a clone, the real person just goes on as if it never happened. Right?" "Right." She paused for a long time. "And the point is . . . . " I prompted. "I'm kind of bored with Dan, would you mind getting me somebody else?" "Got somebody in mind?" I asked. "Well . . . yes. You see," she said, "Mike's partner is a guy named Dave Dreiber. We see him some times, at parties and all, and he's always flirting and teasing with me." She stopped. "Just innocent stuff, playing, you know?" She looked at me, and I nodded. "And he'll joke with Mike, tell him that he's going to steal me away from him and like that." I nodded again. "Well . . . I've wondered sometimes if maybe there was something behind the kidding. And at one time," again she paused, then rushed on, "this was before you, of course," again I nodded. "Anyway, at one time I sort of hoped he would try something." "But he never did." She sighed. "So we saw him at a party last night, and he started the same routine again, and I thought to myself," she flashed a wicked grin, "I thought I'd like to get him alone in a room and tell him to put up or shut up." She laughed. "Of course I can't do that. But I can do it with his clone, can't I?" "Sure," I said. "Sounds like fun. Can I watch?" "You goddamn pervert," she hit me with a pillow, "you're always wanting to watch." "One of these days you'll let me," I replied. "Is this like one of these days I'm gonna let you fuck me in the ass?" "Kind of," I replied, reaching out to stroke the body part in question. Actually I didn't have any great interest in watching Beth get fucked - voyeurism isn't one of my things - but I enjoyed teasing her about it. Her ass, on the other hand, was something I very much wanted. But I was still willing to wait for it. It wasn't to be today, however. Beth enjoyed the stroking, but returned to the subject at hand. "So can I have Dave?" She reminded me of my daughter asking for a dress. "Okay," I said, but though I had been planning to leave I decided to extract a price. "That will be one blowjob, please - the super deluxe." "Since when do I have to pay?" she asked in mock dismay, but seemed quite happy as her lips settled around my cock. One super deluxe blowjob later, I kissed Beth good-bye at the front door, and told her Reward would have Dave Dreiber waiting in her bedroom when she got back there. And so things went, on into the early fall. The kids were back in school, the temperatures were down under a hundred, and I was spending this Saturday as many parents do - sitting in the bleachers in a park, watching a bunch of kids playing soccer. Specifically, watching the Heatwave play the Eagles. The Heatwave being the team that featured Thomas Mallory, Jr. at midfield. I use "featured" as only a father can use it, because, truth to tell, Thomas was not the best of soccer players. He was good but inconsistent - flashes of real talent alternated with mediocrity and the occasional bonehead mistake. As he matures and cuts down on the errors, he may turn into a good solid player. But maybe I'm overly optimistic. Anyway, today was one of the bad days. Not just for Thomas, but for the team - Thomas was playing down to the level of most of his teammates, who were lucky to be behind only 4-2 with about ten minutes to go. There was only one really good player on Thomas's team, Brandon Liggett, a forward. Soccer talent seemed to run in the Liggett family - his brother, Jason, was the star player at Sarah's high school and was being recruited by several colleges. His older sister, Natalie, had been all-state when at the high school, was now the big star at ASU, and was, according to the paper, a strong candidate for the national team. At this moment, she was seated behind me. There were only about a dozen of us in the bleachers. Most of the parents had brought lawn chairs, but I, as usual, had forgotten mine. Also at this moment, down on the field, another Heatwave attack fizzled out as Thomas, under no pressure at all, made a really dumb pass into a group of Eagle defenders, totally ignoring Brandon Liggett, who was all alone on the left, cutting toward the goal. "Jesus Christ!" I heard behind me. "If he can't pass any better than that, they oughta yank him." Now, my outlook toward kid sports is to not take anything too seriously. They're just having fun, and while we all like to win, we can wait until they're older before we begin demanding too much of them. (I admit I don't always live up to this philosophy, having yelled in agony at some bad calls, but I mostly try to let it guide me). I'm also, I think, fairly typical of parents, in that I don't much like public criticism of my kid - even, as in this instance, when it's valid. I turned and said, "They're just kids." I was ready to leave it at that, but as I turned back to the field she said coldly, "Too bad if I insulted your kid, but if he can't play the game he ought to stop screwing it up for the ones who can." I did not take kindly to this remark. I always dislike rudeness, and rudeness coupled with nastiness about my kid is a combination guaranteed to set off fireworks. "Don't you think it's about time you put soccer into perspective?" I asked, perhaps not nicely. She sneered, an ugly look on an attractive face. Up to this moment, I had thought of her merely as an immature jock with an exaggerated sense of her own importance. Now, I took a really active dislike to her. I made the rest of the world ignore us. "Now you're going to apologize for that remark, you arrogant little bitch, or I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life." I could see a bit of fear enter her eyes as she realized that she had crossed a line with me. But she was, as I had called her, arrogant. She wasn't about to back down. "Shove it, jerk," was all she said. It was all I needed. "I think I will shove it," I said evenly. "Up your ass." She looked around nervously at the others in the bleachers and the people standing nearby. No one, of course, was paying us the slightest attention - they were watching the field, where the Heatwave, after a series of brilliant moves by Thomas Mallory, Jr., had just scored. "You leave me alone, asshole," she said in a louder voice, intended to attract the attention of people nearby. Nobody heard her. I moved next to her and grabbed her t-shirt, ripping it off her with a single pull. She screamed, but again no one heard. I pushed her down on the bleacher seat with one hand, pulling her bra off with the other. She resisted, but confusion made her weak - why, she was asking herself, did no one help her? She was lying back now, her eyes filled with terror, as my hand reached for her shorts and ripped them away. She screamed again, an ear-shattering screech. But nobody heard, their attention focussed on the field where Thomas Mallory, Jr. had just cut between two defenders and passed perfectly to Brandon Liggett, who scored on a header to tie the game with three minutes remaining. Her scream did have an effect, however. On me - it brought me to my senses. I had wanted to humble this girl, but violence was too much. I almost let her go, but then I looked at her again. Her tanned, muscled body lay open before me - her small, hard tits sticking up, her long legs stretching out. Well, I'm not going to rape her, I said to myself, but as long as we're here . . . -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----