Message-ID: <21322asstr$942887400@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: harry-tasker.demon.co.uk!not-for-mail From: "Harry Tasker" Subject: {ASSM} Best Served Cold <*> {Harry Tasker} (MF + MMF cons) X-No-Archive:Yes Lines: 316 X-Original-Message-ID: <942862008.26617.2.nnrp-14.c1edc40d@news.demon.co.uk> X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2314.1300 Date: Wed, 17 Nov 1999 20:10:00 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin This story contains scenes that graphically depict sexual acts. If it is illegal for you to view such material, whether by age or geographical location, please make the informed decision to delete this file now. This story remains the *******sole******* property of the author. Any infringements of copyright will be prosecuted. Visit the author's web site: Perdition's Flames @ http://www.harry-tasker.demon.co.uk/ Sensible comments are always invited by e-mail. Best Served Cold by Harry Tasker © January 1999 She waited for him at the dock. His ship slipped into its berth at 9:30 a.m., nearly six months to the day since it had left. It had been January then, and she had stood alone in the cold and waved until her teeth chattered and her skin burned, watching the aircraft carrier dwindle and dwindle until it was gone. Now it was the sun that burned. She shielded her eyes, straining to pick out his face from the hundreds that lined the edge of the flight deck. Her blue summer dress fluttered in the gentle breeze, occasionally revealing a glimpse of her softly tanned legs. She knew she looked good. She had caught most of the appreciative looks the dock workers had sent her way as she walked from the car park. Their long, lustful gazes had made her blush, but in a warm, deliciously feminine way. She felt her confidence slowly returning, now that he was near. There! There he was! She waved like she was possessed, unable to stop her girlish squeal when he waved back. It took forever to get the gangways in place. When she saw him start down to the dockside, she raced forward through the crowd, not stopping until he was clutched in her arms, his chest tight against her racing heart. Thank God. She kissed him hard, not caring who saw, oblivious to the enactment of the same scene all around her. "Well, hello," he said, when she finally let him break away. He wiped at his smeared lips, then lifted her hand and kissed the wedding band on her finger. "I missed you." "I missed you too," she said. She blinked rapidly, fighting tears anxious to escape. She could not remember ever feeling so happy. He hefted his kit bag onto his shoulder. The rest of his luggage was being sent on. She slipped her arm through his as they started toward her car. "How was life in the Adriatic, really?" she asked. "Frustrating. Steaming around in circles off the coast of Italy, trying to keep a peace that doesn't want to be kept." "And, of course, you hated visiting all those terrible places. Haifa, Corfu, Mombassa, Cairo . . . . " He nodded sombrely. "Oh, it was hell." She saw his grin and aimed a punch at his arm. "I'm sure it was." "Well, there have to be some perks!" This time they both laughed. * * * * * * * After love. She lay beside him, gasping, unfulfilled, the damp sheet ruckled awkwardly beneath her. She watched his broad back as he reached towards the light, smiled familiarly at the sickle-shaped scar beneath his right shoulder. His seed seeped between her thighs, withdrawing from her flesh just as he had. The room turned into darkness, and she lay there, listening to her heart slow, to his breathing relax and fall away towards sleep. The fear still waited for her in the black, goading, consuming her. She rolled on her side, stroking his back with her fingers. "You did miss me, didn't you?" "Uh?" His voice was tired, careless. "Yes, I missed you." "Really miss me?" "Of course I did. How many times did I write and tell you that?" "I know, it's just . . . . " He silenced her with a kiss. "I really missed you. Now go to sleep." But the dark thoughts kept coming. * * * * * * * A gathering. Afternoon coffee at another wife's house. There were five of them, close friends for years, and they had helped each other through many long separations. There was always an abundance of gossip. She hated their gossiping. She pretended to herself that she found it unsavoury, but really it was because she feared what she might discover about her own life. She listened to their happy voices with mute dread. "Monica overheard her husband saying that Joe slept with . . . . " "I wonder if Rachael knows what Raymond got up to when . . . . " "Jonathan will end up castrated if Lilly finds out about . . . ." Shut up. Shut up! She cleared her voice. "Well, at least we know our husbands didn't screw around." She spoke the words with religious clarity, brandishing them like a shield. They looked at her as though she had just appeared amongst them. "Do we?" Their eyes switched amongst themselves for endless seconds. And then they laughed, boisterously. She laughed too. On the outside. * * * * * * * His leave was nearly over, and she was left to tidy the aftermath of the return home. His camcorder sat next to the video recorder, proof of his efforts to copy six months of footage onto VHS. She hit play on the remote, and laughed as his drunken shipmates appeared, cavorting across hot, sandy beaches, clowning on the flight deck. There were dramatic shots of grey, slab-sided warships cutting foam- edged paths through azure blue water. Formations of jets and helicopters trailed across cloudless skies. She smiled. His videos were family favourites at Christmas. He did it well, almost professionally. This looked like another winner. The edited tape reached its conclusion. She turned the camcorder over in her hands. There was plenty of unplayed tape on the cassette. She switched the leads, and pressed play on the hand- held machine. Grey static swarmed across the screen, and then the picture snapped into view. The camcorder slipped from her trembling fingers and crashed to the floor. Mercilessly, the machine kept playing. The viewing angle was high, as though recorded from the top of a wardrobe. A double bed filled the frame. It had a pastel coloured bedspread that the naked couple on the bed had seemingly been too busy to pull back. There was a light coming from somewhere, but nothing else in view suggested either time or location for the encounter. The man's pale buttocks contrasted startlingly with the rest of his deeply tanned body. The raven-haired woman was young, her face attractive. What was visible of her body looked firm and slender. The recording faithfully reproduced her cries of pleasure, as the man moved within her with long, even strokes. As she watched the couple's lust build for the screen, a solitary tear spilled down her cheek, scarring her forever. She tried to reach for the camcorder, but her limbs ignored the jumbled signals. A barely discernible moan escaped her as the man began to thrust with urgency, his partner responding to his vigour, to his virility. The woman's coffee-coloured thighs lifted to envelop his hips, allowing him deeper and so binding him to her. Then her lips parted in a cry that quickly became a scream, and her nails raked her lover's back, leaving bloody tracks in their wake, bloody tracks across a sickle- shaped scar. The couple parted, their passion spent. The woman smiled and got up from the bed. The man watched her move away, then looked directly at the camera. And smiled. * * * * * * * In bed that night. She feigned her period to avoid his advances. He had no idea of the rhythms of her body, so he believed her. Her voice was even when she spoke. "Would you ever cheat on me?" He turned to her, genuinely surprised. "Of course I wouldn't." He looked at her with concern. "What made you ask that?" "One of the girls told me about a friend of hers. Married fifteen years. Rock steady. No problems. Then one day she answers the phone. Some woman asks for her husband. When she tells her husband, he breaks down and confesses everything. He's been having an affair with this woman for fourteen years." He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but-" "I know it must be hard, all that time you spend away, alone. There must be occasions when you're lonely, tempted . . . . " Tell me the truth, she begged silently. Tell me the truth, and perhaps there's still a chance. He reached out and pulled her close. "I'm not like that guy. Some sailors might find it hard to be away from their wives and not to stray. But I'm not one of them. I know I couldn't handle the thought of you with another man, so why would I do something like that to you?" He looked meaningfully into her eyes. "I would never cheat on you. Ever. I swear." * * * * * * * Another gathering. The five of them together over coffee again. There was gossip, but it washed over her. There was nothing for her to fear now. She suddenly spoke, stopping the others in mid-flow. "What would you do if you found out your husband was screwing around?" They turned to her, their eyes and expressions curious, questing. She smiled warmly and laughed. "It's okay. It's just a hypothetical question. I spend so much time listening to you talking about other peoples lives, I just wondered what you'd do if you discovered your husband was playing away from home." They all thought in silence. "I'd divorce him, and take him for every penny I could." "I'd humiliate the bastard in front of everyone who knew him, and then I'd take him back when he'd grovelled for long enough. Two years or so." "I like the idea of hitting him where it would really hurt. Cut up all his best clothes, or pour paint over his car or inside his hi-fi. Something nasty like that." "Well, I've always been a Bobbett fan!" They all laughed heartily. And then they turned back to her. "And what would you do?" * * * * * * * He was back at sea, the aircraft carrier embarked on a training deployment. The working day was over, and the flight deck was finally silent. "Post's here," cried a sailor, as a pile of mail materialised in the middle of the quarters. There was a package for him. He did not recognise the handwriting nor the postmark. He opened it, and looked curiously at the video cassette. Strange. The note inside, in the same unknown handwriting, said simply: 'Complements'. He checked the address on the front of the package again. One of his friends grabbed the cassette from his hand. "Hey, look what we've got to watch tonight. No more old football games." The friend pressed the tape into the video player and flicked on the television. "Who's it from?" someone asked. "No idea," he answered. He moved his seat so he could see the screen clearly. "Yes!" someone shouted from the back of the room. "We have a porno importer in our midst." But he couldn't respond to the heckler. He couldn't hear the whoops or catcalls all around him. He just stared unbelievingly at the screen. The viewing angle was high, as though recorded from the top of a wardrobe. A double bed filled the frame. It had a flowery, homely bedspread that the three naked people on the bed had seemingly been too busy to pull back. It was a classic encounter, the two men positioned at either end of the woman. The men were heavily muscled, their bodies flexing and bulging powerfully as they moved within her. It was impossible to derive much about the woman. On her knees, only her back and buttocks were visible. Her flesh looked smooth and creamy, especially when the man behind her sank his fingers into her buttocks, as he pistoned his massive organ into her flesh. Only the man in front of the woman was identifiable. It was not difficult to read the ecstasy in his expression, as the woman's mouth rose and descended over his enraged manhood. He held her shoulders, controlling her pace, as she gripped his buttocks, binding him to her. The trio's lust built for the screen. The woman sounded muffled, but the recording still managed to faithfully reproduce her cries of pleasure. It was possible to make out her crying ' yes ' over and over, as the man behind her thrust faster and faster. It was a visually impressive climax. The man behind withdrew from the woman and wrenched frantically at his rigid flesh, splashing his seed across her buttocks, making her scream. Simultaneously, the man in front tensed. He made no such effort to withdraw from the woman's mouth, just as she made no effort to expel him. Every muscle on his body was taut, clearly defined, as he emptied himself. The trio parted. The men did not move away though. They sat on either side of the woman, facing the camera, their hands busy over her flesh as she fondled them back to readiness. It was clear that their passions were far from spent. The woman looked directly at the camera. She wiped some of the cream from her lips. And then she smiled. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | ASSM Archive site +-----------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | | --- | +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | This newsgroup is moderated by ASSTR, an entity supported by donations. | | If you enjoy this newsgroup, please consider making a donation to help | | Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository keep providing this free service for you.| | Donations: | \_________________________________________________________________________/