Message-ID: <22736asstr$950256600@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: NewsWatcher!user From: themrlee@hotmail.com (The Mr. Lee) Lines: 270 X-Original-Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Date: 11 Feb 2000 02:52:41 GMT Subject: {ASSM} (Oosh) "Scales and Arpeggios" Part 2 (ff 1st) Date: Fri, 11 Feb 2000 03:10:00 -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: kelly, gill-bates It is us again, the Committee for Erotica Development at the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization. Once again, we must implore you: e-mail Oosh, in care of us so Oosh will be encouraged to keep writing. Some day, you may end up at some God-forsaken all-inclusive tropical resort, with nothing to do but look at the gorgeous youths passing by your bamboo-framed window, longing for their caresses. You will have nothing to calm your pathetic sense of rejection but the well-written erotica you occasionally find on A.S.S.M. But your inaction, those many years ago, lead to a gifted writer not continuing. And then, you have nothing to read but crass, plotless stroke stories. So when you turn and look desirously upon that shining blade, ask us not whose fault it is . . . ******** The next time we met, Minnie hustled me out of the house. "We must go somewhere private," she said. "Is there anyone at your house?" Yes, my mother was at home. So we went to a nearby park, which was usually deserted. "What's the matter?" I asked anxiously. "I've got to go away. Tomorrow." Minnie muttered, downcast. "Mum says I have to go and stay with my cousin for a week. And then she's going to come back to stay here.' "So we won't be able to..." "No." "What will we do?" "Come on, I'll show you." In a corner of the park was an old wooden pavilion. It was all locked up, but round the back was a toilet which was open. We went into the Ladies; Minnie shut the door carefully behind us, then ushered me into one of the stalls. "I'm going to show you something we can do while we're apart. Every night, when you go to bed, you have to do this and think of me. And I'll do it and think of you. You've got to imagine it's me doing it, and I'll do the same. Take your panties off." She was stepping out of hers as she spoke. "I'll show you what to do. Feel my Þnger?" "Oh Minnie, what's..." "Just gently up and down, like this..." "Ohhh... Oh Minnie oh Minnie..." "Shh! Just enjoy it, darling..." "Oh I can't, it's too much: I'm burning..." "Yes you can, you must: it's what we must do. Come on, you try. Put your Þnger there. Like that. That's right. Now you try. Come on." "Oh Minnie, what's happening to me? It's going right through me!" "You've got the idea. I'll do it now, and then you can do it to me, OK? There... kiss me. Kiss me, Mary." She kissed me like a lover, full on the mouth, and held me there as she slowly, lovingly masturbated me. I screamed my pleasure into her gentle, soft mouth, the searing orgasm terrible, cruel in its ferocity. She held me in my swoon, kissing my lips, my face, my eyes. "Now you've got to do me. Do it just the same. Here, put your Þnger here. Now do it. God! Oh God! Oh Mary! Mary, I love you I love you I love you... Aaah..." I hardly knew what to do, but I think it was just that it was my doing it which made her come with a violence which I had never before witnessed. She held me in a bear hug then, as I rubbed her through her climax, and then she slumped against the wall, apparently drained. As soon as her eyes could focus, they focused on mine. "I want you again, Mary. Touch me again! Touch me! Aaah!" This time, my touch seemed to pain her, but she would not let me stop, sometimes guiding my Þngers, until the passion took her once more. Even in her passion, she was terrifying, magniÞcent. And then, our eyes brimming with silent tears, we kissed and kissed until my cunt burned with a Þerce hunger. But then she had to go back, and we walked home in silence, overcome. Even as we parted, there were no words--only her eyes blazing into mine. And so I went back inside, where everything seemed so small, so trivial. That night, in bed, I lay awake wondering about this new, tremendous thing she had shown me. Just thinking about it made the heat grow in my loins, and I knew I was cunt-hungry again. So I felt carefully for the place she had shown me, and began to rub gently. At once the heat returned, and I jerked my legs apart, relishing the fantastic new sensation. It burned and tickled and thrilled me through and through as I found exactly what my clitoris liked best; and then suddenly my Þngers would not stop, heaven exploded inside me and those lovely muscles were squeezing and squeezing as I twitched and shuddered in delighted exhilaration. I laughed and cried for joy at the tremendous sense of relaxation and satisfaction which þooded my being. I was still shivering when my mother came into the room to see if I was all right. Apparently I had cried out. I told her I'd had a bad dream, and she kissed me on the forehead. Much as I had enjoyed my experiences with Minnie, the gentle, diffuse stimulation never approached the buffeting, excoriating thrill of clitoral stimulation. I was completely amazed by it. The more I masturbated, the more I enjoyed it and craved it. And after the climax was over, the shivers stopped, and my heart returned to normal, I'd feel such tremendous relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from me, almost like a different person--clear-headed, sensible, innocent like I'd been before I started fooling around with Minnie. And in my new-found clarity, I'd hear in my memory an echo of the involuntary cries and gasps and bed-squeakings which had accompanied my recent solitary joy. It all seemed so foolish; and it was all over so quickly! I began to feel cheap and a little dirty. But however dirty my habit seemed, I couldn't stop myself from doing it, it was just so enjoyable and the relief afterwards so dramatic. I needed it more than food and drink. After a few days, I had almost forgotten about Minnie. I tried religiously to imagine that it was her Þnger touching me, but after a few strokes I was drunk with pleasure, steeling myself for the glorious climax. My new love was nestling conveniently between my thighs; and as I became more skilful in pleasing her, so she became more urgent and imperious in her demands. The more I slaved to please her, the richer she rewarded me; and so insidiously consolidated my slavery, and her utter dominion. By the time Minnie returned from her stay with her cousin, it seemed that both of us had changed beyond recognition. For one thing, in the constraining presence of her cousin, Minnie's lack of education and inane conversation made her seem utterly dull. For another, her cousin was really beautiful: by comparison, Minnie was overweight, ungainly and spotty. If, for a brief moment that afternoon when she taught me the great secret of womanhood, I fancied that I loved her, I now saw that I loved her only for what she could give me--and that I could now give myself to a far higher degree. I know I was grateful to Minnie for what she had taught me; but now I was a child no longer, but a young grown-up. And so each night I arched and grunted my ecstasy into a mouthful of bedclothes, hoping and imagining that Minnie's pretty cousin was doing the same. Soon after that, I went away to school. Perhaps because of her mother's disapproval, or just because she found other friends, Minnie and I never played together again. Although we remained friendly, we became more distant and eventually lost touch. But Þrst experiences take a very Þrm hold on the imagination. Years later I learned that she was living with a pretty young schoolmistress--a blonde, like her cousin. --- II --- When I arrived at the convent school, I was very anxious to keep my habit a secret. The girls would talk about it, sometimes. They called it "frigging", and the word was always accompanied by a derisive laugh or a sneer. Frigging was for losers. Only the stupid, unattractive girls did it. Touching yourself was a grave sin: the nuns told us so. One of them said it was a mortal sin, which was very frightening; but a nice younger sister told us that God would grant forgiveness, but only if you went to confession as soon as possible afterwards. Touching the private parts led to selÞshness, weakness, lassitude and even illness. I was terriÞed, much too terriÞed to confess it. I tried to give it up, and for a couple weeks I was successful. The prefects, and sometimes the nuns, would patrol the dormitories at night, making sure our hands were visible at all times. Stella McCaffrey, a big, heavy girl with a slight moustache, was said to have been caught by one of the prefects. She wasn't reported, but the rumour was around the school in no time: "did you hear? Stella McCaffrey was caught frigging the other night!" and girls would titter derisively. "What's frigging?" Anne Pepper asked. "Oh come off it, Annie! You know! Rubbing yourself!" "Oh, yuk!" Anne cried, wrinkling her nose in dainty disdain. "I don't know how people can bring themselves to do it! It's disgusting!" I remember how, after my initial abstinence of about two weeks, the Þrst orgasm was almost painful: only the relief afterwards made it worthwhile. But the desire to repeat the experience had grown a hundredfold: my clitoris couldn't get any rest. It seemed that even if I wasn't the only one, I was in a small company of very, very bad people who kept their shameful weakness extremely secret. I tried and tried to resist, but sometimes the urge was too strong. Sometimes I'd slip into the lavatory at break and rub myself madly. The relief would be so tremendous that I'd be walking on air for the rest of the day. Occasionally in the dormitory we had a prefect who would slip out for Þve minutes every now and again. Once when she did, I heard some creaking and a gasp. From somewhere else in the dormitory came an answering titter. Some poor desperate girl had siezed her chance, but even her comrades were listening out for illicit activities. I felt my clitoris burning, begging for relief. I decided to try to do it very, very quietly. I just rolled it slowly from side to side, trying to breathe deeply and regularly. When the pleasure grew and grew, I gritted my teeth and resisted the almighty urge to rub furiously. I felt my body tighten, and strained to relax. The orgasm lasted for ages and ages. My eyes were staring with the effort not to moan or pant or twitch or do anything to give myself away. This was an art I soon perfected. I could do it almost without moving. On the outside I was just like a corpse, stiff and still. Inside my bowels were churning, my head was reeling, I would imagine screaming myself hoarse. Hitherto, I had masturbated like a child--as Minnie had taught me. I just went for that rush of pleasure as fast as I could, and the faster it built the more exhilarating it seemed. But this was an altogether new experience. It was almost a torture to masturbate slowly like this, and although the pleasure was so prolonged, I missed the exhilaration which I could achieve in solitude. Night after night I would lie awake in desperation, trying to suppress the urgency of my desire. I would fantasize about the awful consequences of being caught, of being disowned by all my friends, becoming a social outcast. And so it slowly developed from a craving into an obsession. During the holidays, particularly at the start, I would masturbate upon waking, sometimes in the morning, always in the afternoon and always before sleep. At home, I didn't feel quite so ashamed about it. At school, particularly when I did it in the lavatory, I felt dreadful. I was convinced I was going to go to hell. I said lots and lots of prayers and went to extra services in the hope that I could somehow atone. But I could never bring myself to confess, not to anyone. I kept trying to give it up, but my resolve would crumble within a couple of days. Despite my growing suspicion that masturbation was for me a matter of necessity, not choice, I did it in wretched fear of exposure to public ridicule. And then one day, I was out walking with Sally, a good friend of mine. "You know, a friend of mine told me something very interesting that happened in confession," she told me. "She confessed she'd been touching herself, and the priest told her that it wasn't as serious a sin as the nuns made out. It wasn't voluntary, it was a kind of compulsion, and it was a less serious sin than refusing to share a bag of sweets." My heart leaped in impossible gladness, which I struggled to hide. "Who was it?" I couldn't help asking. I wanted to know: I thought I was the only one in the whole school. "I couldn't possibly tell you. It's a complete secret!" she replied. There was silence for a while. "I think my mummy does it, too," she said thoughtfully. Her father had died a year ago. "Golly! How did you Þnd out?" But she wouldn't, or couldn't, tell me. "And I think it's all rubbish about it making you ill or selÞsh or stupid," she continued, a note of annoyance in her voice. "Why do they say these things when they're just not true? My mummy is one of the nicest, kindest, best people I know." I nodded sagely, and we walked on in silence. I badly wanted to tell her my secret, too, but I couldn't move my tongue. I was dying to ask a thousand questions, but I didn't want to appear curious. For days afterwards, my mind dwelt upon this new intelligence, this possibility of reprieve. Not a very serious sin, eh? A kind of compulsion? Yes, it was. Often and often I had tried to summon all my will-power, forced my mind off the subject, but my body wouldn't stop its promptings until I had given it what it craved. It comforted me somewhat to think that Sally at least wouldn't disown me if my shameful secret were to be revealed. My obsession and my guilt had been nurtured so long that I could hardly accept that it was only a venial sin; but now I dared to hope that God could indeed forgive even this. And so I continued in secret, doing it as seldom as possible, trying not to enjoy it too much, looking and praying for a sign from God that He would forgive me; and though I tried not to enjoy it, the wonderful relief afterwards at least was a blissful respite from my continual struggle. -- This story is copyright 1999 the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization. Reposting is expressly forbidden, except with permission. We at the The Mysterious Mr. Lee Organization adore feedback. Tell us what you liked, tell us what you hated, or just tell us you read the story. e-mail us at: TheMrLee@hotmail.com Visit our wonderful Website at -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+