Message-ID: <24697asstr$961042243@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <200006141907.PAA25537@fozzie.webservepro.com> From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat) Subject: {ASSM} The Color of Attraction (F exhib M solo) Date: Thu, 15 Jun 2000 00:10:43 -0400 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: newsman, IceAltar This work contains graphic depictions of sex acts. Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable, or violates laws in your part of the world. This story is Copyright 2000 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- The Color of Attraction Sitting in the passenger seat of a rented mid-sized sedan, Heather Stanton up-ended a plastic bottle of water and took a big swig. Then she passed it to the driver. "It's a little warm," she warned him. Gerald Maytag looked at her from behind the wheel. Dark sunglasses hid his expression. "The sun must have heated it up." He glanced at the dashboard. "We need gas anyway. Next time we see a station I'll stop." "Exactly when was the last time we saw a station?" Stanton asked. "I have no idea," Maytag said, eyes straight ahead on the road. "Speaking of ideas, who thought it would be fun to make this trip by car?" "I thought a road trip in the southwest might be fun," Maytag said. "We had a simple little assignment, and Schenk gave us all this time to do it. You seemed eager to go along. It's not my fault the air conditioning blew out on this thing." "Don't get defensive, Maytag. I'm just kidding. Actually, I'm kind of enjoying the heat." That was true. At first it was no problem. Stanton wore a pair of khaki shorts and a white cotton tank top, fixing her dark hair in a pony tail that poked through the back of her "FBI" baseball cap, blue with yellow lettering. But the temperature kept rising that day, and even in such light clothes, Stanton was growing uncomfortable. Maytag was worse off in jeans and a black t-shirt. "Do you want to play twenty questions again?" Maytag asked. "I don't think so," Stanton answered. "You're not still upset about that, are you?" Stanton shifted in her seat to face him. "Maytag, the letter 'x' is not a person, place, or thing." "It's a thing!" "Let's not get into this again," Stanton pleaded. Stanton spent the next half hour searching for a decent radio station. Chris De Burgh's "Lady in Red" came across the airwaves. "That's got to be the fourth time we've heard that song," Stanton said before pressing the 'seek' button on the radio again. "It's not bad," Maytag said. In truth, he quite liked it. "Whatever," Stanton said. "How come women never wear red dresses?" Maytag asked. "Because black is more elegant, easier to find matching shoes for, and doesn't make you look fat," Stanton said. "Next question." "No, I'm serious. I think men find red dresses attractive, why aren't there more of them?" "Maybe you like red dresses, but women are the ones buying and wearing them. Hey, gas station up ahead." "Yeah, I see it." "Besides," Stanton went on, "you may like red dresses, but I doubt all men do." Maytag turned the car in to the service station. "So what color attracts men?" he asked, pulling up to the fuel pumps. "I don't think it really matters, Maytag. They don't pay attention. What catches a man's eye is the part of the dress that isn't there: a backless dress, high slit on the leg, low neckline, spaghetti straps. That kind of thing." The two stepped out of the sedan. Stanton stretched, and Maytag started to fill the tank. "OK, that may be true," Maytag said. "But still one color must be more attractive than another." Stanton took another sip from her water bottle before answering. "How about transparent? Is that a color?" "Transparent isn't a color," Maytag said. "Well, if 'x' is a thing," Stanton said, "Then transparent is a color." Maytag sighed. "In any case, some men probably go in for that, but not all." "Wanna bet?" Stanton asked. Usually, Maytag backed down from Stanton's offers to wager, but this time he was intrigued. Possibly the effect of too much sun. "What kind of bet?" "I walk in there," she said, pointing to the service station mini mart, "And offer to pour this bottle of water all over this white shirt if they pay for our gas." Maytag looked at her for a moment with a blank expression. "They pay for the gas and a couple of sodas," Maytag corrected her. "Fine." "And if they go for it?" Maytag asked. "You admit I'm right, about this *and* the letter 'x'. And you buy me a new dress. You started me thinking that I could use one. My choice of color." "How expensive a dress?" "No more than $300 or so," Stanton said. "I don't think so!" Maytag replied. "But you haven't even heard what you stand to win," Stanton said. Maytag rubbed his chin. "Let's hear it." "We can make that detour to Roswell that you wanted to squeeze in to this trip. And I'll pay for the entire thing." "Really?" Maytag asked. His voice had the pitch of a ten year old boy. "Yes, really." "Including 'Abduction: The Musical'?" Stanton clenched her jaw. "Yes." "And you'll admit 'x' is a thing?" "Don't push your luck, Maytag." "OK," Maytag said. "You're on." "Give me a second," Stanton said. In a flash of elbows, she unhooked her bra and slipped it out from under her shirt. "I'll never figure out how women do that," Maytag mused. "Do teenage girls have races doing that?" "No," Stanton replied, tossing her bra into the car. "Do teenage boys spend time imagining that they do?" She turned away from the car and walked over to the mini mart. "Hey!" Maytag called, causing Stanton to stop and look back. "How will I know if you did it?" "I think that'll be obvious, Maytag." She started to walk again. "Wait! How will I know you won the bet? "Maytag, I'm not about to be the sole contestant in a wet t-shirt contest and lose." "The bet is they pay for the gas and sodas. How do I know you won't pay for it?" Exasperated, Stanton sighed. She walked back to Maytag and the sedan. She stuffed her hand in her pocket and pulled out some dollar bills and change. "Here," she said. "This is my money. Here's my credit card. Happy?" "I will be when we hit Roswell," Maytag said. "In your dreams," Stanton said. "One more thing, Stanton." "What now?" "Your hat?" "Oh, yeah." This wasn't something either one wanted associated with the Bureau. Stanton handed him the hat, shook out her hair and approached the mini mart. Walking in, she was hit by cool, environmentally controlled, air. Her nipples hardened in an instant. That should help, she thought. She surprised the young man behind the counter, who had been busy reading a magazine. He hurried to put it back on the shelf behind him. The cover featured a large breasted blonde in a baby-doll nightie, and in large red letters the masthead declared, "SNATCH". The young man, more of a teenager, really, fumbled with his pants. "This is gonna be easier than I thought," Stanton mumbled to herself. "Hi," she said aloud. "Howdy," he answered. "I need to pay for my gas, but I seem to be a little short on cash." "We take credit cards, ma'am." This ma'am thing was a bad sign, Stanton thought. "Yeah, well, I seem to have forgotten those, too." "Oh," he said. He looked confused. Maybe a little slow, Stanton thought. "I was wondering if you could help me out, and in return I might pick up your day a bit." "Like how?" "What if I put on a little wet t-shirt contest for you?" "Just you?" Not only was he slow, Stanton thought, he was tactless, too. "Yes, just me." He considered it for a second. "Mind if I whack off?" No tact, Stanton thought, and certainly not coy. Well, it was for a new dress. "That's fine," Stanton said. "Can I come on you?" "What?" Stanton blurted out loud. "It doesn't have to be like on you," the kid said. "It could be like this." He grabbed the magazine he had been reading and opened it on the counter. Using his thumb he flipped to a pictorial that showed a woman covered partially in plastic wrap, with two men jerking off on her from either side. Stanton wondered just what the name of that magazine was again before contemplating his offer. Was that worth a new dress? Probably not, but it had to be better than 'Abduction: The Musical.' "Throw in a couple of sodas, and you're on," she said. The kid swallowed nervously. "Are we gonna do it right here?" "Is there a back room?" Stanton asked. The kid nodded his head yes. "Maybe that would be better," she said. He started to lead the way. "Don't forget the plastic wrap," Stanton added. "Oh, yeah," he smiled. Not a bad smile. Dark eyes, sandy hair cut short. Stanton guessed he was 19 or so. He led her to the store room. The room was lined with shelves, which took away most of what little floor space there was. Once inside, Stanton felt the heat again, worse than outside. She could feel the heat invade her muscles and warm her blood. Even without the water bottle she might have sweated enough in that room to soak her tank top. That was moot, though, because she had the bottle and she was prepared to use it. "Why don't you get comfortable, um..." "Gary," he said. "Get comfortable, Gary. Relax." Of course, that was exactly opposite to what was going to happen: Gary was going to get excited and masturbate frenetically. He slowly unzipped his pants, but he kept his boxers on. Gary slipped a hand inside the waist band as Stanton screwed off the top of the water bottle. Flashing Gary a smile, Stanton brought the lip of the bottle to her chin. As Gary fondled the loose flesh of his balls and limp dick, Stanton lifted the bottle up, and just past horizontal. A tiny rivulet of water hastened down her throat, hopped over her collar bone and sped along to her chest. There it swept against the fabric of her tank top, penetrated it. Fed by a steady flow, the wetness ran deeper into the material, and fanned out sideways as well as down. Her shirt grew wetter still, clinging to her tits, highlighting her dark, hard nipples. Stanton lifted the bottle higher still, accelerating the rush of water. The onrush drenched her shirt. A stream of water trickled onto the floor below, with a rapid spilling sound, the only noise in the room. "Good?" Stanton asked. She arched her back to ensure that the translucent material made contact with her chest and put her tits on display. "Yeah," Gary muttered. He was rather busy with his hand. Stanton pulled the shirt away from her bust and poured the rest of the bottle directly over her tits. The water felt good on such a hot day, and her breasts were now completely slick with wetness. She released the shirt and it snapped back to her chest with a slap. In such close confines, the heat from two bodies quickly made the room even hotter. At first the wet shirt was almost refreshing, but it shortly grew cloying. "I think I'm going to take this off," Stanton said. Gary grunted in approval while still boxing the clown in his shorts. Stanton crossed her arms and took hold of the wet tank top from the bottom. She raised her arms over her head, peeling the sopping cotton away from her breasts. The overhead motion lifted them up and they jiggled a bit. Gary's eyes fixed firmly on her creamy tits and their erect tips. The shirt hit the linoleum floor with a wet slapping sound. "Now for the wrap," Stanton said. With one finger she opened the cardboard flap of the package. She grabbed the end of the wrap and pulled, exposing a sheet about as long as her forearm. Stanton took hold of it with her left hand and held it against her side, with her palm against her rib cage, and her fingers pointed at her spine. She started to stretch the plastic sheet against her breasts and then poke her right arm back behind her, but found the motion a bit awkward. Stanton looked at Gary, still stroking and watching intently. But he had one free hand, and he might like to be more involved. "Here, hold this." Stanton handed the package to him like a staff. He clasped it with his left hand. Slowly, Stanton turned to her left, twirling counterclockwise in place. Just before the first full rotation, she pulled her left hand out of the way. Then she turned around again, and Gary dropped his arm a bit to cover her midsection. Heather Stanton was partially wrapped in plastic. She looked down at herself and mused that her outfit certainly was transparent. It was also hot and tight. She wanted her simple wet shirt back. With any luck, Gary would shoot the moon and she could unwrap herself. "How's this, Gary?" "Good." "Maybe you should pull those down," Stanton said, pointing at his pants. "Oh, yeah." Gary moved his hand partially out of his boxers, and brought over the other hand which still held the plastic wrap. The clingy material folded in half and stuck to itself. Gary managed to drop his shorts, though, and instantly he returned to beating off. "Oh, I want to see you come, Gary," Stanton said. "Uhh," he grunted. Though his cock was exposed, Gary's shirt draped over his fist a bit. "You want to come on me, not the shirt, right Gary?" Gary didn't answer, but he ceased his masturbation briefly. He dropped the plastic wrap and removed his shirt, tossing it on the ground next to Stanton's tank top. His upper body was smooth and lean, if not skinny. Not a single hair stood between his waist and his shoulders. A small mass of curls decorated his crotch, and the base of his palm brushed against it with every stroke of his cock. "That's it, Gary, come for me." Gary stared at her body while he humped his fist. Where her breasts had hung loose against her chest, the wrap now held them up and close against her ribs. She was wearing a tight tube top that he could see through. Certainly transparent, Stanton remarked to herself when she noticed Gary's staring. "C'mon, Gary," Stanton encouraged him. "That looks so good. Get that cock nice and stiff and make it explode." Stanton saw that he was about to do just that. She got in closer to Gary, putting one foot on either side of his legs. Bracing herself against the shelves, she bent a little at the knees, and so slid her tummy under the head of his cock. "Uhh," Gary grunted. Heat clawed at Stanton, and she strained to breathe against the constraint of the plastic wrap. Her legs burned from holding such an awkward position, and blood rushed to her head. The sight of Gary jerking off heightened the intensity of sensation. "That's it, Gary. Oh, yeah." Stanton's pulse raced. She felt like she was running. Like she was at the end of a run, pushing to cover the last few yards. Short of breath, she realized that she was experiencing a rush of pleasure. My God, she though, am I going to come? "Oh, shit," Stanton exclaimed. She was coming, almost spontaneously. The heat, the minor asphyxia, the imagery, combined to fuel a climax that spread over her sweating body. If Stanton's orgasm was spontaneous, Gary's was anything but. He had worked hard, and the sweat that beaded on his forehead showed it. But release was imminent, and a guttural groan announced its arrival. A short string of semen leaped from the tip of his cock and landed on the plastic square between Stanton's tits. The jism that hit Stanton's chest flowed quickly down the plastic wrap. When it reached a fold in the smooth surface, the stream flowed out to the sides. More followed, but sprayed all over her chest as Gary's frantic beating moved his cock through the air. "Oh, yeah." Stanton said. She tried her best to keep her upper body horizontal, to prevent the mess from flowing down to her shorts. Gary slowed. The few last drips landed on the plastic stretched tight over Stanton's navel. She maintained her balance and caught her breath. "Good?" she asked. "Better than the magazine," Gary said. "That's for sure." "Can I take this off now? It's a little hot." "Oh, sure," Gary said. Stanton untangled the clingy wrap from herself, careful not to spill too much of Gary's enthusiasm. Gary apologized for not helping, but he was busy cleaning up his own end of the encounter. Stanton picked up the wet tank top and started to work her arms through it. "There's nothing worse than putting on wet clothes," she said. "We have some t-shirts for sale," Gary said. "Do you want one?" "That's sweet, Gary," Stanton said. "I'll take a look." After they left the store closet, Stanton grabbed two bottles of iced tea from the freezer (causing her nipples to stand erect once again). Gary pointed her to the small ring of t-shirts. Stanton flipped through Harley-Davidson crests, bald eagles in flight, jokes about cacti, and then something caught her eye. "Perfect," she said. "Can I take this?" "After that," Gary gestured to the closet with his thumb. "Sure thing." Stanton walked out of the mini mart, still in her tank top, holding the drinks and the t-shirt. Maytag watched her approach and would have been blind not to see her dark nipples mostly visible and hardly restrained by the soaked garment. "I see they have the air conditioner on 'high'," Maytag said. "Laugh all you want," Stanton said. "You're buying me a new dress." Maytag shook his head. "This is why I never take any of your bets. So transparent is the attractive color, huh?" "More so than I realized," Stanton said, handing Maytag an iced tea. "So what's that?" Maytag asked, pointing at the black cloth in her hand. "That's your consolation prize," Stanton answered, flipping him the t-shirt. Maytag unfolded the shirt. "Sweet!" he exclaimed. "I thought you'd like that. Now do you mind if I wear it for today? My shirt's a little drenched and I don't want to open up my bag to look for another one." So it was that Stanton got herself a dry shirt, Gary caught one last glimpse of her tits as she changed, and Maytag won the small victory of seeing his partner wear a Roswell, NM t-shirt, complete with a picture of a green alien head, for the rest of the day. END ---------------------------------------------------------------------- I hope you enjoyed that, and I'd love to hear your comments. There is an anonymous e-mail form (and more stories) at http://www.jimmy-hat.com , or you can mail me directly at jimmy@jimmy-hat.com Anyone wishing to charge fees for access to this material, through any media or publication, must receive the written permission of Jimmy Hat. -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+