Message-ID: <24982asstr$962665830@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: kellis X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: TEXT/PLAIN; charset=US-ASCII Subject: {ASSM} Deferred Pleasure (MF FMF MFM Oral Anal) {Kellis} [3/7] Date: Mon, 3 Jul 2000 19:10:30 -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: gill-bates, newsman Deferred Pleasure a Novelette by Kellis June, 2000 Chapter 3: Scraping it Off "Warden's Office, Horrypine Prison." "Hello. Ah, this is Holly Moore. Could I speak to someone about a prisoner named Gerald Ballard?" "I'm sorry, ma'am. We cannot put calls through to prisoners." "No, no! I don't want to speak to the prisoner, just to someone who can tell me something about him." "What do you want to know?" "Well, I was the wife of the man he ... killed. I heard that he was to be let out on parole this week." "How did you hear that?" "I have my sources. I'm very interested in this man because I'm afraid of him." "I see. What was it you wanted to know?" "Exactly when and where he'll be released. I want to make sure I'm not anywhere near there." "Hold the phone, please ... "Are you still there, Miss?" "Yes, I'm here." "Ms. Holly Moore, did you say?" "Yes." "I see your name here as the wife of the victim. All right. Prisoner Ballard is scheduled for release on parole this Thursday, August 26, 2004. He has a job lined up in Haley Park. The prison bus will let him out in front of the police station there at 3:30 P.M." "The Haley Park police station at 3:30 P.M.?" "You got it." "Thank you very much, sir." * * * * "Bring it with you if you want to keep it." Gerry looked from the guard standing in the open cell door to the shelf he had mounted in his cell during the second year. It contained a notebook, two ball-point pens and a dictionary. Suspended below it was a homemade calendar with today's date circled. Gerry grinned and turned his back on all of it, including the notebook, which contained a few chapters on the start of his novel. "Let's go," he told the guard. The man shrugged and led him down halls and through barred doors until again he came to the office of Samuel V. Adams / Penal Administrator. So far as he could tell, it and the man behind the desk remained unchanged since he had last seen them, six years earlier. Adams looked up from his computer screen. "Your name, please." "Gerald Ballard." "Check." Adams turned a paper around on his desk top and shoved it toward Gerry, along with a ball-point pen. "Sign this." Gerry took it up. It was the document of parole, listing the actions required of him, such as weekly reporting to his parole supervisor, as well as those denied to him, such as consorting with known criminals or leaving his county of residency until six months had passed. It was a printed document, obviously standardized. By signing it, Gerry promised to abide by its terms. Willful failure to conform would result in parole revocation and possible additions to the term of his sentence. Gerry signed it and passed it back to Adams. By that time the man had another paper ready. Prisoner's Statement of Account Prisoner 737-80-1311, Horrypine Correctional Facility Balance on Account, August 26, 2004, $1,641.12 Disbursement 8-26-04, $100 Remainder retained 8-26-04, $1,541.12 Acknowledgment Signature _______________ "Sign that, too," said Adams, "and you'll get the hundred." "Retained for what?" asked Gerry. "Six months. We'll mail a check to your address of record in six months if you haven't violated parole." "And if I don't sign it?" The man's eyes narrowed. "Don't get smart now, Ballard. One word from me and it's back to your cell." Gerry took up the pen. "Do I get a copy?" "You're welcome to memorize it." Gerry signed. Adams retrieved the paper, shuffled it into the open folder and sat back in his chair. "One last thing, Ballard. We've had a call from your victim's wife. She's afraid of you. Your parole supervisor has been notified. If he gets just one complaint, if he even hears that she has *laid eyes on you* again, you'll be back here so fast it'll make your head swim. You hear me, Ballard?" "I hear you. Where's the hundred?" "You'll get it. Take him to Acclim." Gerry was led down a short hall to a green room similar to the first one he had seen in this place, including the long raised platform before the rail, except for a sign on the wall above it: *Acclimatization*, and a long table containing a miscellany of clothing, personal items and blue flight bags. Another prisoner was already present, nakedly watching with his hands crossed over his pubes. "Strip," said Gerry's guard. "Keep your shoes and socks, but everything else goes in that laundry bag." While he was disrobing a third prisoner was marched in and given the same instructions. The three were lined up on the raised platform, once again leaning forward to the rail. A guard donned a latex glove and went down the line, thrusting painfully into each rectum. "Assholes clear!" Gerry asked incredulously, "Who would want to smuggle something *out* of here?" "Shut up, you!" the guard retorted. "In front of your names on the table is what you owned when you came here. Hurry up and get dressed and sign the acknowledgment. The rest goes in your flight bag, which is a gift to you from the state." Gerry found to his astonishment that the clothing he had thrown so blithely away in Holly Moore's den lay laundered and folded on the table before his name. His wallet was present, missing the driver's license and university ID but including the pretty girl's photo that had afforded him bragging rights and the $19 he recalled possessing on that fateful day. So were several coins and a can opener but not his pocket knife. "Take the flight bag," said the guard when Gerry turned away without it. "I don't need it. It was summer when I got here, too." "You don't appreciate the state's generosity? Take it anyway," the guard directed coldly. "You can throw it away when you get off the bus." When the table was clear, the guard laid a clipboard on it and opened an attache case. "Sign here," he said to the closest man. Gerry was next. He found that he was acknowledging receipt of his personal effects while absolving the state of any responsibility for articles missing or damaged. When he returned the pen, the guard handed him a bank-wrapped packet of money: ten crisp new ten-dollar bills. The same guards herded the three men with flight bags through the gate and watched morosely as they boarded the barred bus. "Don't come back," one advised. * * * * He stepped down from the bus. The guard standing beside the door said, "Gerald Ballard," and checked something on his clipboard. He tilted his head up the street. "You can get a room in Hotel 78, one block up." "I know this town," Gerry responded, walking around the guard and proceeding in the opposite direction, though in fact he had selected no destination as yet. Walking without walls around him, with no practical limit on how far he could walk, was enticement enough. The weightless flight bag dangled, banging the side of his knee. He looked around for a garbage can. It wouldn't do to get arrested for littering 100 yards from the prison bus! He had reached the bus lane near the corner. As he searched, a blue Buick glided in close to the curb, passenger window descending. A woman was alone in the car. She released her seat belt, leaned across the seat and called to him, "Let me give you a lift." He stopped in a shock of recognition. This was Holly Moore! -- pretty face, light brown hair, snapping brown eyes and all. She smiled invitingly and declared, her voice pitched to be audible only to him, "I mean it. I'll take you anywhere you want to go." He looked around. No one of the several strollers seemed to be interested. The prison guard had disappeared, either into the gaping entrance of the police station or back into the bus. Gerry sidled next to the car, purposefully dropped the flight bag and dawdled as he bent to pick it up. "Why don't you just get away from me?" he asked reasonably. Her face didn't change. "Please get in. I'll explain why if you'll just get in with me." "Haven't you done enough to me, Ms. Moore?" "No, I haven't," she admitted to his surprise, adding, "Will it help if I admit I killed my husband?" He raised up and looked around again. A black man sweeping the sidewalk in front of a restaurant had paused and was watching them. While fixing his eyes up the street, Gerry said out of the side of his mouth, "All right. If you want me so bad, drive around the block. I'll take a right at the corner. You can pick me up when you come around again." Without waiting for her answer, he walked quickly away. The car pulled back into the traffic lane. Behind him the black sweeper called, "Better luck next time!" and laughed uproariously. After turning right at the corner, Gerry strolled onward at an easier pace, glancing over his shoulder to see if the woman had followed his directions. He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Crazy broad!" But he found himself curious. To *whom* would she admit killing her husband? Lying awake in his cell, night after night, he had constructed a version of the events in the Moore residence that day. Either she had killed the man or had helped someone else do it. To think that the body must have been behind the shower curtain the whole time he was straining under the sink, the whole time she was sucking him so expertly in den and bathroom! Gerry's arrival had been fortuitous for her. Framing the loveless and pussy-struck young man had been trivially easy. She had exacted an extremely high price for her favors, but he had to admit that he had enjoyed them immensely. The memory of her actions had sustained his interest in life for six boring years. Now that he was free, finding himself a decent but willing woman, though an understandably difficult proposition for an ex-con, was very high on his list of initial pursuits. He looked over his shoulder as the blue Buick came to a stop in the lane just beyond the parked cars. "You stupid fool," he muttered to himself, "you'll let her do it to you again, won't you?" Clearly the answer was, "Yes." He turned abruptly and threaded his way between the cars. He heard solenoids clunk as she unlocked. A moment later he snatched the passenger door open, threw his flight bag into the floor and fell into the seat above it. Slamming the door, he cried, "Let's get out of here!" As she accelerated away, he stared back at the street scene but saw no one take an inordinate interest. "Fasten your seat belt," she ordered. "The cops are on a crusade again." A traffic light caught them at the next intersection. As the car idled, she regarded him narrowly. "Who's after you?" He studied her in return. "You probably have a better answer for that than I do." She was wearing a short-sleeved blouse and a skirt. Her dark brown hair, longer than he remembered, was neatly brushed. She was buxom and moderately plump. The bare arm whose hand rested atop the steering wheel was shiny with smooth, dark hair. "You mean you think this is some kind of trap? Gerry, I swear it's not." Her eyes were steady on his. "Nobody knows I'm here." He snorted. "Then what are you up to? I was told, just before they let me out, that you called to say you're afraid of me. They said if I let you so much as lay eyes on me, my parole was violated." He sniffed. "Yet here you are, soon as I get off the bus. And here I am, sitting in your parlor again." She smiled at his irony as the light turned green and she eased the heavy car ahead. "I called to find out when and where you'd be released. I had to say I was afraid or they wouldn't tell me." He shook his head. "What do you care? Obviously you're not afraid of me." "Oh, but I am!" Her expression was wary as the car picked up speed. "It's going to be hard to explain this, Gerry. The hardest part, I think, is to show you I'm not your enemy." "Oh, no, not my enemy. Just the woman that put me away for six years. My good friend!" She took a deep breath. "It's true that I framed you for killing my husband. I feel bad about that, Gerry. I am truly sorry for it, except for one thing. But I want to make it up to you." "Do you!" She nodded. "Yes, I really do. I'm going to show you that I'm serious about this. I understand you have a right to be very angry at me, to hate me, in fact. So I offer myself, just as you see me, to do with as you will, even to kill me, if that's what it takes to satisfy you, though if you can at least refrain from that, and stay with me, I promise it will prove to your advantage." He rode in silence for a block. She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Did you understand what I said?" "To do with you as I will, you said. Even to kill you." "I mean it." "Holly -- you don't mind if I call you that, do you, considering we've never been introduced? Holly, that's stupid. I don't want to kill you." She smiled tremulously. "I was hoping you'd feel that way." "I just want to fuck your brains out!" She compressed her lips and said nothing. "You trapped me with your womanhood. I want to spring the trap. But I'll tell you, one fuck is not enough for six years." She glanced at him briefly and asserted, "I'll stay with you as long as you wish." "Will you!" "And I'll take you anywhere you want to go." He laughed grimly. "That may be a mistake, Holly. I knocked around this area pretty good while I was going to school." "So?" "So turn left at the next light." Several blocks further along he told her to turn into the parking lot of a drugstore. "Wait here," he commanded, leaving his empty flight bag in her car. When he returned, he bore a small paper sack imprinted with the name of the store. "Go on the way you were headed." She obeyed in silence until her curiosity overcame her. "Why do you carry an empty flight bag?" "Because you didn't give me the chance to throw it away." "'The chance to --' Oh. I think I see... You're going to need clothing, then, and personal things like a toothbrush. Is that what you bought just now?" "As a matter of fact, I bought something for you." "For me?" She looked at him curiously. "You'll see. Bear right at that fork." "Where are we going, Gerry?" "Into the country, a place I used to go with friends to plink." "Did you say 'plink?'" "Yeah. To shoot a .22 at tin cans and bottles." "Isolated, is it?" "Maybe, if it hasn't been *developed* in the last six years!" The houses were thinning as the road narrowed and its shoulders deepened. "Do you mean to hurt me there, Gerry?" "I've already told you what I intend to do. Hurt you? I don't think so. Hurt a woman who would kill her husband? Did you actually do it with that wrench?" "Yes, I did -- and he was no more surprised than I was!" She glanced at him. "Surely you figured it out." "Either you killed him or helped someone else." "Someone else? There was no one else." "Why did you do it, Holly?" She shook her head. "You won't believe me if I tell you." "Try me." The words poured out of her, as if a dam had been released. "We were in debt over our head and a payment behind on both the house and the car, because of his stupid gambling. Then he got fired for, of all things, *stealing* from his employer! When he told me why he was in no hurry to go to work that morning, something snapped in me. I really raised hell. I think I slapped him. He punched me in the eye, knocked me down on my back. I saw stars but got back up and tried to fight. To tell you the truth, I meant to claw his eyes out. But he grabbed me and threw me against the bathroom door, which popped open, and I fell in on the floor. He came after me. As I got up I saw the monkey wrench, lying where I had tried to fix the sink. Just as he grabbed me, I hit him in the temple with it as hard as I could. His class ring scratched my arm as he fell on me. I pushed him off to the floor. He laid there and twitched a couple of times. I saw his chest quit heaving and knew he was dead. "He bled a lot at first but then I guess his heart stopped. I understand now that I should have left him and called the cops. I had killed him in self-defense. But I was a wife who had killed her husband. How I could I face the world after such shameful betrayal? I hid his body in the bathtub. I got a bedsheet and some spray and cleaned up the blood. I wiped all the blood and hair off the wrench and threw the soiled cloth in the clothes hamper. Then the doorbell rang." Her eyes dwelt on his for the second she dared in the speeding car. "It was you." He thought about it. "You could've told me what happened and asked for my help." She sighed. "Oh, god, don't you think I've gone over all the other things I might have done? I don't know what made me see you as my scapegoat. Except one thing. You'll never understand it, but ... Gerry, killing him turned me on *so bad*!" He chuckled grimly. "Oh, I'll admit you were hot. Slow down. Take that little dirt road to the left up there in the bushes." "I don't see it!" "You will when you get there. Well, look at that! The man who owned these woods was a devout Sierra Club conservationist. I'm glad to see he stayed prosperous. Here it is. Take it easy, now. It's a little rough." The car bounced drunkenly as it rode over the entrance dips but smoothed out as the partly overgrown track plunged into the woods. "Will I get stuck?" she asked. "I don't think so. It's been pretty dry here, hasn't it?" "Lately it has. This land is posted." "I know it. We won't harm the land." "Just me, eh?" He grinned. "Holly, if you believe that, why did you come in here? I didn't twist your arm." Her lips firmed. "I meant what I said, Gerry." "We'll see." "How much further?" "Oh, a couple hundred yards, I think. It's been a while, you know." The track opened up into a grassy clearing. "Stop here," he told her. When she had complied, he said, "Put it in Park." He got out of the car, came around the front to the driver's side and opened her door. "Get out." Her face turned pale. She sighed but obeyed him. He replaced her behind the wheel and closed the door. "What are you doing?" she demanded fearfully when he lowered the window. "I don't intend to leave you, Holly," he answered dryly. He proceeded to drive forward to a grassless spot and turn the car around so that it faced back toward her. He turned off the engine, got out and strolled the 50 yards back to stand before her. "Take your clothes off, one at the time, and pass them to me." She looked around: trees, bushes and the seldom-used track leading away in two directions. She could hear birdsong, insect buzz and rustling leaves overhead. The afternoon sun was bright where they stood. The odor of pine rosin was thick in the air. She sighed, took a deep breath and unzipped her skirt. He took it from her and felt of it thoroughly. She had already removed her blouse before he ceased compressing bits of it in his fingers. She asked curiously as he laid the skirt in the grass, "What are you looking for?" "Transmitters, but they've got so small I probably can't feel them." Nevertheless he took her blouse and felt it as carefully, followed by her panties and brassiere. He held up the panty hose to the light but crushed the panty part. All was thrown into the grass. "I'm tender-footed, Gerry!" the woman complained, standing naked and barefoot before him, toes curling under her feet in the dust of the track. He picked up her slippers and felt them inside and out. He kneeled, raised one of her feet then the other and with his bare hand slapped the dust off the bottom of each before inserting it into the appropriate shoe. She grunted. "I've seen that done to horses on TV." He grinned as he rose. "Don't worry. I won't drive a nail into your foot. Turn around." She obeyed, hunching her shoulders protectively. "Please don't hit me." But his hands went to her hair, feeling all over her head and behind her ears. She tolerated all of it, even when he took out her bobby pins and barrettes and let the hair fall unrestrained below her shoulders. "Transmitters!" she repeated sarcastically, turning to regard him when he stepped back. Her sneer faded when she saw that he was removing his own clothing. She asked, "How do you know someone won't come?" "Look at the track. It's been a long time since anyone came here." She watched him. Her eyebrows arched sardonically. "Do you think you might have transmitters, too?" "No, but you have a few spots left to check." Her eyes widened slightly. In a moment he stood naked as she. He stared coldly into her eyes. "As I recall, you were interrupted." "I was ..." "By your husband, you said, but actually by the cops. Finish what you started, Holly." "Oh," she said with understanding. Her face lost its apprehension. She dropped to her knees, leaned forward and completely mouthed his flaccid organ. "I never thought I would get tired of jerking off," he mused as her head bobbed at his groin, "but I did. And then the dreams began. You were only my third woman, Holly, yet you starred in all my dreams. I can never fuck you in reality as I did in my dreams, but I intend to try. My last dream was about two weeks ago. You're going to get a real mouthful in just a minute. And don't take it out until it quits." She ceased sucking at the first spurt and held him loosely in her mouth. When at last she raised her head, seminal fluid dripped from her chin. He told her in the tight voice of passion, "You can spit." She opened her mouth wide to exhibit its milky content, then closed it and ostentatiously swallowed. "Why did you do that?" he asked, genuinely curious. "I told you: I'm not your enemy." "Swallowing a man's come means more than that. How do you know I didn't catch AIDS in prison?" "I don't, except you're obviously healthy." She got to her feet. "Can we go now?" "Oh, no. You have two other spots that need checking." She sniffed. "Is that a joke, Gerry?" "I mean to check them." He took her hand. "Come on." She let him lead her to the edge of the clearing. A knee-high log reclined there, dead leaves still adorning the branches at its other end, suggesting that it had not fallen long ago. He turned her around, back to the log in front of an adjacent standing tree trunk. "Sit down." When she complied, he dropped to his knees, elbowed her legs apart and sank within them. "You're licking *me*?" she breathed incredulously. It was a question that required no answer. She leaned back against the standing trunk, turning her pubes up for better access. Her eyes drifted shut. She moaned slightly and her hips began to roll gently. When she screamed and lifted his head by the hair, he wiped a dripping mouth on the back of his hand and grinned at her red face. "I dreamed of that, too." He caught her hand and pulled her, panting, to her feet. He took her place on the log and bade her squat facing him. She settled readily onto his upthrust erection and began rolling her hips in earnest. Smiling, he leaned back against the vertical trunk and kneaded her full breasts in both hands. She screamed as her orgasms resumed. His hands in her armpits lifted her off him. "And now the jailer's favorite. I believe it's wet enough without the Vaseline I bought." "You ... you mean --" she gasped. His hand reached well under her. "Settle back down. They tell me you should push out as if you mean to shit." "Gerry, please ..." "I mean it, Holly. I never had a dick in mine, despite all the offers, but the goddam guards loved to stick in their fingers. This is my revenge on the whole damn world, Holly. Especially on *you*, the cause of it. And I'll tie you to a tree and *rape* your ass if you don't submit!" She stared into his eyes. A tear appeared in hers. "All right, Gerry. I expected this. I brought some cold cream, too." His hands spread her nether cheeks. He had already lodged his glans in the indentation. "Then come on, Holly." She heaved a sigh and with trembling legs let herself slowly down. She winced at the entry. He grabbed her hips, helping to support her, wide eyes showing his surprise. "Christ!" he cried. "I always thought this must be easy! Sometime you could hear them fucking each other half the night!" "It hurts, Gerry." "Me, too, but it's going in, by god!" "Yes ... Oh!" Her voice eased. "That's not so bad!" "Holly, is this your first time?" he asked suspiciously. She took a breath without answering. Her hips began to rise and fall as he worked deeper within her. Her hand went between them. He felt it moving. After awhile she asked, "Can you come this way?" "I don't know. I never did before." Her hand raised a nipple to his face. "Suck me." He obeyed, pulling most of it into his mouth. She moved faster, causing the free breast to wobble and bounce against his cheek. Her hand jiggled. "Oh, my god!" she proclaimed. "How hot you are in me!" He felt her sphincters close on him, an incomparable sensation. She screamed, arching her back, when his semen spurted into her bowels. As their breathing quieted, her face sagged onto his shoulder and her hair tickled his nose. He took a deep breath. "Some revenge!" She raised up and studied him. A drop of sweat fell from her nose. "Don't you want a lot more of it?" He chuckled. "I guess you didn't find it so hateful, then." "I loved it, Gerry." "All of it?" "All of it." "What do you feel right now, with my dick still up your ass?" "What do you think? Like I need to go. I brought some wet wipes, too." "How did you know I'd do this to you?" "Everybody knows what happens in prisons. I've been interested ... in what you had to endure. Didn't you play the queer games, Gerry?" "No, I didn't. I don't care for men. Especially after living ass to elbow with them so long." He sighed. "I guess I'm just Holly Moore's natural born sucker. What were we together for, maybe thirty minutes? It was enough. *You* are all I've wanted for the last six years." She said with evident pleasure, "It's kind of you to tell me that, Gerry, after what I did to you. Can I get up?" "Yeah. This log is not the softest seat in the world." She laughed when she saw his buttocks cheeks. The tree bark had marked them with angry ridges. She rubbed him briskly until they faded. He stood away from her, frankly studying her body, admitting with a sigh, "I hate to let you go." "Do you?" "You'll go back to -- What do you do these days, Holly?" "I have a secretarial job. But I have the rest of this week off. We don't have to part, Gerry." He grimaced. "I have to find a place to stay. And check in at that job the prison found for me." "Not the prison, Gerry. *I* got you that job." "You what?" "I know the man who knows the man who wants to hire you." He stared at her. She continued, "And I've rented you an apartment. It's in your name to show the parole officer. Can I get dressed, Gerry?" "Leave the bra off." "Why? Did you find a transmitter in it?" "So I can feel your tits." She smiled slightly. They gathered up their clothing and strolled, arm in arm, back to car. The woman carried her brassiere in her free hand. He had left the keys in the ignition. She started up and drove slowly out of the woods, emerging at last onto the highway. The sun was very low in the western sky. The car picked up speed. He took a breath. "You got me a job and a place to stay. What's going on, Holly?" "I told you: I'm going as far as I can to show you I'm not your enemy." He grinned. "I'll admit this afternoon took you a long way. But *why* is that? What do you care? Our little roll in your den six years ago was nice, but I can't believe it was the greatest lay you ever had." She smiled. "No, but it wasn't bad. I was really turned on." "Then what made you meet me today? Why have you done all this?" "I have a good reason." She hesitated. "I'd rather not tell you here. Will you wait until I can give you my full attention?" "When is that?" "Were going to your new apartment -- unless you object." He said nothing. They rode on for a few minutes until he suddenly laughed sarcastically. "I can't believe this!" "What's the matter?" "This afternoon is what! You're the woman who sent me to prison for something I didn't do. Then you get me a job and an apartment, pick me up when I get off the prison bus and fuck me silly. What does all that suggest?" "What?" she asked, regarding him with quick interest. "That you want to do it to me again. And here I've let you. All you have to do is stop by a police car, tell them my name and it's back to jail I go. And I *knew* it when I stopped to talk to you. But when I recognized you, my dick jumped. What I can't believe is *myself*!" "Gerry, you should believe this: I'll do *anything* to prevent you going back to jail." "Anything? Huh! Then you'll confess to killing your husband." "Is that what you want? Do you want *me* to go to jail?" He chuckled wryly. "No. At least, not yet." They were approaching a set of yellow arches. He asked, "How about stopping at MacDonald's?" "MacDonald's!" "I've been dreaming about a big deluxe." "A man of simple tastes, eh? Gerry, your refrigerator is stocked. How about letting *me* cook you a cheeseburger?" He studied her. "You think you can beat a deluxe?" "I've been told I can." "And you want to cook one for *me*!" "Yes, I do." "Damn it, Holly, what the hell is going on?" "Gerry, please. When I tell you, I'm likely to bawl. Will you hang on? It's only another five minutes or so." [Next: Chapter 4: A New Home] -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+