Message-ID: <26993asstr$972285002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: BCKRUB@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: Subject: {ASSM} "Lunch Hour" (NEW, Bckrub, MF, voy, mast, sealife) Date: Mon, 23 Oct 2000 03:10:02 -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: apuleius, gill-bates Let's try this again. <1st attachment, "lunch.txt" begin> Lunch Hour by Bckrub@aol.com This story is a work of fiction and none of the characters is real, although some are influenced by actual persons. The places and situations are fictional except for the Monterey Aquarium, a place you should visit if you happen to be in Monterey, California. This story includes explicit descriptions of sexual activities. If that subject matter offends you, or if you are below the age of consent, please do not read further. An illustrated PDF file version of this story is available. Write to the author if you would like a copy. **************************************************** The man gazed out over Monterey Bay. From the balcony of the Aquarium he could see the seals lounging around on the buoy a quarter-mile out, the far shore which would be a ring of lights that evening, and the birds hovering overhead. The gulls seemed to float on air, changing their position slightly every few moments to avoid having to pump their wings, to avoid, for a moment, the search for food, to avoid going back to work. He thought about lying in bed next to her, running his open palm over her back, smoothing, touching, tickling, feeling the curves and ridges he knew by heart. The balcony, sea, air were always an attempt on his part to move from a high activity level to a slower pace, more like the pace of the Bay. Well above and behind him on the roof the wave machine sloshed away creating simulated water motion for the huge tank of fish and invertebrates below. He didn't look at his watch because he didn't wear one. There was one tucked into the front pouch of his bag, but that's where it usually stayed. The only exception was when he had to give a formal talk. Then he used the watch to make sure that he didn't drone on too long, when all they wanted was 15 minutes. Although much of his life was defined by schedules and meetings and phone calls and email to be answered, he fought a rear-guard action to maintain a bit of control, to refuse to have the schedule pushed into his face, to place things in his schedule which would undo the neat package into which circumstances tried to contain his life. The gulls were always a reminder, changing their position slightly every few moments to avoid having to pump their wings, to avoid, for a moment, the search for food, to avoid going back to work. He thought about the way her ass looked in jeans, and the way her ass felt against him when he came up from behind her, wrapped his arms around her and buried his mouth on her neck. He thought about the smell of her hair. The man walked back into the Aquarium, through the glass doors which led into a partially enclosed space with shore birds, sand dunes and water, the midday sun shining on the pool of water lapping against the sandy shore, the birds flitting about. He passed through another set of doors into a space that looked more like a museum: displays, tables, models. A 6th grade class was scattered over part of the floor, the teacher making a rear guard attempt to keep her charges in some form of order. One kid with brown tortoise shell frame glasses remained behind at a station with two microscopes and photos of microscopic marine life. The man walked over to the child, watched him peering into the microscope and asked, "Cool, isn't it?" "It's like there's this 'other' world, the kid replied. "It's always there and we don't even notice it. It's just small, invisible to the naked eye." "Sometimes the stuff you see every day isn't the most important stuff you need to know about, the man said. "Do you see the things that seem to have rotors attached to them, like a ring of spinning claws? Those are rotifers. They're a unique group of organisms that are often the first food for newly hatched fish in salt or fresh water. Any fish you eat may be dependent on rotifers, but who knows from rotifers?" "What are things that seem to twitch around, the ones with the big antennae? "Those are copepods, the largest group of small animals floating around in the water. They're the guys most small fish eat once they're too large for rotifers and other smaller critters." "It is like a different world. Like another planet. And those things that look like bears, they really weird." "Yeah. It's a different world that we usually can't see and don't pay any attention to. These small critters are essential to life in the sea, but most people just have no idea. If we took some soil from a forest and placed it under a microscope, you'd see another type of "hidden world," and the forest can't live without those microscopic organisms, either." "And we're fucking it up, aren't we?" "How old are you, kid?" "Eleven." "Wait till you're 40 to be cynical. What do you want to do?" "I want to be a marine biologist. Or maybe a C+++ programmer." "There's more money in programming, but programmers don't get to go out on boats and take some of their work home for dinner." The pizza doesn't count?" The kid laughed, turned, waved and walked toward his teacher. As the man took the stairs down to the first floor of the Aquarium he flashed back to her kneeling in front of him, sucking him, her eyes locked onto his as she did so, making him come with her eyes as much as with her lips and tongue. He passed by the reception desk and nodded to Julie, who smiled, who always smiled in a way that could either be flirtatious or just practiced informality. He passed through the front doors, past the line of people moving into the Aquarium, and made a point of patting the shoulder of the intern working the line. Smart kid, he'll make a great scientist. And he likes people, which is so rare with techie types. ************************************************* As on most Mondays, the Laughing Porpoise Bookshop was not terribly crowded. Last week's supply of tourists had mostly moved on and this week's set would not filter in for another day or two. The woman who owned and more-or-less ran the store was making small talk with the owner of a local bed-and-breakfast while the Laughing Porpoise's primary employee, BookGrrl, was reorganizing the poetry section, once again. Poetry which generally did not sell more than 1,000 copies nationally, on average, had been arranged by author, then by title, then by "literary tradition." Most recently the poets from California had been arranged by bioregion. The owner had no problem indulging BookGrrl since she was bright, worked hard, only insulted customers who really deserved it and was exceptionally helpful whenever someone came in looking for something other than a best seller or a book about John Steinbeck. BookGrrl didn't have a problem with Steinbeck per se, it was just that in Monterey everyone comes to buy a book by John Steinbeck which they could buy in a bookstore in their own town. As she worked, BookGrrl absent-mindedly played with the stud in her tongue, a newly healed piercing that brought with it a slight remaining taste of her lover's semen from early that morning when they had celebrated her piercing by giving each other head. His tongue had been pierced when they first met two months ago and it had taken her that long to get up the courage to have some slightly seedy-looking guy smack a needle through her tongue. BookGrrl ran her fingers through her short black hair as she looked over the shelves of poetry and declared herself satisfied with her work. The woman left BookGrrl to her poetry and walked to the back of the store to find the volume the bed- and-breakfast proprietor wanted. The woman thought about his scent, and the feeling of his large, strong, smooth hands on her. She had originally been attracted by his hands. It seemed a bit silly now. A person's hands don't keep the flame lit, or pay the bills or solve arguments. She just knew that when he hand one of those hands under her, cupping her ass, while the other played with her pussy... Although a few other customers passed in and out of the store during that early Monday afternoon, the only one who was a fixture that day was a college student who was sitting in one of the ancient, well-padded, chairs scattered around the store. Her chair was located along the back wall next to the entrance to the store room and office. She was wearing cutoffs, a cotton camisole and sandals. She had been sitting with one leg hanging over one of the thick upholstered arms but now her legs were tightly crossed. A copy of "Super String Theory and Its Implications for Astronomy" was perched in her lap, (subtitled, "The Closer You Get, the Weirder the Universe Looks") and that was the book she had gone to the store to buy, for a course during the upcoming semester. But hidden inside the physics text was a paperback edition of "Beauty's Release", by A.N. Roquelaure, and it was that book she was reading, that book which was causing her to absent-mindedly play with her long blond hair, and that book which had her pressing her thighs tightly together. Her thigh muscles flexed, the crotch seam of the cutoffs wedged just where she happened to want it at that particular moment. One of her sandaled feet tapped in the air. The woman checked out the customer and glancing out the window, watched a man walk by the store. She thought about how his butt looked when he was naked, walking still wet from the shower, or walking away from her while she was still in bed. She thought about the muscles in his back. She spoke with another customer, who was interested in nature guides for central California. They exchanged stories about bears and eagles and condors as the man walked into the store. The man passed by the magazines, picked up the new issue of The Whole Earth Review and leafed through it, reading the first few paragraphs of an article by John Todd. He walked around the store, past the college student, who looked up from her story of bondage and spankings, to check him out as he passed. She tried to look uninterested, but didn't quite pull it off. The man met the store owner at the check out desk, and she smiled. "We can leave in a bit. There's something I need to do first." She nodded to BookGrrl and walked toward the back of the store with the man following. They walked into the office past the college student and the door closed behind them. The woman bent over a large wooden desk near the door, searching for a catalog. The man stood behind her and lightly ran his fingers down her spine and then over the back of her skirt. The woman stood up, turned around and brought the palm of her hand against the front of his pants. She took an additional half a step up to him and kissed him on the mouth, her other hand reaching up to his face. His arms reached around her and slid up and down over her back. They kissed several times, caressing each other until he broke off the kiss to ask, "I guess we're not going to lunch right away, are we?" The woman stepped back and sat on the edge of the desk. She reached down and hiked up the mid-thigh- length denim skirt she was wearing. "You can eat lunch once you've finished eating me, Ocean Boy," she said. He walked forward and dropped to his knees in front of her as she brought her feet up to the edge of the desk, leaned back and spread her legs, fully exposing her pussy to him. "Hmm. No panties. I hadn't noticed" "Shut up and lick me, sweetie." The college student heard all this from outside the door, and she heard, even more clearly, the woman's moan when the man had finished his preliminary slow, soft licks of her lips and had started to fuck her with his tongue. The student thought it was particularly strange that the sounds of two real people making love on the other side of the door and wall were now a distraction to her surreptitious reading of a pornographic novel. She looked around to see if there was anyone else in sight and began rubbing the crotch of her jeans. The woman's ass was perched on the edge of the desk, as were her feet. She leaned back a bit, supported by her arm behind her, while the other arm reached forward to grab the man's head. She gave him whispered instructions about how she liked her pussy licked and when to slide his fingers into her cunt, and then into her ass. He licked and sucked her with real enthusiasm, stopping briefly to whisper to her how good she smelled and tasted, until she brought his mouth back against her. He buried his face hard against her and she whimpered more, until a saliva-coated finger slid into her tight ass and she screamed and came, hard. The college student jumped out of her seat for a moment and was feeling very wet. Her nipples were getting hard and their outline could be seen in the fabric of her cotton top. She could not hear the man continuing to lick the store owner's pussy, although slower and softer now, but she could her the woman's continued soft moans. She could hear the rustling of papers on the desk as the woman stood back up but could not hear her drop to her knees. Her ears perked up again as she heard the unmistakable sound of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being unzipped. A few seconds later she hard the slurping sound of a cock being sucked. The college student quickly refastened her cutoffs and put the books down on the floor. She quietly padded across the back of the store to see if there was anyone else around, to see if she was going to get caught masturbating in the back of a book store as she listened to two people fucking one or two feet away from where she had been sitting. This took no more than 30 seconds and the only people she saw were BookGrrl, who was standing at the checkout, and a woman looking through the magazine racks near the front of the store. The college student's well-educated but hormone-soaked brain did the risk assessment math, return to her chair, unzipped her jean shorts, sat down, draped a leg over one of the well-cushioned arms to spread herself open and slid a hand down her pants, her fingers going straight for her wet pussy. The woman sucked cock for several minutes and then went through a quick routine of moves she knew he liked. She flicked her tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside of the shaft near the head. She slid his cock over her lips and cheeks while she looked up at him. She licked his balls while she stroked the shaft with her hand. She dropped her free hand down between her legs and masturbated while she sucked him. The woman rose to her feet and stood in front of the man with her back to him. She reached back and took his hands, bringing them to her breasts and pulling him up against her. She could feel his hard wet cock against her ass, his hands caressing her breasts through her shirt and his breath on her neck. She took a step forward and bent herself over a pile of boxes of books, spreading her legs and aiming her ass upwards. The man took in the view. The strong, smooth legs with well-defined muscles taut and spread, leading to a beautiful ass and spread pussy with just a little bit of fur framing the lips, and the denim skirt scrunched up around her waist. "Are those boxes what I think they are?" he asked. "Yep. Just think of it this way. Someone always makes a tacky porn version of a hit movie. Just think of this as a scene from, 'Harry Potter and the Spurting Cock.' The college student started to snicker but was stopped by the sound of the woman and man both moaning as her entered her. The student's fingers rubbed her pussy as she heard their moans and then, after some minutes, the sound of his stomach slapping hard against her ass. The woman reached back between her legs to rub her clit while she was being fucked. The man freed one hand from her hips to suck on a thumb until it was good and wet. He then placed the wet thumb against her rosebud anus and began to push as if it were a button. As the thumb slowly slid into her ass the woman began to buck and her legs began to shake almost uncontrollably. The sound of the woman's long low moans of orgasm brought the college student to the edge of her own cliff, but the sound that flung her over the edge was the sound of the man. She loved hearing men come, and this guy was a real cunt-twitcher. The moan started low and deep within him. It rose from his diaphragm through his lungs until it caught in his throat and turned into a cry. Almost a cry of protest that too soon the intense pleasure would be over. It was if she could hear his balls draining into her hot wet spasming pussy. The college student lost it, her hips rising from the chair, her eyes closing and her head snapping backward. At that point, she didn't care if there was an entire crowd watching her come. In fact there was only BookGrrl who peeked, unseen, around a bookcase and who let out an inaudible "Oooo!" as she watched the college student spasm in pleasure. Another moment and BookGrrl was returning to her post, but making a mental note to go and sniff the chair once the student left. The man and woman were still coupled, wet, hot and moaning softly. Cum and pussy juice were dripping down one of her thighs, his hands were running up and down her back, her fingers were gently brushing his balls. They both shivered from aftershocks. The college student was still in her seat when they emerged a few minutes later. The student's brain had sufficiently returned to near-normal function by then for her mischievous streak to reassert itself. She rummaged around in her bag and as the office door opened and they walked through, she lit a cigarette lighter and held it as high as she could above hear head, letting out a high-pitched whistle. The man saw her, laughed and walked on toward the exit. The woman saw her, took two steps and then turned and walked right up to the student, taking the girl's free hand and smelling the fingers. "Did you enjoy yourself Lindsay?" The student turned beet read for a moment, and then smiled, feeling just a twinge of voyeurism-induced guilt. The woman ran her hand through the student's hair, looked straight into her eyes and said, "If you're a good girl, maybe this weekend I'll let you watch me fuck him in the ass" The woman flashed a mischievous smile of her own, turned and left. A rush flashed up the spine of the student as she heard the phrase, "fuck him in the ass," and it repeated through her consciousness over and over. She grabbed for her bag, and the two books and limited herself to one thought: Was either of her two occasional lovers home right now, and which one was closer to the bookstore? Her pussy was crying out, propelled by a new and unexpected fantasy that aroused her to the point of desperation. She half-stumbled to the check out desk where BookGrrl recognized her condition on sight and could not let her go without tugging at her chain. While the student obviously wanted to be on her way immediately, BookGrrl suppressed a smile as she slowly processed the purchase and when the student almost threw the cash at her, BookGrrl slowly unfolded the bills and slowly counted out her change as the student stood by looking nervous. BookGrrl momentarily considered asking, "Can I wipe this cum off the books for you?" but decided that would be too cruel, even for her. As the student rushed out of the store toward either a man or a woman about to encounter their surprise of the week, BookGrrl watched her and thought, "There goes a woman with a mission." Bckrub@aol.com October 2000 <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+