Message-ID: <27079asstr$972706215@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Tiramisu X-Original-Message-ID: <8td0tb$fsp$1@nnrp1.deja.com> X-Article-Creation-Date: Fri Oct 27 22:51:25 2000 GMT Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} <*> Come With Me by Tiramisu MF Rom Date: Sat, 28 Oct 2000 00:10:15 -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, RuiJorge CONTENT WARNING: This story has an adult theme and may include graphic descriptions of sexual acts. If it is either illegal where you are, or you are not of legal age to view such material, please stop now. "Come With Me" MF Rom A Halloween story. {ASSM} {ASS} <*> "Come With Me" by Tiramisu MF Rom Copyright October 2000 by Tiramisu. All rights reserved. Please do not repost without explicit permission of the author. Permission is granted for archiving in ass and assm. Comments are welcome. Email Tiramixu@yahoo.com. "Come With Me" November 1, 2000 Dana Grant was sound asleep when the phone rang. "Miz Dana, sorry to wake you, but you need to come down here right now." "Huh?" she replied groggily as she glanced at the clock. "It's nearly one o'clock in the morning." "Yes,m. But Mrs. Tinsley is dead." "Oh. I'm so sorry to hear that." Dorothy Tinsley was a sweetheart; despite all her problems, she never complained. Sadly, she was paralyzed from the waist down from an automobile accident 12 years earlier. Her husband Paul had taken care of her until he died of a heart attack three years ago in 1997, and then Dorothy had come to the Churchhill Nursing Home near Wichita where Dana was the Chief Administrator. On top of the paralysis and the loss of her husband, poor Dorothy suffered from emphysema, and a bad case of osteoporosis which was worsened by the medications she was taking for the emphysema. She had constant pain in her chest and ribs from the small fractures which resulted from the osteoporosis. The pain was constantly visible on her face, and though she was only 68, she looked 80. Dana had seen enough through the years to know that Dorothy's death was a blessing, even though it was premature. Still, Dorothy's death was a surprise: her health problems were serious, but not immediately life threatening. And why the phone call at one in the morning? "Well, Martha, you know what to do. You've seen people die at Churchhill before. Call Doc Evans." "Yes,m, but I still think you need to come down here. This was pretty strange." "What's strange?" "I'm not sure I can explain. You'll have to see for yourself." "Try, Martha." "Try?" "Yes, Martha. Try to explain." "It's. . . it's not normal." "What on earth do you mean?" "Mrs. Tinsley. She was. . . I mean she is. . . It's spooky." Dana was now fully awake, and though she had the utmost respect for Martha's judgment, she was getting angry. "Martha, what do you mean, spooky?" There was a long pause, and finally Martha blurted out: "She's naked." Dana sat up in her bed. Naked? Spooky? "What, Martha, do you think she was. . . attacked?" "No, Ma'am. But it's weird. She don't look like herself." Frustrated, Dana asked, "What is so spooky? What do you mean, she doesn't look like herself?" "I dunno. It's just spooky. Please come down here." "Shit," Dana muttered, and decided, what the hell, got dressed and drove the two miles to Churchhill. And Martha had been right. This was strange indeed. And almost spooky. Dorothy Tinsley lay naked on her bed, legs spread wide, her nightgown crumpled on the floor by the bed. Dana's first thought was that poor Dorothy Tinsley had been raped, despite what Martha had said, and as unlikely as that would be at Churchhill. But no, Martha had to be right. There was no sign of a struggle, and Dorothy looked relaxed, peaceful. More than that. Serene? No, even more than that. Whatever happened here had not been unwelcome. Sometimes these old folks sneaked into one another's rooms late at night, but that seemed most unlikely in Dorothy's case. Because of the paralysis, Dana doubted if Dorothy had any sexual feelings at all. And even if she had had a visitor, that wouldn't explain everything. The really strange thing was her face. Again, Martha was right. She didn't look like herself; she looked much younger. She barely looked 68, and that tight, pained look in her face, the perpetual grimace, was gone. It was replaced by, serenity. No, not serenity. Rapture! "Martha, does anyone else know about this?" "No, Miz Dana." "Did anyone hear anything?" "No Ma'am. Though I was on the desk there, and I did hear a short cry once or twice in the night, but that's not unusual." "Was it once, or twice?" "Twice, I think." "A cry of pain?" Martha scrunched up her forehead and thought. "No, not quite. I wasn't really listening, since a lot of them cry out during the night, you know, if they move the wrong way or something." "Sure, Martha." "What time did you find her?" "Just before I called you." Dana thought for a moment. "Any particular reason why you checked on her at that precise moment?" Martha hesitated. She really wasn't sure, though there was the thought in the back of her mind that she had heard something. But she wasn't sure. "No, Ma'am." "You didn't hear anything?" "No Ma'am." "Would you know if anyone went into or out of this room?" "Yes'm I'm sure I would, and no one did." Dana wasn't quite convinced, but still, she doubted Dorothy had had a visitor. This was a real mystery. She wanted to check this out further - alone. "Okay, then. Why don't you go call the Doc while I, uh, fix things up here. I'll call if I need you. Meanwhile the less said about this the better." "Yes,m," Martha replied as she left the room. Dana looked more closely at Dorothy. She was still warm, so she must have died very close to the time Martha called. She checked for signs of sexual activity. There seemed to be some signs of swelling, of distention, as if she had had intercourse a short time before. There was even some lubrication, which she found surprising, and wondered how long after intercourse such things would remain. But there were no signs of semen, and no signs of any trauma or any forcible penetration. No rape. No late night visit from another patient, at least not from a male patient who was capable of ejaculation. Strange indeed. Dorothy looked younger and more vibrant than she had since she came to Churchhill three years earlier. And the way her legs were positioned was not what you'd expect from a paralyzed woman. Well, she had to make it look normal before Doc Evans got there. * * * October 31, 1950 Halloween at Kansas Western was always special. First there was the hayride around the campus, then the dance. Some of the students wore costumes, and some didn't. A lot of the boys wore masks, and dressed as Zorro, or The Lone Ranger, or plain old ghosts. Some of them took advantage of the situation to grope the girls on the hayride, and some of the girls, dressed as witches or nurses, took advantage of their own anonymity and let the boys have their way. But for Paul Tinsley, this night meant much more than that. He'd met Dorothy Hendricks two months earlier, the first weekend they arrived on campus as freshmen, and they'd been inseparable ever since. He'd fallen in love with her right away: her smile, her pretty face, her sense of humor, her dreams for the future. They were both virgins, and he'd been patient, respected her wishes to go slow. But tonight, he hoped, would be THE night. Dorothy Hendricks stood on the dance floor waiting for Paul to return with apple cider and cake for the two of them. She watched the couples on the dance floor, watched the couples which were paired off in dark corners, or leaving to take a walk outside, hand in hand. As she watched, she thought about Paul and the last two months. From the beginning, everything about him thrilled her, but mostly, it was the way he listened to her, cared about what she thought, and respected her desire to be a journalist, to research and expose some of the things that were wrong in the world. Paul Tinsley. Dorothy's Tin Man, she called him. Because he was the opposite of the Dorothy's Tin Man who needed a heart in the Wizard of Oz. She laughed to herself. That was the scarecrow, not the Tin Man, Paul had said. She didn't care which it was. He was her Tin Man because he had a heart, and she loved him with all of hers. Mostly, though, she thought about the last two weeks. In the last two weeks, they had taken things further than she had ever gone before. His kisses had turned her on from the beginning, partly because she was falling in love with him, and partly because of the way he kissed. He didn't try to bruise her mouth with his, and he didn't try to shove his tongue down her throat. His kisses were gentle, teasing. He would draw her lower lip between his and gently suck or nibble. Or, he would tease just the tip of her tongue with his, and when she would become excited and put her tongue in his mouth, he would gently suck it and swirl his tongue around hers. She'd never been kissed like that before. She hoped those kisses would never end. But the last two weeks, it had gone further. He had slipped his hand inside her blouse, and it had felt good. She had let him take her blouse off, and he gently stroked her titties. The he had pushed her bra up, and kissed her titties, gently licking and sucking her nipples until they became hard and she felt wet between her legs. That had scared her, and she asked him to stop, and he did without protest. She loved him for that. The next time, though, she wasn't scared at all, and she didn't ask him to stop when he kissed her titties. She didn't ask him to stop until he slipped his hand under her skirt, and under her panties. When he touched her vagina her whole body felt like it was on fire. She felt tension build, felt her private area throbbing. It felt so good. She wondered if this was what an orgasm was, but it felt as if there should be more, as if an eruption of some sort was just out of reach. Again, though, with great difficulty, she had managed to ask him to stop. And again, he did without protest. Paul returned, smiling at her, juggling two glasses of cider and two pieces of cake. He looked sharp in penny loafers, khakis, starched white shirt. She was so pretty, he thought, her strawberry blond hair hanging just above her shoulders, her bangs highlighting her face, her green eyes, her beautiful smile, the lips he loved to kiss. She looked great in her white blouse, pumpkin-colored skirt, black and white oxfords and bobby sox. Sweet, but to him, very sexy too. The tables were all full and there was no place to sit. Paul led them outside. It was an unusually warm night for late October: Indian summer, no need for sweaters or coats. The Hunter's Moon had risen higher in the sky, casting a soft glow over the campus. One of the wagons that had been used for the hayride was parked a little distance away, under a grove of trees. A private spot maybe. "Let's go over there," he said. The wagon was empty, and they settled onto the soft hay and sipped their cider. "Want some cake?" he said. "Sure. Thanks." Paul had cider in one hand, a plate with two pieces of cake in the other. They looked at the plate. One plate. No forks. They looked at each other and laughed. She smiled at him. "Well, Paul darling, are you going to give me some cake or not." "Of course." He set his glass of cider down, broke off a piece of cake and held it to her lips. Gently she took the cake from his fingers, nibbling his fingers as she did, licking them, sucking them. "Since you forgot forks, I suppose you forgot napkins, too." "All part of the plan, my dear," he said, kissing her, licking away any trace of cake which remained on her lips. "Hmmm, delicious" she cooed as she drew his tongue between her lips. He set the cake aside and kissed her more earnestly, nibbling her lips, sucking her tongue. He kissed her neck, biting gently, and she moaned softly. He dragged his tongue across her neck and she murmured, "Oh, god, Paul. . ." He kissed her throat and began to open the buttons of her blouse. She put her arms around him, hands on his neck, pulling him to her as he kissed lower, kissing the flesh he exposed as he unbuttoned her blouse. He pulled the blouse from her skirt, slipped it from her shoulders, and removed it as she kissed him and held him tight. He removed her bra, and looked at her, naked from the waist up. She was so beautiful, lying there half naked in the moonlight. "I love you Dorothy Hendricks," he said. "I will always love you." "I love you too, Paul," she whispered. He kissed her throat again, then moved lower, licking a nipple, sucking, teasing. Dorothy felt the passion build again. If she didn't stop him now, she didn't think she'd be able to stop him at all. He gently bit her nipple. "Ohhh," she cried. He kissed her bare stomach, just below her navel and it sent shivers down her spine. His hand was on her bare thigh, moving higher. Then he was touching her vagina, slipping his fingers under her panties and into her and she felt that throbbing, fluttering feeling that she had felt once before. "Does it feel good, honey?" he asked. "Hmm." "Please don't make me stop, baby, I love you. I want to make love to you. Want to make you feel so good." "Ohhh." He pulled her panties down and the air felt good on her wet vagina. His mouth was everywhere. He kissed her mouth and her nipples, her neck and her stomach. She was moaning and squirming now, her hips moving, the sensations he was creating were so delicious, the tension he was creating in her so exquisite. His face was between her legs. He was kissing her THERE. Licking. Oh god. Oh god. "OH GOD," she screamed as he licked her and she felt the eruption that she had denied herself before. "Oh, Paul," she said as the spasms subsided. "I think you gave me an orgasm. It was. . . incredible." He smiled at her, kissed her. Somehow, she realized, he had slipped his pants off and had taken what she knew must be a condom and put it on his penis. He kissed her again. "I love you more than life, Dorothy." She felt his penis pressing against her and it felt good. The feelings of her orgasm had not completely drifted away, and the fire began to build again. She felt pressure as he pushed slowly into her, then a short sharp pain, and then only the pleasure of feeling him deep inside her, stroking slowly in and out, grinding against her. She felt another orgasm build, and as the first wave broke over her, he arched his back and grew still and she felt him pulsing inside her. "Oh, yes!" she heard him cry as they orgasmed together. They lay together for awhile, quietly, enjoying each others presence. It was just before midnight when Paul turned to Dorothy and said, "I will always love you, Dorothy Hendricks. And I make you a solemn promise. I hope that I will spend the rest of my life with you, but if anything ever separates us, I promise that fifty years from today, I will find you. . ." * * * October 31, 2000 Dorothy Hendricks went to bed at 10:00 PM as always. And, as always, she slept fitfully. It was just before midnight that she was awakened by a presence. First, she felt his presence, then she saw him. A young man of 18 stood before her wearing penny loafers, khakis, starched white shirt. "Paul!" "Yes, my love." "My Tin Man! You kept your solemn promise!" "Yes, my love," he said and moved closer to her, took her hand, gently kissed her. He had repeated that promise again and again through the years, telling her how he loved her, how special that night had been to him, how precious she always was and always would be to him. Even when she had become paralyzed, and could no longer enjoy intercourse, he loved her, and told her so every day. Oh, how she missed him, missed his love the last three years, his passion the last twelve years. He began to remove her nightgown and she protested, "Paul, you know I can't. . ." "Shh," he said and silenced her with a kiss. He kissed her neck and her throat and she began to feel stirrings where she had felt nothing for twelve years. "Oh," she said as he tossed her nightgown on the floor and kissed her breasts and her nipples hardened and she felt the wetness in her vagina that had been dry so long. He stepped back from the bed and was naked, his penis more hard and erect than it had been since he was a young man. The sight of it aroused her even more. His mouth was on her again, kissing her nether lips, the lips which were now swollen and sensitive. He felt so good. His tongue slipped inside her and she moaned, her hips began to move, she ground against him, wrapped her legs around him as his tongue moved inside her. His tongue moved higher and teased her clitoris, then circled it, swirling around it and she came. The long forgotten intensity of the orgasm surprised her and she cried out, "Oohhh!" Paul was on top of her now, his penis sliding inside her as her orgasm began to subside. Somehow, he always had the timing just right and he began to bring her toward a second climax. "Come with me," he said, and she did. "OHHH" she cried as she felt the first wave of orgasm course through her. Her orgasm crested as she felt him explode inside her, felt him throb, felt her muscles clench him, squeeze him as he filled her with his hot seed. Her orgasm seemed to last forever, and his, too. It seemed as though he came and came, pulsing inside her forever. Never before had she experienced anything like it, it was almost. . . supernatural. Finally, when she thought she couldn't take anymore, the waves of pleasure subsided. They lay together, holding each other and for the first time she began to think about the strange events which had just happened. Paul looked at her knowingly. He held out his hand to her. "Come with me," he said, and she did. END Authors note: It's funny how these things happen. I needed a name for the old woman in the story, an older name. Dorothy. Then I wanted a last name. Tinsley. No particular reason, just a name. Then the thought hit me to give Paul a nickname. Tinsley. Tin Man. Cool. At first I was thinking of the Danny Devito movie, then I thought of the Wizard of Oz. Then I realized I already had the right name for my female character! And then, I decided to put them in Kansas. And one final comment. I was all set to post this but when I proofread it one last time it became clear what had been bothering me. The opening dialog between Martha and Dana had been much shorter. Like - this is strange, you'd better get down here, and Dana decided what the hell and off she went. Much better to make it more plausible that Dana would venture out in the middle of the night -and build the mystery at the same time. This was the hardest part of the story to write - the next two parts wrote themselves. -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+