Message-ID: <28528asstr$980251803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20010123062021.55116.qmail@web12213.mail.yahoo.com> From: Alexis Siefert Subject: {ASSM} {ASS} Free Time {Alexis S} (F-solo) Date: Tue, 23 Jan 2001 07:10:03 -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: dennyw, IceAltar __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Yahoo! Auctions - Buy the things you want at great prices. http://auctions.yahoo.com/ <1st attachment, "free time.txt" begin> She sighed deeply and let her body sink into the water. The bubbles tickled her nose, but she didn't bother raising her hand to flick them away. As her ears dipped below the level of the water, she could hear the water rushing through the pipes. There was a rhythmic 'swish-swish' somewhere in the house, telling her that the washing machine was filling, or perhaps the dishwasher had moved into its rinse mode, whatever. Just so long as it didn't require her to get up. The wind was beating against the window above the tub. Its incessant rapping sounded like a jealous neighbor, begging to be let in the house. She giggled softly at the thought of the anthropomorphic wind knocking at the pane of glass. An image sprang unbidden to her mind of the wind in human form--a lovely Native woman, full breasts and hips, fertility personified, dark hair blowing wildly around her face as the breeze whipped playfully through the black tresses. She let her mind drift, her thoughts fading as the steam, pregnant with lavender scent, surrounded her face and filled her nostrils. The sales clerk swore to her that lavender was relaxing, "aroma therapy" the clerk called it. She didn't know if it was the scent, the steam, or just the knowledge that she had an hour to herself that was relaxing her. It didn't matter. Her brain shifted out of conscious thoughts into a series of images, drawn out of her body by the beckoning wind. It was as though her body was separate from her being. She floated above the water, looking down at the body below her, critically examining it in a detached manner. She knew she was looking at her own form, but it seemed so foreign. The body below her looked so lovely, so womanly, not at all how she pictured herself when she peered into the mirror every morning. The woman in the tub had long legs; well, long for her height. Her hips were softly rounded, framing her concave belly. Perhaps a bit too sharp in her hipbones, she knew that she needed to put on another few pounds or so, but the effect was still pleasant. Her eyes traveled upward, tracing the delicate ribcage pausing briefly to watch her pulse beat in the hollow below her sternum. The skin of her breasts was flushed with the heat of the tub and they bobbed gently in the water in time with her slow, relaxed breathing. Around small shoulders, her pale hair floated, softly swaying, swirling around her face. Her lips were full, which had been a point of contention with her until it became fashionable and the superstars were injecting their thin mouths to change their shape. She had heard men snicker when looking at pictures of these full-mouthed women, referring to their "dsl's." It took months of discrete eves dropping for her to finally overhear the phrase "dick-sucking-lips" instead of the cryptic abbreviation. She knew at that moment that she had a mouth designed to frame a man's cock, lips meant to nestle a cockhead between, and suddenly, in spite of herself, her mouth was beautiful to her. She reached down with her mind's fingers, imagining their touch on the pale skin of the body in the water below her. The body responded with it's own fingers, brushing a fingertip over those red lips, and she was pulled back into herself. She shivered a bit and parted her lips pushing her finger between her teeth, over her tongue. She felt her teeth scrape along her skin and her nail drew an invisible line over her dark red tongue. She sucked softly, teasingly, imagining her finger as a cock, pulsing between her lips. As she sucked her fingertip, her other hand fluttered over her neck, feeling her pulse pick up as her breathing quickened. Her fingers wrapped around her tiny throat, pressing slightly, wondering what it would feel like to have a man's hand wrapped there, cutting off her wind as his body pounded into her. The CD player mounted to the wall clicked softly as the CD ended and started its loop again. Soon soft strains of Franco Corelli's lamenting tenor aria from 'I Pagliacci' filled the room. The mournful, insistent tones reached under the water, vibrating against her belly and the stroking touch of her fingers quickened to meet its rhythm. Her fingertips brushed over the tops of her breasts, leaving warm trails on her heated skin. She was slightly surprised to find that her nipples were already hardened, erect, pushing away from her small, round breasts as if they were straining towards her lingering fingers. She twisted her nipples gently between her thumbs and forefingers, working both breasts in tandem. Twin sparks shot through her body from her breasts to the center of her sex, and she gasped. Her fingers tightened their grip on her sensitive peaks, twisting her nipples more forcefully. She drew her knees up, and her thighs spread, coming to rest against the tile sides of the tub. The contrast between the warmth of the water and the cooler air of the room served only to heighten the feelings suddenly building so strongly within her. One hand left her breast and drifted down, stroking lightly over the taut skin of her belly, hovering over the small tattoo at her hip--a Celtic harp--the only remnant of her brief rebellious period. Her fingers found the cleft of her sex, and she paused, hovering just at her opening, hesitantly stroking her outer lips. This was not an act she normally found comfortable, never mind exciting. Despite being raised in the enlightened decade of the 70's, she was raised to believe that pleasure was not the purview of a woman; she was supposed to 'close her eyes and think of other things,' to quote her prim-and-proper mother. However, the butterfly flutterings in her belly forced the reservations from her mind, pushed her past her 'moral' protests. Her fingers began, for the first time, to truly explore that most secret place within her. As her fingertips parted her lips to dip into the slippery moisture there, her thumb grazed lightly over the swelling button above. Her breath caught in her throat, and her clit twitched under her touch. The music lifted and swelled through the room, shaking the glass in the window as the tenor's voice drew her further into her own passions. Her fingers dug insistently between her pussy lips, no longer hesitant and unable to fight her natural instincts. She felt her inner muscles clench around her fingertips as she pushed one, then two fingers deep inside her pussy. A moan escaped her lips as she stretched her fingers, opening herself wider, feeling her body respond to the intrusion. Her thumb stayed perched atop her rock hard, swollen clit, rolling it in hard circles against her body. Water swirled around her as her hand began to move faster, thrusting deeply into her soaking pussy. The water flowed into her opening with each thrust, filling her further. Her body began to shudder, her hips bucked up against her hand. She gripped the tile side of the tub with her free hand, gasping for breath as her face slipped below the water again and again. Her body spasmed violently, wracked with her orgasm. It was the sound of her own voice that called her out of her reverie. A soft moaning reached her ears under the water, and she slowly caught her breath. Her fingers were still buried deeply between her shaking legs, and her body quivered in seismic aftershocks. Slowly, she allowed the warm water to calm her again, and she slowed her breathing until she felt confident enough of her own strength to stand. Stepping from the tub, wrapping the towel around her dripping body, she moved to the bedroom, taking note of the luminescent glow of the clock on the wall. She smiled realizing that she still had 30 minutes left before her family was due home. <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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+