Message-ID: <29921asstr$987729002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: spoonbender@hotmail.com (Theodore Spoonbender) Reply-To: spoonbender@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <3adf379b.8399873@news.earthlink.net> MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 19 Apr 2001 12:08:18 PDT Subject: {ASSM} ** New Spoonbender Story - Styles Date: Thu, 19 Apr 2001 21:10:02 -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: dennyw, apuleius Styles ********************************************************************* (c)2001 Spoonbender. A short story of an adult nature. Not to be read by minors. If you don't like this sort of stuff or you are underage then don't read. Contains nc sex and other stuff. Can be freely distributed as long as it is not changed, including this heading. If it is to archived on a fee paying archive then please email me first for permission. Please email me with comments, constructive criticism, fantasies you want put into words etc. Don't flame me if you don't like the content or you don't like my style. Email address is spoonbender@hotmail.com ********************************************************************* Its a strange state of being, writing. Thoughts flit like myriad butterflies through your mind. Flashes and sparks light up your head with a multitude of images. Some prized into being by provocative emails others the product of a particularly lucid thought. Images that arouse, images that bring a wry smile, images that....... Darting hither and thither. Thither and yon. Some to be lost in the temporal latitudes of the mind, others cling tenaciously, banging on the portals of the conscious demanding to be let out, to be written. To be struck onto a screen, the single fingered typing a blur as the thoughts fight or collude to get out. Whatever it takes to be expressed. Suzie struggled frantically as the burly youths held her effortlessly over the table. Mere minutes before she had been strolling home from cheerleading practice, now she was naked and pushed over a scarred table as they prepared to forcibly sunder her virginity and impregnate her. Are they daydreams? Or is it the sign of something more symptomatic. Demons and dragons living in a brain trying to take form in the written word. Maybe to pass through a spacewarp to end up being expressed for real in some distant galaxy. Are we some emissaries of some distant sentient race who demand of us an imagination through which they can live? In an infinite space anything is possible. His hand crept up her skirt. She mouthed a strangled "no" but it had no power or substance. He barely paused. Again his hand imprisoned her breast. A small moan signaled her ecstasy. He hooked her panties and she lifted her bottom obligingly as he drew them down over her satiny thighs. His mouth settled over hers and their tongues fenced as he drew up her skirt and softly pushed his hand between her thighs. Her musk and her humid heat suggested she was a willing partner. As if in confirmation her legs parted, almost involuntarily, when his hand sought out her sex. The moans became small whimpers and meaningless words as his finger gently massaged her gash. She seemed to melt into the bed under his tender ministrations until he decided that the time was ripe. A short feeling of tightness followed by a sudden sharp pain made her gasp and pant. He lay on her letting her get used to his size. She opened her eyes which were both misty with tears and yet loving. He started to stroke. Slowly at first but with increasing vigor. They peaked together. This brings me to styles. Or genres I suppose I'd better call them before the pedants start sharpening their quills. What law says that a writer has to become known for a certain genre? For instance I am credited with helping to genre-ize 'mechasex' (as Lady Cyrrh so delicately puts it) yet more than half my stories have nothing to do with the genre. She pedaled faster as the electricity burned into her tortured tits, then screamed in pleasure as the dildo picked up speed and the vibrator buzzed purposefully. The huge dildo pounded into her through the saddle of the bike powered, as it was, by a huge flywheel that was in turn connected to the pedals. The burning in her chest died down to a dull buzz as she reached the required speed. "CRACK!" The paddle smacked in on her ass unexpectedly causing her to cry out. Her cries a breathless panting in time with the pounding of her legs and the rapid thrusting of the fake prick. The fire burned in her belly glowing brighter and brighter as the dildo fanned her flames. Just before she came she glanced up to find him smirking at her. Comfortably ensconced in a deep leather armchair he clutched a long drink in one hand while his other played absentmindedly with her speed control.... Even Ole Joe got in on the act. Naughty boy. It doesn't matter what you write as long as you express it well. Didn't they teach you that at review school? And as for Celeste............ Lady Maltrathers swooned when she saw the size of her butler's appendage. Of course I know that certain things I write about are not quite nice and some of them contain illusions that are illegal in most places. There are others of a completely different hue, you could try them. "Quick we haven't got much time," she breathed as our hands hungrily explored each other. "Dad will be back at two." I helped her to push her panties down from under her miniskirt until they were a puddle round her feet. Our mouths meshed and our tongues fenced greedily as she undid my zip and pulled out my cock. The soft warm touch of her fingers bringing me to instant hardness. She was perched on a narrow shelf, her legs wrapped around me as I guided myself in. She sighed and wriggled as I pushed deep. Then we were off. It was like riding a barely broken colt, galloping wildly towards our respective orgasms. The explosion, when it came, took our collective breaths away with its sheer ferocity. A few minutes later I watched her sashay down the corridor. She looked over her shoulder at one point and blew me a kiss. I pinched myself. I had just fucked the Chairman's daughter. See its not difficult choosing a new genre to write in. Go on try it, let your minds throw off those self imposed fetters. Kelli-ann was always up for a dare. And so when Lula-may dared her to go into the local pool hall she didn't even bother to think about it. A busty blond with pouting lips and a libido that could have been shared by a dozen women, leaving them all sex starved. Kelli-ann was a wet dream on legs. She shot pool and they got to survey her tight cut-off clad behind as she measured up for each shot. They even let her win. A half dozen bottles of specially prepared beer cast off her inhibitions. Strip pool was the logical conclusion. But now her winning streak was over. Now it was forfeits and there was only one forfeit they wanted. Stretched out on that pool table Kelli-ann took on the scum of the whole damned town. And loved every cum sucking minute of it. The thing is that once you get a reputation is ASStown then you are shot. You might write one nc story and from that point on you're labeled an nc writer. It like sleeping with the wrong partner, especially if that partner's species hasn't mastered the art of being bipeds. She loved the warm fur on his body, especially when it rubbed up against her hyper-sensitive nipples. As it was now. He was pumping energetically away, his tongue lolling out as he frantically stroked, ignorant in his bliss. She just lay there letting the sensations overwhelm her. She knew that what she was doing was frowned upon in the circles in which she moved, but she couldn't live without those delicious sensations that he engendered in her body. No man had ever brought her this close to Nirvana before. Her orgasm, as always, overwhelmed her. Damn what the other girls would say if they found out. Damn their snide remarks, made behind cupped hands and their withering stares. Damn them all. They just didn't understand the power he wielded with his long cock, nor the energetic skill with which he used it. So what if he was a Lawyer. Ok, to cut a long story short I would like to register a protest here and now. Don't label me until you have read some of my other work. If you don't like my style, fine. If you don't like my use of words, that's fine too. But don't try to cram me into a box affixed with a label of your choosing. I won't stay in it. I promise you. "Gary," she screamed. "Come quick" So he did. To paraphrase the feminists: Judge me on my worth. And not on my genre. "Young lady I've had enough of your churlish manner and intolerable behavior. I intend to correct it for once and for all. Now get that skirt and those panties off and bend over that table." Tears gleaming in her eyes and her movements stiff and awkward, she complied. The first harsh kiss of the thin whippy cane brought her up from the table with an alacrity that he wished she would have applied to her schoolwork. He pushed her down again then measured her up for the next stroke. Only 11 more to go....... You naughty people. Thank you for reading this diatribe. All emails are welcome........ spoonbender@hotmail.com ***************************************************************** -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+