Message-ID: <30008asstr$988143003@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <200104241254.FAA01724@mail14.bigmailbox.com> From: "Deja User" Subject: {ASSM} "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" {Dancer} (MF oral) Date: Tue, 24 Apr 2001 16:10:03 -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, kelly ------------------------------------------------------------ <1st attachment, "Fence.txt" begin> SUBJECT LINE: {ASSM} "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" {Dancer} (MF oral) ------- Disclaimer/Admonition: Copyright notice: Dancer, the author of this smutty little opus, holds all rights of reproduction. Private copies for personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial distribution are permitted by her. Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of humanity. But wait - how does that author KNOW if people are reading and enjoying his story? Yep; if you like a story posted to alt.sex.stories.*, the fair thing to do is email the author and tell them so. I promise that it'll make YOU feel good to send them kudos, after all, Mark Twain said, "The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to cheer someone else up." As always you may contact me (and my wife Dancer) through my 'legacy' Deja News email account: (Wow, I'm not just an author, now I'm an AGENT, too! ;) Editor's Note: Yep; got a new Disk O' Stories(tm) in the mail today. In addition to all these usual ones, she also had an ALPHABET series for me - twenty-six 'quickies' (none over about 6kb) which I'll be posting three every day for the next two weeks (M-F) in addition to this stuff. ENJOY! (I did:) ============= Here I am once again seated before my trusty 486, attempting another great story. Empath thinks they're great, anyway. I had some interesting experiences over the past four days and thought they would be good enough to incorporate into my latest venture. Please don't read this if you are under the age of majority where you live. Barbie is a registered trademark with Mattel toys. I'm not sure how to treat 'South Park'. {Aw, dang - I give up! I can't compete with material like this; I'm gonna get *Dancer* to write MY disclaimers!} Good Fences Make Good Neighbors (MF, oral) Dancer 2001 I put the vacuum cleaner back in the hall closet; thankful my cleaning was done for the next week. I dragged myself to the fridge for a cold soda and tugged the door open. There he sat, hovering on top of the barbecue sauce bottle. My eyes widened. I let out a shriek and slammed the door quickly. My ass sagged against the door as my brain absorbed what I'd seen. There was a tiny, brown mouse in my fridge. I couldn't leave him in there, hoping he'd die without eating into my foodstuffs. What to do, what to do? I asked myself. First thing: catch him. I stuffed my hands into a pair of pink hotpad mittens and filled the sink full of water. I gave myself a pep talk. "You can do this, Rhonda. Edwin is just a hamster with a long tail." I pulled the door open, my eyes darting at every nook and cranny for Edwin's face. I spotted him at the edge of the vegetable drawer. He darted towards the rear of the fridge as I tugged on the drawer. Naturally, it was the one that stuck. He peeked around the corner of the other drawer. That one came out easily. I kept my eyes trained on the first drawer, knowing little Edwin would make a break that way. I rattled the remaining drawer and forced the mouse to come out into the open space I made. He stared at me with twitching whiskers. "Good boy," I called to him. "Nice mousey." I slowly reached in with my mittened hand to grab him but he escaped. He raced behind and passed the edge of the stuck drawer to freedom. I shut the door and checked the surrounding area. Damn, he must have gone to the basement. Oh well, I'll catch the little bastard soon enough. I brought out my jar of peanut butter and re-baited my mousetraps. Edwin loved peanut butter and never set off any of the traps. I searched for my roll of duct tape and cut strips, creating homemade sticky paper. I carefully pushed each trap firmly on the duct tape. Now, there was a four-inch field of glue for Edwin to get around to eat the bait. Even if the trap wasn't sprung, he'd be stuck on the sticky surface until I could dispose of him or he chewed a leg off, whichever came first. I remembered to get my drink, double-checking for Edwin, then closing the door. I unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow. The phone in the den rang loudly and I strolled in the room to answer it. My ex, Don, was calling to inform me that our darling daughter was in trouble at school...again. I flopped down on the loveseat. "Now what is she doing?" "Colleen got sent to the principal's office for disrupting class," Don droned in his grating monotone. "And how was she doing that?" "She was singing, very loudly mind you, 'Blame Canada' during social studies." He sighed over the line. "You should not have allowed her to watch that South Park movie. It is rated R, you know." "Yeah, I know," I replied. "But so was 'The Matrix' and you let her see that when it was in the theaters." I rolled my eyes, wondering how I ever let Don get me pregnant in the first place. "Be glad it wasn't 'Uncle Fucka'." He sighed again. "You need to be more responsible, Rhonda. You need to set boundaries concerning Colleen. *You* are the parent and *she* is the child." "Yes, yes, you're right. I'm wrong. I'm stupid and psychotic. What else is new? Anything else you want to blame me for?" "Stop being defensive," Don said. "I called to let you know about Colleen's behavior today. The teachers feel she needs counseling." "Forgive me for sounding crass, but whatever. You'll do what you want anyway." I hung up before I had to listen to anymore of his babble. Don's parenting ideas were new age. He gave Colleen time outs and counseling. He didn't like my old fashion style of lectures and spankings. He considered what I did as a parent to border on child abuse. It was one of many things between us that caused strife in our barely civil relationship. I decided to take my soda and drink it outside on the patio. I sat down in my metal rocker and watched the grass grow. It took me a minute or two to notice the smoke barreling from the house across the street. I rushed over, worried about Mrs. Barrington, and barged through the back door. Her kitchen was quickly filling with smoke when I entered and she was trying to extinguish the rapidly growing grease fire on her stove. "Mrs. Barrington!" I yelled as I crouched down. She fell to the linoleum floor, overcome by the fumes. I crawled to her prone form and pressed two fingers against her throat. She had a pulse. I managed to roll her onto my back in a fireman's carry and dragged us outside. I gently laid her on the grass and ran back inside with the hem of my shirt over my face. The smoke had thinned out somewhat and I assessed the fire. I snagged a box of salt, pouring the entire container over the flames and watched them die off quickly. I stumbled back outside to Mrs. Barrington. The wail of sirens drowned out my coughing as I knelt on the lawn. A police cruiser, ambulance and fire truck pulled up to the curb and I saw two EMTs coming over to us with their medical bags in hand. I waved them to Mrs. Barrington, concerned for the elderly woman's health. A couple of firemen went into the house and returned after a short time. One of them approached me; his helmet tipped back off his face. He squatted next to me and asked, "Do you know what happened?" I slapped the flat of my hand against my chest in an attempt to stop my coughing fits. "I saw smoke coming out her window and came over. It was a grease fire, I think, and I threw salt on it to put it out." "Before or after you got Mrs. Barrington to safety?" he asked gruffly. "After," I choked out. He tossed his helmet to the ground and ran his hands through his wheat colored hair. "It was stupid. You should have stayed outside, clear of the blaze." "Sorry," I retorted angrily. "Next time, I'll let the house burn to the ground." I started coughing again and brought my shirt up to cover my mouth. He jerked the cottony fabric from my hands. I glanced into his icy stare. He leaned close and whispered, "Wear a bra next time." My face turned beet red as I wrapped my arms over my breasts, mortified that this gorgeous fireman had seen my tits but wondering if he enjoyed what he saw. He stood up and walked away towards his truck. I appreciated the slight roundness of his butt through his uniform and fantasized how it looked totally naked. * * * The following Wednesday, I had a second run in with my fire fighter. The guys living in the house behind me had caught their garage on fire. I called 911 and reported it, then watched the whole thing from my back porch. The guys were trying to put out the flames unsuccessfully with a garden hose. I sipped my iced tea, taking in the comic and frantic attempts. The cops showed up with two fire trucks close behind. The firemen hooked up their hoses and began dousing the flames. I yelled over, "If it helps any, it's probably a chemical fire! The guys that live there manufacture drugs!" The garage burned to the ground. Black smoke filled the air overhead and I went back inside my house to escape the fumes. I refilled my glass and heard a knock at the back door. I opened it and there stood my fireman, his face smudged with soot. He removed his headgear and I noticed his hair was sweat-soaked, plastered along his forehead. I gestured to the smoldering ruin and joked, "See? This time, I let it burn." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Sadly, I'm not wearing a bra." I whipped up my top and flashed my bare breasts quickly. "You can get arrested for that, you know," he said, grinning fully. I raised a finger. "Perhaps not. I am in my own home." I basked in the warmth of his smile before continuing, "What are you doing over here?" "Good question." He quirked his lips. "Got an answer?" I stuffed my hands in the side pockets of my jeans. "Nope." "How 'bout a name?" "Matt Banks." "Where?" He shot me a dumbfounded look. "Matt banks where?" I said slowly. "Funny. Last time I heard that I laughed so hard, I fell off my dinosaur." We chuckled together. "I just came over to say thanks for calling it in." "Not a problem," I replied saluting. "Always glad to help out." Matt stepped to the ground and lifted his helmet as a farewell. He jogged over to his fellow firemen, receiving a few friendly slaps on the back. My impishness broke out and I hollered very girlishly, "Goodbye, Mr. Banks!" He glanced over a shoulder and I blew him a kiss from my fingers. This prompted the other fire fighters to whoop loudly, acting like a pack of dogs. I hoped Matt decided that he needed to pay me back for his buddies' ribbing him. If he did, he'd find a way to see me again. The rest of the day drifted on. I checked the mousetraps for Edwin and found the gooey peanut butter licked away. This mouse was good, I had to admit. The duct tape would trap most creatures but not Edwin. I debated over mixing rat poison in with the bait, unsure where Edwin's corpse would turn up. Besides, Colleen had grown very attached to the mouse in my house and would brand me a murderer if she discovered I poisoned Edwin. There was nothing for it. I had to get rid of the little guy and none of the other methods were working. I hopped in my car and drove to the supermarket. Once inside, I made a beeline for the pesticides and compared the two brands of rat poison. I decided in favor of the more expensive one. Being here reminded me to get a bottle of laundry detergent and a box of maxi pads. I went to the checkout and paid for my purchases, then headed home. Colleen was waiting for me on the front porch, rocking furiously in one of the rockers. "Hi, Mom," she called to me as I came inside. "Daddy said I could play over here for a few hours." "Okay," I replied as I unlocked the front door. "I gotta throw in a load of laundry. Wanna help?" "Yeah!" She bounded out of the chair and snatched up her school bag, racing through the open door ahead of me. She dropped the bag just inside the door. I veered toward the downstairs toilet where I kept all the household cleaners and quickly hid the box of rat poison behind the other chemicals. Colleen was already in the laundry room, dumping a full basket of towels in the washer. I carried the new bottle of soap into the room. When I got to the machine, I uncapped the lid and poured out a goodly amount of blue liquid into the lid. Colleen watched as I drizzled the soap over the dirty towels and recapped the bottle. She dropped the washer lid and set the cycle. "Cold/cold, right, Mom?" "Yep," I said and cranked the dial to start the machine. We heard the water filling the barrel and left the room. She talked me into playing Barbies for a while. Doctor Barbie and Dentist Barbie were torturing Ken with the threat of hanging. Teacher Barbie tied a noose looped it over Ken's neck and fastened the other end around the chimney of the Barbie house. The rest of the Barbies were sitting next to the house, acting the angry mob. Doctor, Dentist and Teacher Barbie gave Ken a shove off the roof and he dangled at the end of the rope, occasionally smacking into the side of the house. The buzzer from the washer broke the game up. Colleen and I headed downstairs to throw the laundry in the dryer. She had the lid open and was cleaning the filter of the dryer when I arrived. I began taking the wet towels out, shaking each one. I knew from experience that I had to shake my stuff out before tossing it into the dryer, otherwise it didn't get dry. I handed my daughter the terrycloth towels after I was done and she shoved them into the dryer. As I reached into the washer for the last towel, I encountered something very furry and wet. I peeked over the edge. There was a very dead Edwin, nestled in the folds of my bath towel. I shut the lid gently and walked into the kitchen to get one of those throwaway plastic containers. I snagged a pen along the way. I needed something to prod Edwin into his coffin. Colleen was looking at me strangely. "What's that stuff for?" "You know that mouse that's been living here?" She nodded. "Well, he must have been hiding in the laundry when you put it in the washer and he drown." Her face screwed up, ready to cry. "Will the police officers take me to jail?" I rubbed her shoulder and said quietly, "No, honey, the police aren't going to send you to jail. It was an accident. You didn't know the mouse was in the wash." "Are you gonna bury Stuart?" she asked seriously. "Yeah, that's why I have this box. We'll bury him in the flower garden, okay?" I opened the washer lid again and, using the pen, nudged Edwin/Stuart into the container. I snapped the top over the plastic box and set it on the floor. I turned to Colleen and said, "Take the towels out of the dryer and put them in the basket. I'll have to wash them again after I disinfect both machines." She did what I told her. We went outside to the flower garden, her holding the casket and me lugging a spade. I dug a two-foot deep hole and she gingerly placed Edwin's coffin in the ground. I filled in the hole and tamped the dirt down. Colleen looked so solemn when she tilted her face up. "If there was a God, Stuart would be with him now." "I'm sure Stuart is in mouse heaven, getting sick on cheese." I hugged her small shoulders. I wasn't going to say anything about whether God was real or not. We went back inside the house. Colleen planted herself in front of the TV while I cleaned the washer and dryer. I stuffed my towel into a garbage bag. There was no way I was going to use it again after finding a dead mouse in it. I dumped in a generous amount of pine scented cleaner in the washer and set it running again. This was turning into one hell of a week. * * * The annual county fair was this weekend and I promised Colleen that I'd take her to play some games and ride rides. Don wasn't too keen on the idea. He thought I should cancel the outing as punishment for Colleen's outburst at school. I reminded him that she'd already been punished with the denial of her Barbies at both our homes. He still wasn't happy and I told him to stick it. This fair was one of the few things Colleen looked forward to every year and I refused to take it away from her. Colleen raced ahead of me to the vintage fire trucks on display by the fire department. I trailed behind, watching one of the firemen lift her up to the brass bell hanging inside the cab. She rang it gleefully, shouting, "I wanna be a fireman when I grow up!" Matt was there too, helping a little boy down off the side of the truck. Colleen climbed out of the cab and ran back to me. She grabbed my hands and dragged me over. "This is *so* cool, Mom! You gotta see it!" I let her pull me and slid my gaze over Matt's body. He was wearing a white T-shirt that fit snugly along his upper chest and uniform pants with black suspenders. His face was tanned and a dimple winked in his right cheek when he smiled at me. I waggled my fingers at him. "Hello, Mr. Banks." Colleen let go and started pestering the first fireman with questions concerning his job. Matt met me halfway from the trucks. "Hello to you, too," he replied in a voice as smooth as honey. "Your little girl is cute." "Colleen's a handful." A glint reflected off his hand and my eyes zeroed in on it. A wedding band. Shit. "How's Mrs. Banks?" "Screwing around on me," he said through a brittle smile. We stood in a heavy silence for a few minutes. "You married?" "Not anymore. I divorced the SOB years ago." He nodded. "You gonna join the club soon?" "Monday I sign the papers." "Good, good. I hope she didn't take you to the cleaners." He chuckled. "Uh-uh. Her affair saved my ass and my assets. What broke up your marriage?" "A disagreement on parenting techniques." Matt threw me a confused look. "Don brought me up on child abuse charges. He saw me slap Colleen's hand away from a burner on the stove. Things got ugly but I managed to keep it between our attorneys and we settled out of court. Joint custody of Colleen and counseling sessions were agreed upon." "Counseling for what? Colleen?" "Naw. Don insisted I was nuts and forced the sessions in exchange for my asking of joint custody. I went into the first session and told the man that everything that ever went wrong in the relationship was my fault. Then I got up and walked out. Haven't been back since." I glanced over to check on my daughter. "It didn't matter what I said. Don has a selective memory." "I still don't know your name," Matt said quietly. I stuck out my hand and he took it. "Rhonda Walker. I took back my maiden name after the divorce." "Nice to finally know who you are." He released my hand and scuffed the toe of his boot in the grass. "Do you...want to meet up after Colleen's in bed?" "Sure. I drop her off at her dad's around ten tonight. You wanna come over to my place after that?" "Fine," he agreed and flashed me a killer grin, dimple and all. I led Colleen away from the fire trucks toward the kiddie rides and carnival games. We settled ourselves in front of a spin-the-wheel game where you win a prize every time. I spent twenty bucks before convincing Colleen we needed to find something to eat. We got stuffed on hot dogs and cotton candy, then went up into the grandstands for the evening's fireworks. Colleen fell asleep during the show. I cradled her lanky body in my arms and carried her to the car. She woke up long enough to buckle her seatbelt and drifted back to sleep until I parked the car in front of Don's house. I lifted her out of the seat and got her inside to her bed. I pulled out of the drive and headed back across town to my place. There was a car I didn't recognize parked in front of my driveway, preventing me from parking. I shifted into park and got out of the car. I walked up to the driver's window and tapped on the glass. The window was rolled down and I leaned my elbows along the frame. "You're blocking my driveway. Please move or I'll call the cops." The woman behind the wheel flicked her smoldering cigarette butt at me. "Stay away from my husband, you slut." A smile curved my lips upward. "Well, good evening, Mrs. Banks. Would you please move your car so I can park mine?" "Fuck you," she growled at me. "Sorry, I don't swing that way." I walked back to my car and put the gearshift in reverse. I backed up a few feet, then went into drive and hit bumpers. I tugged the stick down to low gear and pushed Mrs. Banks' parked car away from the drive. I backed up once more and pulled into the driveway. I threw Matt's wife a salute and went inside the house. I parked my butt in front of the bay window, waiting for the inevitable reaction of fight or flight. Mrs. Banks burned rubber as she squealed away from the curb. * * * The doorbell brought me awake. I rubbed my eyes and peered at my watch. Ten-thirty. My mouth tasted like cotton and I moved my tongue around to get some saliva flowing as I stumbled to answer the door. Matt stood before me with a hand raised to knock when I opened the door. He'd changed out of his uniform into loose sweat pants, a white tank top and sneakers, looking heaven sent. "I fell asleep, I guess," I apologized. "C'mon in and sit down." I motioned Matt inside and shut the door. I led him to the living room and we sat on opposite ends of the couch. I curled my legs under me and said, "Your wife was here." His head shot up and our eyes locked. "What did she want?" "She told me to stay away from you. I had to move her car because it was blocking my drive so, don't be surprised when you hear about the repairs." I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. "I probably dented her rear bumper." He relaxed visibly, draping an arm over the back of the couch. I scooted close and ran my fingertips fleetingly along his thigh. "Did you come by for ten minutes or the full half- hour?" I asked seductively, easing my fingers over the bulge between his legs. "I am on-call to the firehouse, so, how about until my beeper goes off," Matt responded. He grabbed my wrist and slipped my hand under his sweats. He was semi-hard and getting harder as I touched his length, stroking from tip to base. "No underwear? My kind of guy," I said. I crawled off the couch to the carpet and pulled my hand free. He shifted his knees apart and I moved in between them, letting my hands tug at the waistband of his sweats. He raised his hips and shoved them down to his ankles. My palms caressed his upper thighs as I whispered, "Expecting a blow job, Mr. Banks?" His face flushed at my question. "Not expecting. More like hoping. Elise never went down on me." I wrapped my fingers around his erect cock and kissed the cap lightly. "Did you go down on her?" "Once," he gasped. "She said it was disgusting." "Poor Elise. She didn't know what she was missing. I like getting eaten out." I circled the cockhead before me with my tongue. "Tell you what, Matt. I'll suck you off if you eat me out. Are you up for a sixty-nine tonight?" His dick flinched in my hand. I released him and stood, removing my jeans. Crooking a finger, I motioned for him to lie on the carpet and he did so speedily. I knelt above his face, my pussy hovering over his firm mouth. His hands cupped my ass-cheeks as he drew me to his waiting lips and tongue. I lowered my mouth to his cock and closed my parted lips halfway down the length. Matt was eating me out like a starving man at a buffet table. The slurping and sucking noises distracted me from my task and spurred me on at the same time. The musky scent of him wafted under my nose when I deep throated. My moans vibrated around his prick. I held the cock's base with one hand, pumping with short movements as I sucked, laved and nibbled the tip. My entire body shivered when I came and I knew I drenched his face with my creamy juices. I felt Matt tense beneath me and tasted the first spray of his tangy cum. I pulled my mouth away and aimed his cock at my chest, watching fascinated as he shot gooey jism across my covered tits. I kept pumping until the fluid barely dribbled out his opening, then lapped what remained off his cockhead. I raised myself from Matt's face and threw one leg over, dismounting. His cheeks and chin were coated with my cum. He wiped them clean with the back of his hand and licked the appendage. Casting me a look of disappointment, he whined, "I wasn't finished yet. I barely touched my dessert." He shifted onto his right side and brushed his fingers over my pubes. I sighed and straddled Matt's face one more time. I gazed into his limpid blue eyes and saw him snake his tongue out, connecting with my clitoris. "Mmmm, yesss, that's the way, baby," I moaned softly. I reached my pinnacle immediately and my cunt walls clenched. Miss Thing was Matt's only target, grazing and nipping the sensitive flesh with his strong teeth, then licking any pain away with his tongue. Whoever taught him to lick pussy deserved an award. Orgasm after orgasm rolled through my body under his ministrations. My hands fisted in his blonde hair, holding his mouth tightly against my cunt. I chewed feverishly on my lower lip to keep from crying out, whimpering and moaning as I came. I couldn't contain myself any longer and let a howl of pleasure escape. The vocalization changed to a groan of frustration when Matt's beeper went off. He pushed me away and fumbled for the beeper in his pants pocket. "It's the station," he informed me. "I gotta run." He quickly jerked up his sweats, then got to his feet. I used my shirt to wipe the cum off his face, noting the redness of his cheeks where my pubes scratched the skin. "I hope the guys don't notice. You look like you fell off your bike," I said with a grin. I chased him to the porch's screen door. "Can I see you again?" Matt asked, blocking the doorway. "Stop by after the divorce is final and I'll show you my etchings." We shared our laughter for a moment, then kissed briefly. He jogged to his pickup, hopped in and pulled away. I waved goodbye until the truck's taillights disappeared into the darkness. End ============= Editor's Postscript: Okay, I don't know about you but I'm curious as to how things are going to turn out! Dancer's not much for 'the day after,' but maybe if we send her a bunch of requests... Oh, and she intimated in her own prefatory notes - 'Edwin' was autobiographical; I spotted the little bugger just days before we left to visit my folks for Xmas! <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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