Message-ID: <31471asstr$995310601@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20010716114110.9448.qmail@web10007.mail.yahoo.com> From: "H. Jekyll" MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Subject: {ASSM} Chattooga River II: Maggie and Magic Date: Mon, 16 Jul 2001 15:10:01 -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: RuiJorge, dennyw Chattooga River II: Maggie and Magic H. Jekyll (MF, magic, anal, rape?) * * * * * To, and for, Maggie. This is the first of three very short stories I wrote for Maggie McGee before she went rafting on the Chattooga, as lovely a river as you will find, in the summer of 2000. Copyright 2001 by H. Jekyll. Permission is freely granted to post on any site that does not charge for entrance, as long as proper attribution is given to the author. The story should not be read by anyone under the legal age to read sexually explicit stories, or by anyone in a location where it is illegal to read such stories. I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms, and I like to e-talk with people. Write to: h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com My stories are archived in the Authors' section of the Alt Sex Stories Text Repository, at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/ * * * * * You have pretended to be a witch, but you don't know the magic I control. My power is great in places I have visited recently, where my essence is strong. It is strong on the river in the weeks after I was there, waiting for you to raft in my wake. You can feel my presence, can't you? Don't try to fool me. I know everything you experience, Maggie. I know that at one point, and just for a second, you could swear one of the other rafters was me. It seems odd to you, but two or three times you thought you heard my voice. What was I saying? There are three rafts in this group, enough people to keep mysterious things at bay, or at least enough for you to think so. You concentrate on your chores as you portage the raft down to the river, climb aboard, practice rowing together. You're getting to know each other and the river. You become entranced by the river, by all the birds, from raptors to hummingbirds to tiny green birds that you've never seen before, by the changing color and the clarity of the water, the stillness of the quiet stretches that seems eaten up by the voices of the rafters, and the rushing sound of the water when you approach rapids. You stop thinking of me entirely. When you stop for your lunch at a little beach, after the rafts have been pulled ashore and while the guides are busy spreading the food out, you explore a little rise to the right. There is a path, a very steep path, and once you have climbed it you are shrouded in small trees. The moment you are there you feel fingers on your nipples. You know it is me, almost instantly. You hardly have time to be startled before you know. Hands squeeze your nipples, sometimes hard. You gasp and reach your hands to your breasts, but there isn't anything there. You can't see anything, and you feel nothing with your hands, but your breasts can feel me. You stand perfectly still; you feel the first stirring in your sex now, but you don't have any idea what to do, and then you are called to lunch. The nipple play stops. You eat little, talk little. You move away from everyone else, to the water, and pretend to be looking at it, but really you are wondering about what you have just felt. You think: Did it happen? Am I nuts? Yes, it did. No, you're not. Let me demonstrate. The hands start caressing your pussy and you are immediately tense. You move your own hands to your pussy, furtively, glancing over your shoulder to see if anyone is looking. It is as before: your hands don't feel anything but your own body. Your clothes aren't moving. As far as the ghostly hands are concerned your hands and clothes aren't there at all. They are moving over your sex again and again. Again. They are moving continuously, so softly, so perfectly, exactly the way you like it done. My never-never hands, the ones that could seduce Tinkerbell away from Peter. Oh your pussy can feel them wonderfully. You realize that I am going to keep playing with you, and that you are helpless to affect what I will do. If you were alone you would love this, you would give into it immediately. Give into it? You would demand it! But what if these people see the effects on you of my unearthly sexing? "Please, Henry," you whisper, "People will notice. They'll think I'm crazy. Please don't do this." The fingers pinch your clitoris and you gasp: "Oh! Please Henry. Okay, okay. But please don't humiliate me. Do it, but please..." You stop as a wave of pleasure rises. Not an orgasm, but a current nonetheless. You are so worried, and so excited. While everyone climbs into rafts the fingers caress you only very lightly, mostly around your sex rather than on it. They keep you high, but by concentrating you can paddle with the others. Then, at the entrance to the first rapid after lunch, the fingers begin to play with your ass. You wriggle and move so your anus is right on the rubber wall of the raft, but it makes no difference. You feel me playing, then inserting a finger, then rubbing around and around your ass while I loosen you and open you. You have to stop rowing, and the raft gets stuck on a rock. You try to help your crew but you keep having to stop with the waves of pleasure and, yes, some moments of pain. The other people seem to think you're just not very effective. Two fingers, a thumb, are now moving in and out of you, and another hand is playing with your pussy. You can't think of anything else; and you can't affect the hands at all. You daren't ask me to stop, for fear of how I will respond. Going over the seven-foot drop the raft almost capsizes, and you do fall out. This is the first spill, so everyone gets a good laugh while you're pulled back aboard. They think your panting is from the exertion. The drop is almost a little fall. Just beyond it, people are given the option of walking back upstream and swimming from a small pool, though a cave-like opening in the rocks, to its underside. Everyone else goes but you stay back, claiming the walk is too much for you, and as soon as they have started away my hands pull you to your knees and push you down so you are on all fours. The hands keep playing with you. You can't help trying to feel them with your own hands. "Henry, Henry, they will catch us. Please!" Then you feel a penis at your ass and you know what is coming. You wonder: what do I do? But you don't have to do much. Your ass is open under your clothes and you feel a penis, my penis, at it. There is pushing and I am in you, pushing all the way in, giving you that sensation that is so strangely different from coitus, a mass filling you up from the wrong direction and never going the way you try to direct it. Your ass is so much more sensitive to pressure and pushing than is your vagina. The prick moves in and out, not rapidly but deliberately, all the way both ways, while the hands play with your pussy and your breasts, stroking lightly and continuously, not letting one sensation fade before the next one is layered on. You are submitting to this. What else can you do? You are getting so high, so close now. This strange rape, mysterious lovemaking, has you, and you begin making sex sounds, pushing against me, afraid of being caught but actually more turned on by the prospect. You're almost coming, almost there, almost, then you begin to come enormously, and just as you start to scream a hand clamps over your mouth and muffles you, so you cry and moan against the hand until you are finished. Then the penis pulls out of you and the hands dissolve, and there is nothing there but you and your gaping anus. That and a head full of sensations and thoughts that swirl together while you fall to your side until your breathing becomes normal. It is only now that you realize that you saw the hand that covered your mouth. It was flesh and bone. You reach back inside your swimsuit, to your ass, where you feel something warm and viscous, and your hand comes away with a little milky fluid. By smell it is real cum, nothing ghostly. You lick it and wait for the others to return. __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Get personalized email addresses from Yahoo! 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