Message-ID: <32747asstr$1001916604@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <200110010232.f912WTkO007672@fozzie.webservepro.com> From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat) X-No-Productlinks: Yes X-ASSTR-Arrival-Date: Mon, 01 Oct 2001 02:32:29 GMT Subject: {ASSM} The Ass Menagerie 4/4 (mast voy exhib MF+ MF mild db) Date: Mon, 1 Oct 2001 02:10:04 -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, gill-bates "Lovely," Amanda said as she took leave. The woman went in a mad scramble through the house to find Tom. She would not let him lose this opportunity. She could not find him, but she found Elena, which was almost as good. The maid did not know much English, but she knew the house, and she knew where Tom was most of the time. As per her report, Amanda found him throwing darts. "Tom!" "Yes, Mother," Tom said. "There's a lovely girl named Heather Stanton upstairs to see you." "Oh?" The only girls that came to see Tom were one looking to make a place in the guest house. His mother never went out of her way to tell him when a girl like that arrived. This had to be something else. "On what business?" "It has to do with the women in the guest house," Amanda answered. The intrigue grew. Mother had not used any pejorative to describe them. "You mean the ass menagerie?" Tom asked. "Now, Tom. Let's not start this again. Now please go speak with Miss Stanton. Don't keep her waiting." Something was definitely afoot. Tom's mother was constantly trying to set him up with the daughter or niece of someone in the DAR. Maybe she had decided the best way to get him to play along was with deception. "I see," Tom said. "Sure, I'll go speak with her." Amanda followed him halfway to the kitchen, admonishing him as they went. "Now, Tom, be respectful. Offer her lemonade. Listen to what she has to say, handle the business side of things, but keep eye contact. Don't hesitate to use that Wingate charm." Pathetic, Tom thought. She was invoking the same Wingate charm that aided his father's adultery. All to latch him to some failed debutante. He'd show her charm and respect, all right. "Enough, Mother! Let me be! I'll take care of this." With that, Tom entered the kitchen. "Heather Stanton?" he asked, offering his hand. "I'm Tom Wingate." "Nice to meet you," Stanton said as she took his hand. I'll bet, Tom thought. Mother was right, though, she was pretty. He had a thing for blue eyes. More refined in her pinstripes than the strippers in their swimsuits, too. They were Frederick's of Hollywood girls, this one was Ann Taylor. "Mother said you were here to talk to me about the guest house?" "Yes. As I was telling your mother--" "Save it." Tom interrupted. "I beg your pardon?" Stanton asked. "Let me guess, you're here to help me with the girls because I'm being violated in some way." "That's right," Stanton said. "And you know all about the girls in the ass menagerie and what they do." "I wouldn't use that word, but I guess I am familiar with what happens here, yes." "So you must think I'm some sort of perverted sex offender. A depraved and incorrigible bastard. And you're here to help me by curing me of this womanizing." Stanton folded her hands and rested them on the table. "I don't know what your mother told you I was here for, but you have the wrong idea. This is purely for your benefit. I have no problem with what goes on here." "Prove it." Tom said. "Prove it how?" Stanton asked. "Show me your ass," Tom said. He pointed in the direction of the guest house. "They all do." "Tom, I'm here for your benefit, but I do need your cooperation." "Then let's get down to business," Tom said. "Turn around and show me your ass, and then I'll be happy to cooperate." "You're serious," Stanton said. It was with a slight laugh, though, not shock or apprehension. "You're in the 'Show Me' state, dear Heather. So show me!" "Full cooperation?" Stanton asked. "Absolutely," Tom said. "You're on," Stanton said. She stood up and kicked the chair away from her. Even before the brunette turned around, Tom knew he was in for a treat. He was a devoted ass man, and he believed he could read from the curve of a woman's face and the outline of her shape. Heather's face had the softness in the cheeks that Tom took as an indication of soft cheeks elsewhere as well. When she stood, though, he saw the ratio of waist to hips, and how the hips reached a maximum width high on her thighs. His mouth watered. Stanton turned around, and Tom's expectations rose yet again. The pants fit snugly in the seat, and the shape was as round and cleft as any ripe plum. Dark clothes usually muted curves, but those thin pinstripes betrayed the wonderful convex shape of her ass. Moreover, there was not a panty line in sight. That got Tom's blood flowing. True, he was surrounded all day long by women in thongs, but they wore them almost as a uniform. It was better, when it was less obvious, when women wore them precisely to hide panty lines, to deceive. And all the better when Tom saw through that illusion. "Ready, there, Tom?" Stanton asked. Normally Tom would retreat to introverted voyeur, and reply with a "Yes" or no words at all. But he saw through this whole illusion, too. He would get his honey, and still avoid the trap. "I'm ready for it," Tom boldly declared. "Now let's see that ass." Tom watched as Heather's hand went to the side of her pants. She slid her index finger along a seam and lifted a tiny zipper handle with her fingernail. Slowly, with pinky finger extended, she pulled the zipper down. Seeing that flap of cloth peel from her hip was like opening a prize envelope and looking for the glimpse of a winner's notice. When Tom saw that the white waistband traversed laterally to the small of her back, but did not delve along her hip, he knew he was a winner. Stanton hooked a thumb at the base of the flap, and pushed a hand into the other side of the pants, too. She pushed down the pants and dipped her shoulders forward to stick out her ass. Letting the pants drop away to reveal her backside, Stanton took hold of the chair in front of her. Let him eat cake, she thought to herself as she wiggled her butt. In front of Tom swayed a lovely fair skinned rump, cleaved by a white satin thong. The pinstripe pants collected around Heather's knees, so Tom could see the lacy tops of her white thigh high stockings. Maybe there was a little bit of Frederick's in the Ann Taylor girl, after all. "Happy now, Tom?" Stanton asked, still looking the other way. "One second," Tom said. He pulled out a chair and took a seat facing the brunette's tukus. He wanted to see how far she would go along with this. "Bend over more," he suggested. Unbelievably, she obliged, and bent herself at a right angle. "What are you dong back there, Tom?" Stanton asked. "Drinkin' lemonade and enjoyin' the show?" Tom was actually thinking about ducking a hand in his pants, when the woman stood straight and turned to face him. She had kicked away the pants entirely, and now stood wearing her white heels, white stockings, white satin panties, and the white pinstriped navy jacket that covered her torso to her waist and the hid the waist band of her panties. From his position, Tom could see trace signs of black stubble near the bikini line of the panties. Looking between her thighs, he made out the bottom curve of one cheek of her ass, jutting out from the top of her thigh. A throbbing hard on pushed out at his pants. He leaned forward slightly to hide his erection. Stanton studied his face. He looked like a kid in a candy store, and his boyish face only reinforced the image. She put her fingers under his chin and raised his eyes from her panties to her face. "Tom, I'm not one of the girls out by the pool. This isn't some video." "I know that," he said. "I don't mind putting on a bit of a show," Stanton said. "But I like a little more audience participation." "Oh," Tom mumbled. "We can start slow," Stanton said, straddling him on the chair. "With a simple little kiss." She still held his chin in her hands so he had no real chance to escape. Moving in for a kiss, she saw Tom close his eyes. His lips met her soft kiss with a timid response. "There," Stanton said, moving her mouth along his cheek to whisper in his ear. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" She moved her lips back to his. Pressing her mouth onto his, she made a small O of her lips. The O grew larger, and soon she had pried his lips open. Stanton pushed her tongue between his lips. Tom met her eagerly, and sucked back on her rigid little muscle. "Mmm," Stanton moaned. He seemed to be warming to the idea of physical contact quite nicely. They kissed deep and wet now. She felt his hands rest gently on the back of her knees. If one thing was for certain here, it was that Tom wanted those hands someplace else. Stanton moved her hands off his shoulders and reached behind her. Stanton broke off the kiss, and took hold of Tom's hands. She slid them up her thigh, so Tom could feel the lacy tops of her stockings and then the smooth skin of her thighs. "Go ahead, Tom," she encouraged him. She let his hands go, and brought hers back to his shoulders. Tom brought his hands up to Stanton's ass. His fingers fanned out over her cheeks, and when he had a generous hand full of tush he gave it a serious squeeze. "Do you like?" Stanton asked. "Yes," Tom answered. "You have a great ass." "Thanks," Stanton said, sliding a hand down his chest to his pants. "It's nice hearing that from an expert." Stanton planted another kiss on Tom's lips. Her hand dangled in his lap, and quickly found his stiff dick. Stanton pushed her tongue deep in Tom's mouth and squeezed his cock through his pants. "Let's see if that thing works for other people," Stanton said. She slid off the chair and feel to her knees in front of Tom. With practiced dexterity, she released Tom's cock from his pants and fell on it with her mouth. She played him like a woodwind, but all the noises came out of Tom's mouth. Tom moved an arm to try to grab her bottom, but only reached the small of her back. Stanton knew what he was about though. Having coated his length with her spit, she came up for air. "Looking for something, Tom?" Stanton asked. She stood up and shook off her shoes. She lifted her right foot across her body, and rested it on the seat outside Tom's right thigh. Next she put her hands on Tom's shoulders to hold her weight, and lifted herself onto the chair. Stanton rotated on the ball of her right foot and placed her left foot nest to Tom's other leg. Now she stood on the chair with her ass in Tom's face. Before Tom had time to admire her derriere or even notice the backstitching on her stockings, Stanton was doubled over and sucking his dick again. Tom was caught breathless for a second, but he took the hint and buried his face in her twat soon enough. Stanton was relieved. She thought the Wingate boy might have been a virgin, and that move might have killed a virgin. With his hands, Tom lavished attention on Stanton's behind as he worked his tongue inside her folds. He even slipped it in her ass a bit and let his fingers slide inside her quim. For her part, Stanton kept a slow pace on his dick. She wasn't done with him yet, and didn't want him popping off in her mouth. When Tom's licking started to push her close to orgasm, she dismounted from the precarious perch atop the seat. Still facing away from Tom, she lowered herself onto his rigid pole. Neither one of them lasted very long. Stanton was close before she even stepped down from the chair. Just spreading herself over that stiff organ pushed her closer to coming. When Tom took the initiative and grabbed her by the waist to slide her up and down on his prick, she let him run with it. Soon enough, Stanton was jilling off in his lap, and Tom was shooting his load inside her smooth, hot walls. SEVEN "That was good," Stanton said. "That was terrific," Tom replied. Stanton stood and toweled herself off. From where he sat, Tom admired her legs in those white stockings. The backstitching held his attention. "So why don't you do that with the other women here?" Stanton asked. She came back and slipped her pants back on. Why not, indeed, Tom thought. Maybe he would have to change his ways after this. A thought struck him. "How do you know so much about what happens here?" "I've seen you, Tom," Stanton said. "I've seen everything." "Yes, but I don't understand how. And earlier you said this wasn't one of my videos. What did you mean by that?" Stanton's face sank. He seemed like a nice guy with a happy little fetish, and now she was going to hurt him. "You're being watched, Tom." "What are you talking about?" Tom demanded. "I'm with the FBI. Special Agent Heather Stanton. I figure your mother neglected to mention that, or else you wouldn't have waltzed in and demanded I show you my ass." "Oh, no," Tom said. He envisioned all manners of punitive measures for his action. Panic clouded his face. "Don't mention it. I had fun." Stanton smiled. Then the smile melted away. "But this not all fun and games. I'm here because of an investigation into a couple good old boys selling sexually explicit material. They offered videos and Web site subscriptions to what they called 'Bikini Mansion'. "The reason we investigated these guys is that they claimed they had secret cameras at the bikini mansion. Normally that's just a sales pitch, and you can tell because the angles are always too good. People play up to the cameras, that sort of thing. "This stuff was different, though. It looked like actual surveillance footage. So we traced the site owners and asked them about it. They said they had an arrangement with someone. When we pressed them for details, they balked. The only legal tool we had at our disposal was to ask for the model release forms required under US Code title 18, section 2257. They had documents, but we suspected they were forgeries. "So we went back to FBI headquarters and tried to reconstruct the home in the photos. FBI map makers did a nice job and we started comparing the estimated lot size to average lots in various spots. We also tried to correlate weather in the photos with time stamps on the video and pinpoint location." "Seems like a lot of work," Tom said. "My partner has a thing for being thorough," Stanton replied. "He's probably going over every square inch of your operation right now. Anyway, the weather studies turned out best. That pinpointed the St. Louis area. The affluence of the home pointed to Clayton. We started talking to the Clayton police and they mentioned a past incident of women in bikinis on some strange sort of bicycle." "Tricycle," Tom mumbled. "Right," Stanton said. "Which led us to this neighborhood. Nice place, by the way." "Thanks," Tom said. He was surprised at his own calm. Stanton crossed her arms in front of her. "They're spying on you, Tom. I hate to be the one to tell you that, but I can offer you help. We can prosecute these guys." She did know everything. Lots of people did. Oddly enough, he was not embarrassed, but curious. "How much did they show?" Tom asked. Stanton looked at him. "They showed it all, Tom." "I see," he said. "You were popular, if that makes you feel any better." "Really?" Stanton nodded in the affirmative. "On the web site, they used to make a big announcement of your afternoon sessions. 'It's That Time Again' they would say." "That time again," Tom repeated. "That starts with a T." "Beg pardon?" Stanton asked. "Nothing," Tom said. He was lost in thought. Here, all this time, he had been engaging not in a secret ritual, but in a public act. What he thought was his own private diversion was someone else's enterprise. "I'm sorry, Tom." Tom sighed. "What do we do now?" "We shut them down," Stanton said. "We prosecute." "Tom!" A voice called through the house. Tom's mother's voice rang clearly in the kitchen. "Tom!" He ignored his mother and kept his attention back to Stanton. His mother had wanted him to speak with her and he did. Without using restraints or compulsion, she had gotten intimate with him. All he had to do was embrace what he wanted. Now, she had exposed his entire private obsession as public. Could it be the same way with that? If he embraced it, what would change, really? "Tom!" his mother called. Still, Tom ignored her. Epiphanies were distracting like that. "What about the cameras and the Web sites?" he asked. "We'll shut it down. You can enjoy yourself in private again." "Oh, there you are!" Amanda said. Tom ignored her. "What if I wanted to run the business myself?" "What business?" Amanda asked. "Hurting for money, Tom?" Stanton asked with a look around the house. "No. Purpose." "Tom," Amanda interrupted, "Whatever are you two talking about?" Agent Maytag stumbled into the kitchen. He practically collapsed in the chair. His suit was a mess and he appeared exhausted. "Maytag, are you OK?" Stanton asked. "You look beat!" "I found the transmitter," Maytag said. Amanda looked bewildered. "Transmitter? Business? What's going on here?" "If you don't mind, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag said. "I could use some of that lemonade now." END ---------------------------------------------------------------------- I hope you enjoyed that, and I'd love to hear your comments. There is an anonymous e-mail form (and more stories) at http://www.jimmy-hat.com , or you can mail me directly at jimmy@jimmy-hat.com Anyone wishing to charge fees for access to this material, through any media or publication, must receive the written permission of Jimmy Hat. -- 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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+