Message-ID: <34971asstr$1012252209@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Return-Path:
X-Original-Path: not-for-mail
From: nickurfe@yahoo.com (Nicholas Urfe)
X-Original-Message-ID: <5a5d3dd2.0201280923.51a051c7@posting.google.com>
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 28 Jan 2002 17:23:27 GMT
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 28 Jan 2002 09:23:26 -0800
Subject: {ASSM} cuyahoga.006 [urfe] [new]
Date: Mon, 28 Jan 2002 16:10:09 -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: gill-bates, newsman
.
::
as falls cuyahoga,
so falls cuyahoga falls
::
Addison is naked again, lying back in Edie's arms, between Edie's
spread bare legs. Edie in a T-shirt, nothing more, nuzzling Addison's
short blond hair. Addison's legs spread, feet tucked up and hooked
around Edie's feet, toes stroking lightly Edie's sole. On the bed
before her a slim white laptop.
Mister Tisdale is a creep, says Edie. We should do him next.
No, says Addison, typing.
Why not?
Shut up. Hang on.
I think, says Edie, kissing the back of Addison's neck, we should make
him suck somebody's dick. I think we should make him suck your aunt's
boyfriend's dick. The hustler. One hand on Addison's belly as she
types, the other on Addison's knee.
First of all, says Addison, we don't have anything on Mister Tisdale.
There's your sister -
And second of all, Addison says, turning to look back at Edie, it
wouldn't be any fun.
Yes it would.
Do you want to watch creepy Mister Tisdale suck somebody off?
Oh, says Edie.
Oh, says Addison. Nips back to kiss Edie's lips. Now, Charley
Vanderhook, she starts to say.
Charley Vanderhook's a hottie, says Edie, grinning.
Charley Vanderhook's a stuck-up know-it-all prig.
Yeah, but she's hot.
And she's online, says Addison, pointing to the computer screen. A
window's open there, and in the window is a grainy but bright enough
shot of a room, part of a bed, a desk, a computer, a poster on the
wall, a violin washing ashore, roses.
I did good, says Edie, both hands on Addison's knees now, stroking.
You did good, says Addison, eyes on the screen. Biting her lower lip.
Her weight shifting, legs falling open a little more. Foot sliding on
the sheets, near the phone, the coil of cord. Edie's hands along
Addison's thighs now, stroking, Edie's mouth on Addison's throat, her
shoulder, her ear, her cheek, the corner of her half-open mouth. Am I
doing good now? says Edie.
Yes, says Addison, distracted.
You ready?
This was your idea.
Yeah, but are you ready?
Check and see.
Edie's fingers gently float over the lips of Addison's cunt. Lightly.
One finger, the middle finger, crooking, diddling. Playing games, then
slipping. Addison, smiling, takes a sudden breath. Edie's hand now
resting, palm on the nest of dirty blond hair, her finger sunk within.
Mmm, says Edie. Yes. Yes, I think you are.
What, says Addison, into their kiss, what time is it?
Shit, says Edie, stirring.
No, says Addison, hand on Edie's wrist. Leave it. Leave it there. She
takes a deep breath, her other hand on the phone. Inspiration, she
says.
Charley Vanderhook, walking down the hall, one of those stiff priority
mail envelopes in one hand, a backpack in the shape of a dumpily
cynical penguin over one shoulder. Charley, floats her mother's voice
up through the stairwell. Charley opens the door to her room and
whirls inside and shuts it, her back to it, leaning against it. After
a moment, locking it.
The envelope and the backpack, lying on her bed.
She looks at her watch.
The envelope chirps. She jumps. It chirps again, and she grabs it,
hands shaking, fumbles for the zip strip. Finds it. Shreds it in her
haste to get it open. Rips it. Out falls a cell phone, tiny, chirping.
Dropping the envelope, stooping to pick it up. It chirps again. One
hand hovering hesitantly over the keypad. It chirps again. She stabs a
button, lifts it to her ear. Hello? Hello?
Charley, says a voice, a deep voice, a mechanical voice. Did you do
what you were supposed to?
Who is this?
Did you get it, Charley?
Charley nods, swallows. Says, Yes. Yes, I, I did.
Where is it, Charley? In your backpack? Tucked away where nobody can
see it? Mechanical in pitch and timbre, mocking in tone.
I got it, says Charley.
Prove it, says the voice. Take it out.
Shaking hands. Charley unsnaps the beak of her flat phlegmatic penguin
and opens the head. Lifts the feet so a notebook tips out followed by
a paperback about galaxies a paperback about dictionaries and with a
slither a magazine. She picks up the magazine. Brightly colored.
Lurid. On the back, an ad. Find out why we get straight A's. A girl,
thumb in her mouth, elbows on pillows, staring out with lust-drunk
eyes. Another girl kneeling behind her, eyes closed, biting the ass
held high in the air. 1-800-TEEN-WET. Little flowers sprinkled across
the letters. There's a knock on the door. Charley jumps and drops the
magazine on the bed. Mom! she says. I'm busy!
Just let me know if you want some cookies or something, says her
mother through the door.
Some cookies, says the voice, chuckling. A grating chuckle. That's so
sweet. Is it out, Charley?
Yes, says Charley, reaching out, turning it over. Girls of Barely
Legal, it says. I'll lick you good, it says. A girl bare-breasted,
black thong stringing her hips, sits in the lap of a short-haired girl
in a grey tank top, her mouth open, waiting. Rimjob princess craves
chocolate kisses, it says. Junior Satanist's plea: Will you bang the
hell out of me? its says. Fourteen naked nubiles packed tight in
special flesh-crammed issue.
Open it up, Charley.
Charley reaches out hand hovering over four-color glossy magazine
skin, a back curled in anticipation, girls' eyes locked on each other.
Charley touches it, thumb-and-forefingers it, turns it. Pastel green
then, photos scattered, naked girls one kneeling over the other's
face, a girl scowling naked at the camera hips thrust forward, fingers
peeling her cunt apart, a girl licking another girl's pussy, eyes up
and wondering, a confusion of arms and legs and skin and underwear.
Charley? says the voice, rough.
Yes... says Charley. Trembling, one hand hovering over the page.
Is it the table of contents?
Yes, says Charley. There's an ad opposite, a young girl, short blond
hair, laughing naked as she spreads her arms, surrounded by big
cartoony pink and blue letters. School's out and I'm ready to cum!
Only 95 cents a minute!
What does it say is on page four?
Carolyn and Ivy, says Charley.
That's not all it says, Charley. Read it all to me.
Swallowing, Charley says, Carolyn and Ivy, and then she says, Slumber
party tramps. She squeezes her eyes shut. There, she says into the
cell phone. There. I got it. I proved it. So leave me alone!
Oh, we're not done yet, Charley.
Yes we are!
No, Charley. Turn to page four. Turn to page four and you'll see a
girl who looks a lot like you. Go on, Charley. She has long blond hair
like yours, and little tits like yours, and enough of an ass to make
me want it. Like you, Charley. Are you looking at her? Because you
know what's going to happen when they find out you cheated on
Hannigan's final last term?
Charley's eyes are shut tight squeezing tears down either cheek.
What's going to happen, says the voice, is you can kiss valedictorian
goodbye. You can kiss Stanford goodbye. You can fuck off all the music
lessons you want because it'll never do you any good any more. You'll
never get into a good school and you'll never get a decent job and
you're going to end up someday just like her with your face in
somebody's cunt while somebody's takes pictures.
And Charley takes a deep breath ragged with a sob.
But Charley? Charley? That doesn't have to happen. Okay? That doesn't
have to happen. Just turn to page four and do as I say.
And Charley reaches out and turns the page.
Two girls, blond hair flying, pillow fighting in pyjamas. Kissing.
Tumbling on a bed littered with stuffed animals. One girl on her back,
the other over her, hips over her face. Reaching up to pry aside white
underwear, a slice of pussy, red, folded.
See? says the voice. She does look like you, a little.
Charley takes another ragged breath, wiping her cheeks with the back
of the hand that isn't holding the phone.
Now read to me what it says, Charley. Read it out loud to me. Go on,
Charley. Start with the title.
Carolyn and Ivy, says Charley, her breath hucking. Slumber party
tramps. Carolyn, she says, Carolyn and Ivy planned a slumber party,
but no one came. For, for most, for most eighteen-year-old girls, this
would spell, and she stops.
Charley?
Deep breath. This would spell social disaster, says Charley, but Ivy
was secretly glad.
I bet you're secretly glad, too, aren't you, Charley.
Ivy had long ago lost her, her innocence, says Charley, but she had
yet to cross the line into feverish, aheh. I. I -
Come on, Charley. You've got Advanced Acting with Germaine next term.
Sixth period. You can do better than this. You'd better do better.
Sitting up then, Charley leaning over the magazine, scooping her hair
out of the way with her other hand. She had yet to cross the line into
feverish, mound-banging girl-lust, says Charley, all in a rush. A
gasp, almost a giggle, and then, deep breath, Ivy had wondered what it
was like between Carolyn's sweet, toned thighs ever since they danced
at graduation last month. Charley licks her lips, her hand covering a
photo of one girl licking the other's finger as Charley's finger
follows the words she reads. The curious slut, the curious slut
thought she'd have to lube Carolyn with liquor before she could make
her big, her big seduction move, but after their breathless, giggly
pillow fight, Ivy found that Carolyn had, and Charley took another
deep breath, had dabbled in girl-love before. There. That's enough.
That's it. We're done.
But we're just getting to the good part, Charley.
Who are you?
Keep reading, Charley.
No, I mean, who are you? Maybe there's something else I can do, I
don't know, I just -
Keep reading.
Swallow. Tongue, touching lips again. Ivy could tell, says Charley.
Ivy could tell by the way Carolyn sucked her nipples, biting - biting
a little as she sucked. I can't.
Charley.
I can't.
You like having your nipples bitten, don't you, Charley.
No.
You've had your nipples bitten, haven't you, Charley.
No! No. No, I haven't.
I think you're enjoying this, Charley.
No!
What are you wearing?
Charley's eyes get wide. No, she says. No. It's just the magazine.
That's all you said I had to do, it's just the magazine.
What are you wearing, Charley? Or do we have to go over the whole
Hannigan final again?
Eyes closed. A skirt, says Charley. A skirt, and a T-shirt.
Take off the skirt, Charley. Take it off. Take off the skirt, Charley.
I'm not going to ask you again.
Fabric rustles as Charley slides to the edge of the bed and lowers her
feet and stands. Is still a moment, her hand on the snap at the
waistband of her skirt. She sits down again, rustling. Okay, she says.
It's. It's off.
No it isn't.
Yes, it is. It is.
No. It isn't.
It is, I tell you! Fist balled up face scrunched up a moment, yelling
at the little phone pressed to the side of her head. It is!
And I know that you are lying to me, Charley. Aren't you.
Charley's head looks one way, looks another, at nothing in particular.
Aren't you.
Hey, whispers Edie in Addison's ear. Hey This is enough.
Addison's hand comes up from Edie's hand in her lap to cover the
mouthpiece. No, she breathes. Fuck, no. She's into it. Look at her.
Look.
On the computer screen, Charley's free hand comes up, jerking, and
down again. She stands. Sits. Stands again, taking two steps away from
the bed.
Take it off, Charley. Take off your skirt.
Charley's hand at her waist. A snap. The skirt falls with a wiggle to
her hips. Charley tugs. It falls.
There. That wasn't so hard, was it.
Who are you?
Now sit back on the bed, Charley. I want you to read me some more of
the magazine. I like it when you read.
Charley, climbing back onto the bed. Looks at her window, gauzy drapes
half-closed. You can see me. You have a telescope or something.
I don't need a telescope. Get the magazine, Charley. Get the magazine.
We both know why you're doing this now. It has nothing to do with
Hannigan.
What are you talking about? says Charley.
Put your hand in your panties. Put your hand inside your panties and
touch yourself and tell me.
I -
You're wet, Charley. You're turned on. You're either a raging lesbo or
a complete tool or both all at once.
I -
Finger yourself, Charley. Put your hand in your panties and finger
yourself. Read to me and make yourself come, Charley. Do it. Do it
now.
Charley's underwear is white and cotton and her fingers are dipping
between scalloped elastic and belly-flesh.
I can't hear you, Charley.
A shuddering breath. Oh, God.
Come on, Charley. Read to me.
Ivy could tell - Ivy could tell. Carolyn had gone, had probably gone
down on a lot of girls how else could she - How else would she have,
have known how to -
Knuckles distending the cotton. Her underwear bulges, pulls away.
Settles. Her fingers working there, her eyes half closed, her other
hand still holding the phone to her ear.
How else, Charley? How else could she know?
How else, says Charley, could she have known how to eat hole so well?
Swallow. Ivy had never - Ivy had never - Ivy had never come - come,
the way she did when Carolyn stuck two -
Go on, Charley. Two fingers.
- two, then three fingers -
Can you? Three? Go on. Charley's under bunching as she shuddering
pushes, presses, sighs, oh.
- three fingers, three fingers, oh, three fingers inside her, probing
way up inside, way up inside, way up inside until she found her, heh,
oh, her secret God her secret girl-spot. Hunh. When. When. When
Carolyn banged Ivy's hidden joy buzzer. When, oh. When Carolyn banged
Ivy's hidden joy buzzer, Ivy, Ivy. Ivy came. Coming. Ivy. Oh. Oh, oh.
Coming. Ivy squirted hot juice just like a boy. Oh -
And Charley shakes, her eyes squeezed shut. Magazine forgotten or at
least no longer important.
And that, says Addison, that's just the first set of pictures, says
the voice on the phone.
Charley's leaning back against her pillows, under her poster, the
violin washing ashore, a tangle of wild tea-roses wrapped around it.
Her hand still in her underwear, stroking, gently. The magazine lying
open beside her. A page flops unnoticed, kissing, a mouth caught in
the act of licking a breast for the first time.
We'll talk later, says Addison. The cell phone tumbles from Charley's
rubbery fingers. Addison hangs up her phone.
You are the coolest, says Edie, kissing the back of Addison's
shoulder, as Addison flips a switch on the box the phone's jacked into
and rolls over on top of Edie. Kissing her, great deep rolling kisses,
licking up her mouth.
God bless Radio Shack, says Addison, as Edie groans.
::
as falls cuyahoga,
so falls cuyahoga falls
an object lesson.006
--n.
::
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/nickurfe/www/
http://www.ruthiesclub.com/
nickurfe@yahoo.com
This story may be freely circulated by anyone, anytime, anywhere.
Photos and copy courtesy Hustler's Girls of Barely Legal, Vol. 18.
.
--
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. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+