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. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+