Message-ID: <37782asstr$1028891402@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Alt Sextoy" X-Original-Message-ID: X-OriginalArrivalTime: 09 Aug 2002 02:45:11.0289 (UTC) FILETIME=[C7DC2E90:01C23F4E] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 08 Aug 2002 22:45:11 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} Annie Painslut and the Cafe of Doom <*> 2/2 {Annie P} (M/F sm Mdom humil exhib h Date: Fri, 9 Aug 2002 07:10:02 -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, IceAltar _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx <1st attachment, "Annie02.txt" begin> Annie Painslut and the Cafe of Doom <*> 2/2 {Annie P} (M/F sm Mdom humil exhib humor) Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual events or any persons living or dead is entirely unintentional but wouldn't surprise me a bit. It's a big world; six billion people, you name it, somebody's done it. Comments welcome at altstoy4u@hotmail.com. Please be kind. ===== What has gone before: I'm a sexual submissive, which means my social life is like most people's, just a little higher on the ol' Weird-O-Meter. I met a man who we'll call Master (to pick an arbitrary name at random) at a sidewalk cafe. He got me to unbutton my blouse to a slightly risque level, and gave me my working name, Annie Painslut. He then proceeded to finger me to an orgasm and demand I do the same for him, after the whole place knew something was up since I was kind of loud about mine. I accomplished the chore with the help of a young waiter named William, who I vamped into dropping a full tray to give me cover while I did the job orally, though I did destroy my knees forever in the process. When our heroine was last seen, she was sitting opposite Master with her eyes closed, since she didn't know how he'd react to these antics. She was trying to decide whether to open them ever again, or get a seeing-eye dog. ===== So things proceeded from there for a bit. I opened my eyes, he wasn't smiling pleasantly, he was glaring at me. I forget exactly what he said, frankly, it wasn't all that memorable, something about old sluts not being worth the effort but it sailed right past. Old, me? Maybe he's talking about another girl. He berated me for the inferior quality of the oral sex, comparing my performance unfavorably to that of a 'schoolgirl with a toothache'. Then other things started to happen in my underwear. No, not what you think. A schoolgirl? A schoolgirl with a toothache? Please let him not notice what I'm thinking. Keep the face calm, Annie. Nice, calm, smile. See this smile? In the south it's called a shit-eating grin because it means you're eating... OK, I'll grant him the 'whore wannabe' line. It's even accurate, when you get right down to it. But that session will get a special display case all its own in the Oral Sex Hall of Fame. Men have no appreciation. In the time from first contact to Vesuvius there, I'd have about gotten the deck of fantasies ruffled and one picked out if I were bringing myself off. Gaaaack. Schoolgirl with a toothache, indeed. What did he want me to do, bite it off? It could be arranged. The schoolgirl would've been bent over with her white cotton knickers in the air when the dust cleared, still getting ready to get to work. I hesitated a mere second, and that's only because the blinding pain in my knees kept me from finding the target. Then I attacked that thing like a snake swallowing a rabbit. Well, actually if you think about both the psychology and geometry of the situation, it was a rabbit swallowing a snake. Can't....giggle. Straight face. Calm down, Annie, calm down. He's supposed to say things like that -- he's the Dom, remember? Besides, I sneaked a look in the compact mirror right after I straightened up. He looked like the lion in the cartoon after the mouse turned around and hit him with the spiked board. So point to Annie; he just has to pretend he won that round. Heh. Oh, what in the world? Oh. OH. You hate me, don't you, God? Two months since the last time, and it's today. Right now. Oh, well, what's one new disaster more or less. "Master, if you will excuse me, I have to go to the ladies' room." "You are probably referring to the cunt room, right, Annie?" Ouch. He punched the hard 'c' in the 'c' word. I'll bet I winced every time. "Yes Master, the cunt room. May I please go to the cunt room Master." Good delivery, Annie. Just another word, four letters, one syllable. It doesn't make you feel like you swallowed a cockroach. Nope. Not in the least. "You may, Annie, but under one condition; you have to TELL ME EVERYTHING that you do in there, and I mean everything!" DON'T raise the eyebrow, Annie, you'll get in big trouble. OK, suit yourself. You want the gory details, so be it. I've been doing this since age 12 years 6 months 21 days and that's a very, very long time dear, so it's no skin off my, my, well, it's not a problem. "Yes, Master." Oh, yes, that's what it is. Soaked through the panties, yes indeedy, and the hose. Ick. All right, damage control. Supplies in purse -- no supplies in purse. Ah, yes, last time was also an emergency, that's part of the joy of menopause, and did we replace the emergency supplies? We did not. What do we have in here? Fingernail file, Hershey's kiss, two guitar picks -- do those things breed or what?, three unmatched earrings, Eau de Really Good Sins, compact, lipstick, four used tissues, ick, a bag of Cheetos don't go there Annie, a floppy disk full of racy stories, wallet, keys, pens some of which perhaps work, address book, Zip-lock bag containing an incredibly old slice of dried apple, calculator, Tylenol, cell phone. Nothing of the slightest use. OK, this is a nice place, there's a machine here. Wipe, pull, up, open door -- yep, even have my favorite brand. One dollar, no problem. Let's see here, one dollar, big problem. I've got three quarters, two dimes, and 11 pennies, plus my emergency Not To Be Touched Unless I Have to Run Away from the Dumpster Man 20 dollar bill. Not good. Not good, Annie. Flat dumb, Annie. Monday -- Monday at 8:01 AM I am getting on the phone to a competent gynecologist -- not that creepy ex-roommate of ex-John, but a competent, woman gynecologist, and getting the hormones. Should've done it months ago. Of course, I've already broken my knees, so it's too late to help the osteoporosis. OK, you're brilliant, right, Annie girl? Think. Wait here for someone to come in and borrow a dollar? Small restaurant, not good -- plus they'll remember I was the one with the noisy orgasm and the water glass and will they loan me a dollar? Not likely. Ask evil Master-guy? Not if I can avoid it. Wait a minute. William the Waiter. Sweet William. That blown-French-kiss was worth a buck, right? From me, worth a million. I've already turned his little boy brain off -- this ought to be a breeze. Damage control. Back to the stall, a wad of toilet paper as a pad, it'll last a few minutes and then, yes, I'll be picking TP out of my nether regions for a week. No help for it. Up and out, wash up, showtime. Oh-ho. Oh, my. Oh, no. Oh, yes! William's got a girl. It's Erika! There's a sound of distant trumpets as she rides her black charger onto the field of battle -- it's that dreaded bringer of chaos and mayhem, Annie the Vamp. Opposing her, on the white horse, is Erika the Maybe Pure. Yep, it's her. 22. Blonde. Breasts the size of cantaloupes. Two brain cells connected by a fluffy pink cloud of illusions. And William is tied face-down in the middle of the field of battle. Should've stayed in bed today, William. "...and you really expect me to believe you forgot about our date? William! You're the most inconsiderate man ever born..." Erika can dish it out, that's for sure. But can she take it? He was leaning over the wall talking to her. Not on company time, dearie -- you'll get in trouble. Here comes trouble. We strolled right up as if we owned the place, and put our arm through William's, there, and pressed our breast-what-there-is-of-it against that same arm, there. Smile. Look at Erika. "Hi, Erika, William's told me so much about you." You wouldn't think I could vamp to look at me, and it's not my best role. Vamps have endless, slender legs -- mine end all too soon and they have shape, thank you very much. Vamps have hips like snakes, and mine have one too many pints of Haagen Dazs stuck to them. The hair isn't blonde enough. The face is too 'girl next door'. And I lack a certain killer instinct, though you could find folks who'd give you an argument on that one. But some of this was hidden by the wall separating William from Erika, some was compensated for by the gold bra clasp showing in the open front of the sin-red silk blouse, and the rest was eradicated by the glorious shade of crimson -- a nice match to the blouse, I noticed -- suffusing sweet William's face. As innocent as he was of any form of misbehavior, he was far from innocent in his heart, bless him. Does an old girl's heart good to watch. But not too long -- can't lose the initiative. "William, I need two dollars. Got a problem to fix and the supplies for sale in the ladies' room are just beyond my financial reach. Introduce me to Erika, if you would." Then, reaching up and whispering in his radiant ear "I'm Annie. Give me the two dollars and I'll be good." Well, relatively good, anyway. Turning red must be contagious -- Erika was doing it. Although it looked to me as though steam was coming out of her ears, so maybe it was something other than embarassment. "Um, um, um, Annie, this is Tiffany." Ha! Annie knows an Erika/Tiffany when she sees one. William fumbled in his pocket for a couple of ones, and handed them to me. "Pleased to meet you, Tiffany," I replied. I let go of William and stuck out my hand. I thought trying to give her a hug might be pushing it. She took my hand like I'd handed her a dead fish. She shook it, then glanced at it. "You should try some retin-A for those age spots, ma'am. It worked great for my mother." The great warhorses collide on the field of battle, there's a roar from the crowd, and Annie the Vamp is down! Defeated by Erika the Maybe Pure!! And sweet William is pinned beneath the fallen warhorse. Looks like his skull was crushed in the collision. Pity that. Ouch. Ooohh. Direct hit. The good ship Annie is going down, Cap'n. I should know better than to assume a woman is stupid because she's beautiful. God knows I'm not that smart, and I'm not that beautiful, either. "Thanks, William," I said, and retreated in disorder. A heated discussion broke out behind me. Mission accomplished, anyway. Score: Annie 1, Erika 2, William -10. Oh, oh, Master is watching with a thoughtful smile on his face. That's scary. Oh, oh, I'm flashing on a vision. Oooh, help. I'm at a party. I'm spreadeagled naked on a horizontal frame that leaves me entirely helpless, and entirely accessible. There are three tables next to the frame. One, between my legs, holds a bowl of assorted vibrators and other small, well some quite large oh my, cylindrical objects. One, at my waist, holds a bowl of assorted clips, clamps, and -- eeek -- pliers. One, at my shoulder, holds a rack of small, vicious whips. Posted next to me is a sign that says "Free Samples." But that's not the scary part. The scary part is, into the room walks William. And then, in walks Erika. Ghnhg. Glerk. Let's think of something else, shall we? Brrr. Back to the ladies' room. Supplies for now, an extra for later. Are the panties salvageable? I think not. Off with the hose, off with the panties. Set aside to wash -- do silk panties grow on trees? They do not. Hose aren't too bad -- they'll smell like a stockyard in a few hours but with any luck I won't be in them that long. OK, tampon in, hose on, to sink to wash the panties, dump the apple, panties into the Zip-lock. Out to face the music. Hoo, boy. My, what an interesting argument going on over there. Looks like some poor man is going under the harrow. Nothing to do with me. I'm entirely innocent, that's right. Back to the table. At least the argument's got the attention of the voyeurs. He was looking at me. Why did that bother me? "Well, cunt?" That hard 'c' again. Brrr. "Well, Master, the first thing you need to understand is that God hates me. There's really no doubt about it. I haven't had a period in two months -- two months, do you understand?! -- so God visited this one on me today." I don't know. He's not smiling. A little voice in the back of my head was saying to cool it, back off, don't be so flip. I hate that little voice. It's always right and I never listen until it's too late. "Yep, that's right. Right through the panties, right through the hose. Clots in the underwear, the whole nine yards. So I looked through my purse, and while it did contain a fingernail file, Hershey's kiss, two guitar picks, three unmatched earrings, Eau de Really Good Sins, compact, lipstick, four used tissues, a bag of Cheetos, a floppy disk full of racy stories, wallet, keys, pens, address book, a Zip-lock bag containing an incredibly old slice of dried apple, calculator, Tylenol, and a cell phone, it did not contain any tampons. I thought about wrapping Cheetos in toilet paper to make one, but... "Annie. Annie Painslut. Shut up." I think I loosened a filling when my mouth snapped shut. "You talk too much, cunt." And with the hard 'c', too. "Where are your panties now?" "Well, silk panties don't grow on trees, so I..." "Shut up. If you speak even one more word you will regret it. Point to where they are." Oh, my. Should've listened to that voice. I pointed to my purse. "Take them out. Put them in your mouth." My mouth opened again. Then it shut. I opened my purse. Mouth'd fallen open again. I'd look like an Erika if you lightened the hair, moved everything off the hips up about two feet and ironed out the lines. I shut it again. I opened the Zip-lock and pulled out the sodden lump of silk. Mouth's open again. I felt like the mouse in the cartoon who reaches to pull out the spiked stick and gets a lollipop instead. If anyone ever asks you, tell them that there's no way to fold a regulation pair of women's silk underpants, size 6, to fit in my mouth. Believe me, I tried. I folded them. I rolled them. I wadded them. If he hadn't started giving me looks again, I would've tried jumping on them. Finally I gave up, and put what would fit in my mouth. The rest -- about half, give or take a bit -- sort of hung there, limp. I don't want to think what it looked like. I can also tell you with authority that the flavors of wet silk, menstrual blood, and stale apple don't go together. Not at all. I started gagging. People were staring at me -- and my silk panties were hanging from my mouth. I looked down. "Check, please. Oh, her? She talks too much. You can understand that, can't you, William? She needed to learn a little lesson." I'm not looking at him. I'm not crying. I'm crying. I'm 49, and I'm sitting in a restaurant with my panties in my mouth, gagging, and I'm crying. I was also incredibly turned on. Being fingered was nothing to this. I wasn't wet because of the tampon, but I was throbbing, and my nipples were like rocks. I could feel the eyes on me, and the burning gazes went directly to my sex. "Thank you, William. Sorry for any trouble. Perhaps we'll see you again soon." "Now, Annie, we are walking out of here. Before you stand up, you will unbutton another button on your blouse. Then you will stand up. Then you will place your hands behind your back. Then you will walk out. You will keep your head up, and look at anyone who looks at you. They know you're a slut. You know you're a slut. You've even agreed to be named, Annie Painslut. Now, let us go." My hands were shaking. I can't manage the button. I have to manage the button. I hope I didn't break it. I stood up. My blouse fell open. I stood up straighter, hoping to force it closed -- with some success. There was still a lot showing. I put my hands behind my back. It opened more. Nothing to be done. I raised my head. The tears, mercifully, blurred my vision, but not my hearing. All I heard were fragments of conversation: "Look at that! What's in her mouth? Shameless! Wonder what her price is? ...button her blouse." We walked nearly a block to a parking garage, past stares and gazes, through comments and shocked words. He led me to his car. In the darkness of the garage, I calmed slightly. He's carrying my purse -- my keys, my wallet, my Dumpster Man money. This is my last chance to turn back. Maybe I could outrun him in my heels, maybe not, but my screams would surely bring help, unless these panties are permanently stuck to my mouth, which they do feel like. He could be the Dumpster Man. We came to his car. He opened the door. "You can leave now, you know, Annie." There was no edge to his voice right then. "If you are not ready, if you are worried that I will do you lasting harm, you should go home now." I thought. Would the Dumpster Man speak so? Maybe. Probably not. Hey, little voice, got anything to say? The voice was silent. Stupid voice. I entered the car. Without being told, I kept my hands behind my back. I opened my legs, and placed my heels on the dashboard. I closed my eyes. He entered the driver's side, and drove me away. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- 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: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+