Message-ID: <38661asstr$1033798202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: "Ann Douglas" Mime-Version: 1.0 X-Original-Message-ID: X-OriginalArrivalTime: 04 Oct 2002 22:38:52.0017 (UTC) FILETIME=[D045FE10:01C26BF6] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 04 Oct 2002 22:38:51 +0000 Subject: {ASSM} AnnD"Morning Ritual" (1/1) Date: Sat, 5 Oct 2002 02:10:02 -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: RuiJorge, hecate Morning Ritual by Ann Douglas Broad beams of sunshine filtered through the thick frames of the large bedroom window as the short haired brunette rolled over in her bed. The warmth of the rays spread across the room, washing across the face of the forty-eight year old as she reluctantly left the arms of Morpheus and returned to the real world. "This had got to be a record," Sandra Jessica Kent said to herself as she opened her eyes and, looking at the digital clock on her night table, noted that an entire night had actually passed without her having her sleep interrupted. In the four and a half months since she had taken over her new position, Sandra had only managed to have twenty-nine nights of uninterrupted sleep. True, a number of those disturbed slumbers had merely been early wake ups, but there had been more than enough of them for her to appreciate those long ago days when she could afford the luxury of sleeping in. "Well, you wanted to be able to play with the big boys," Sandra reminded herself as she pulled back the covers and sat up. That phrase had been one she'd told herself nearly every day since she was approached by her predecessor two years ago and asked to join his team. That request, would be destined to be one of his more controversial decisions, one that few of his associates agreed with. But Jim Forrester was nothing if not his own man, and once made, the decision stood. Of course his associates and backers might've fought harder to change his mind if they could ever have imagined that Sandra would actually wind up in the number one spot. Yet, in those days when all seemed to be going their way, who could've believed that the former All State Running Back, who was actually eighteen months younger that Sandra and in great shape for a man his age, would just drop dead one fall morning when a tiny artery in his brain burst. After they have carried him to his rest, the associates would've given almost anything to have been able to send Sandra packing and back to the California University that Jim had rescued her from. But the system didn't work like that, and as much as they disliked the idea of her being in charge, there was little they could do about it. Jim's job was too important to leave empty while people debated about a successor. The men who had written the ground rules had decided that a long time ago. Rising to her full five foot seven height, Sandra stretched her body, wiping away the last vestiges of sleep. As she did, her eyes surveyed her environment. The quarters that came as a perk of the job were certainly a long way from the run down studio apartment that she had shared with her husband back when they'd first married right out of college. Personally, she'd have been just as happy to have gone on living in her old house, but people around here were big on tradition. The memory of her husband drew her attention to the empty space on the other side of the full sized bed. George Kent had died four years before and for a time, Sandra had no interest in filling that void in her life. Now, after time had helped heal the jagged hole in her life, the constant demands on her time seemed to always take precedence over any personal life. "Well you wanted to play with the big boys," she echoed in her head once more. Of course, why was it that so many of those big boys also managed to get a little on the side when they wanted. Walking across the plush tan carpet, Sandra stepped into a bathroom that was just as spacious and opulent as the bedroom. At times, it all seemed a bit much, but this room at least contained a walk in shower that the former History Professor had come to love. It was her refuge from the world, a chance to step away from the worries and pressures of the job. Undoing the simple blue pajama top she wore, one of her husbands that she had saved, Sandra stood topless in front of the large wall mounted mirror. The woman looking back at her in the reflection looked pretty good for her age, she thought. She'd put on a few pounds over the last few years, but nothing too drastic. In fact, she could name a half dozen of her friends who would kill to be in as good a shape as she was. As she finished taking stock, Sandra ran her hand across her small, firm breasts. Not that she'd ever admit it, well at least not to anyone other than George, but the forty-eight year old had always been proud of her rounded mounds. A pride that went all the way back to her junior high school days in Kansas when they had first begun to develop. Feeling both their softness and firmness, Sandra smiled. She remembered with some irony how some of her more endowed classmates used to make fun of her small breasts. Comments that didn't bother her then, or now. In fact, how many of those big boobed tormentors could say that their breasts were in as good shape as they were twenty-five years before. Absentmindedly, her slender fingers caressed her small pink nipples, feeling them grow hard at her touch. It had been a long time since they had been touch by any hand but her own. The misty cloud of steam that began to cover the mirror told her that the shower water, which she had turned on a minute before, had already reached a comfortable temperature. Sandra never wore the bottom of the pajamas, so it only took a moment to slide off her panties and drop them in the hamper before stepping into the shower. The splash of hot water against her skin from the dual jets felt refreshing, washing away, at least for the moment, the worries she carried in her head. Filling both her hands with liquid soap from the wall-mounted dispenser, Sandra began to soap herself up. "Oh, that feels good," she thought to herself as her soapy hands pressed against her flesh, massaging her skin. More and more, it seemed like her time in the shower was all that remained of her personal life. It was a pity, she always thought, that it couldn't last longer. A small sanctuary against the pressures of her responsibilities and the chance to just relax and remember what it was to be a woman. But it was what it was, and however brief, Sandra tried to make the most of it. Her fingers caressed her breasts, playing with her nipples, bringing them again to a hard attention. Back in her college days, Sandra had once seen an adult film in which a woman had large enough breasts that she could suck her own nipples. Remembering how long it had been since someone had sucked hers, the brunette felt a small bit of envy at the actress. Taking a deep breath, Sandra slid her hands down her body, teasing the wet flesh as she went, finally coming to rest against the graying but carefully trimmed mouth between her legs. Slender fingers pressed inside of her, parting the folds that protected her inner joys. More than half a lifetime's familiarity with her own body allowed her to quickly bring herself to a heightened state of sexual excitement. Her fingers massaged her clitoris, sending tiny bursts of pleasure across her body as her other hand continued to play with her soapy breasts. Memories of pasts loves filled her thoughts, some long past, and one who had only recently sparked her interest. Unfortunately, circumstances being what they were, she had been unable to act on that desire to see if it might be reciprocal. "Oh yes," Sandra said to her imaginary lover, pretending that the hands urging her to climax weren't her own. The heat of her flesh was almost enough to rival that of the water from above as the rising tides of lust within her doubled, then trebled. The world beyond her glass enclosure faded away for the moment, leaving only the reality of an onrushing rapture. "Oh God, yes," Sandra said softly as her fingers quickly moved in and out of her, the soft ripples of pleasure now replaced by powerful crests. So lost in bliss was Sandra, that she didn't hear the first two knocks on the outer door. The third, was too loud to ignore. Already the urgency of the day's business was trying to intrude on her moment of solitude. "Go away!" Sandra mouthed softly, knowing full well that they wouldn't. She was so close. No matter what the urgency of the interruption, it would have to wait - at least a few more seconds. Sandra increased her efforts, her climax close enough that she could taste it. Her heart was racing like a jackhammer, her breaths shortened to quick gasps. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" she cried out triumphantly, the volume of her excitement tempered even now by the need to maintain a certain decorum. Always afterwards, the grown woman found it amusing that her Catholic school background always came back to her at times like this. It wasn't something that the good Sisters at Saint Mary's parochial school would've approved of, of that she was sure. "Oh God!" she called out, her voice growing louder as she was unable to restrain herself any longer. The orgasm that ripped her body was as intense as she knew it would be, washing away the pressures she carried in a way few men would understand. It was a secret she had first learned soon after her thirteenth birthday. Her legs felt weak beneath her as she leaned back against the warm tiles. But it was a good weakness, filled with a pleasing satisfaction. Another, even louder knock, told her that her brief escape had once again ended. Reluctantly, she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. As she wrapped a blue terry cloth around her trim form, she called out that she would be right out. Sandra took a few more moments to wipe clear a small section of the mirror to check her appearance. Then, tightening her wrap, she opened the door and stepped back into her bedroom. "Good morning, Clara," she said to the tall, impeccably dressed black woman who was waiting for her. "Good morning, Ma'am," the forty-one year old said. "I'm sorry if I knocked too hard but I didn't think you'd heard it the first time and you did say you wanted to see this report the minute it came in." "It's okay, Clara," Sandra said as she took the two page printout from her and quickly read it. "Sometimes I think I'm my own worse enemy." Waiting for her boss to finish reading, Clara glanced down at the half dozen multicolored folders in her hand. Each of them filled with items of interests that had happened in various parts of the world. "It looks like it was a quiet night," Carla Martin said as she scanned the summary sheet on top of the folders. "but the Secretary would like a few minutes of your time before your first appointment if he can," "Tell him he can join me for breakfast," Sandra said as she handed back the two pages and stepped over to the other side of the room where she took off her robe and put on her underwear. "Very good, Madame President," the National Security Advisor smiled as she pulled out a small cell phone and made a discrete call to arrange the meeting. It always amazed her how refreshed the President looked after her morning shower. She couldn't get that relaxed with only a fraction of the responsibilities the President carried. One of these days, she had to find the right opportunity to ask her how she did it. "Could you give me a hand for a moment, Clara?" Sandra said as she stepped back toward her aide. "Of course, Ma'am." With that, Clara put down her folders and stepped forward to help the President of the United States zip up her dress. END Ann Douglas Web Page http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Ann_Douglas/www/ ASSTR Donation Page http://www.asstr-mirror.org/donations.html ******************************************************** Comments are the life blood of any amateur writer, the currency in which they are paid. It only takes a few minutes to send off a few lines, which is little to ask for in exchange for hours spent creating a story. So be sure to take those few minutes, it can only result in more and better stories in the future. ******************************************************** _________________________________________________________________ MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: http://photos.msn.com/support/worldwide.aspx -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+