Message-ID: <40245asstr$1041642608@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <200301031627.h03GRdGX025460@fozzie.webservepro.com> From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 03 Jan 2003 16:27:39 GMT Subject: {ASSM} The Gift of the Maytag 1/4 (wife MMF MF oral ice) Date: Fri, 3 Jan 2003 20:10:08 -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 This work contains graphic depictions of sex acts. Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable, or violates laws in your part of the world. This story is Copyright 2003 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com) ---------------------------------------------------------------------- THE GIFT OF THE MAYTAG ZERO The bartender pulled the tap handle to fill the pint glass with Leinenkugel's. He passed the beer over to Hank, and then filled two glasses with ice. Captain Morgan rum poured over the cubes melted them slightly, and they collapsed on themselves. The bartender filled the glasses the rest of the way with eggnog and pushed them over to Hank in exchange for his money. This was Hank's third beer and his wife's third seasonal drink. The more she drank the more he needed to. She grew flirtatious. He grew resentful. It was bad enough when she started laughing with their coworkers at the bar on paydays. Or when she let her fingers linger on a waiter's arm when she pulled him aside to ask for more water, or a fork, or a dessert menu. It was all harmless enough, right? She was pushing it with this old guy, though. Lisa sat so close she was practically in the guy's lap. She complained about the cold but she wore that short dress anyway. Now her legs in their dark stockings were crossed in such a way that they might as well be draped over the old guy's thighs. She replaced her empty drink with the fresh one Hank brought. "You're welcome, Lisa," he said sarcastically. "Thanks, Hank," she said. Lisa whispered something in the guy's ear. He chuckled, then offered a sheepish look to Hank. Not my fault, pal, he seemed to want to say. Hank believed him. This was all Lisa. It was her style, even if she was carrying it a little far tonight. Lisa gave him a look, too. Hank knew it. Eyes narrowed slightly, showing slivers of her flecked green irises. Lips parted to an even smaller degree, one corner turned up arrogantly. Daring him. Daring him to dare her. When they first started going out Hank parked cars as a valet at a country club on the weekends. Lisa visited him once and hung outside smoking while he worked. She wanted to know if he wanted to do it with her in one of the cars. "I'll get fired!" he said. But he thought about it all night. Lisa had gotten in his head. Then whenever someone pulled up in a hot car, Lisa flashed him that look. Wanna? He didn't. He met every look of hers with a stony one of his own. Parked like the horse's ass that night, though. Dinged three doors because he didn't leave enough room on the driver's side. Getting into his car at the end of the night, they went right at each other. Hank came almost before he entered her. When they got to her apartment that night he tore off her clothes and fucked her like an absolute animal. Tonight she snugged up against a white haired guy with a bald spot the size of a baseball cap. That look was the same as that night years before. And in his defense he gave her that stony impassive look. It held the threat of indifference. They made small talk. Those two drank eggnog and smoked cigarettes. His smelled odd, like Christmas ham, or spiced cookies. He wore a pin in his lapel shaped like a snowman. If this was the ghost of Christmas present messing with him we wasn't too sure he wanted to see what the ghost of Christmas future was going to treat him to. "If you'll excuse me," the old guy said. He stood and headed to the rest room. Hank nursed his beer, stoic expression in place. Lisa looked amused. "He's a cute little guy, isn't he?" she asked. "If you say so," Hank said. "I notice he hasn't offered to pick up a round of drinks yet." "Oh, Hank. He's probably on social security." "I pay for that, too," Hank said. Lisa'a amusement only grew. She pecked him on the cheek. "I think I'll go freshen up, too," she said. Hank watched her go. That dress was definitely too short for this weather. Looked awfully good, though. As he sat and worked on his Leinie's, he thought about his pretty young wife and that daring look of hers. Wanna? The only thing he wanted right then was to leave. He finished the beer. The ice had all but melted in Lisa's drink. What was taking so long in there? And where was the old guy? Dread. The next feeling he has was dread. Not resentment, or jealousy, or impatience to leave, but outright dread. The impassive look he wore as he strode to the restrooms did not show it, however. Gently, Hank knocked on the ladies' room door. "Lisa!" He rapped again, louder. "Lisa!" Slowly he opened the door. "I think you're in the wrong room," said a woman at the sink. Hank ignored her and called for his wife. There was no reply. His stomach tightened and shrank to the size of a chestnut as he left and walked into the men's room. No one at the sink. No one standing at the urinals. He made his way down the short line of stalls hunched over, looking for shoes. At the end of the row he found them. Two pairs. Black loafers behind a black pumps. Hank swallowed but his mouth was to dry for it to be anything but reflex. Quietly he pressed his palm flat against the door. He pushed. She hadn't even closed the latch. Lisa's dress was gathered around her neck like a scarf. Wrinkled hands fondled her tits and her stockinged legs parted to show her trim bush. She rocked her hips back and forth and for small fractions of time Hank could see her pink pussy lips wrapped around a swollen white sausage. Her expression went beyond the daring look. It was more "Now what?" than "Wanna?" Hank struggled with his mask of indifference. His mouth gaped, speechless. Lisa smiled. She stopped rocking and instead lifted herself and dropped onto the cock beneath her. She used her fingers and spread herself open to show off the dick inside her. Higher and higher she lifted with each time, until the dick flopped out and she waved it in the air before stuffing it back inside her. Lisa watched him intently the whole time. He may have been angry but he was doing and saying nothing. Hank certainly wasn't going anywhere. "Take off your pants," she said. Hank still didn't move. The old guy did. He leaned right to see the husband of the woman he was fucking. He hadn't even known the man was there. He wasn't sure what would happen now that he was, but his dick was still firmly inside the man's spouse. Hank stood tight. Lisa leaned forward to unfasten his pants. The old guy gave Hank the same gesture as in the bar. Sorry, pal, this was all her. At last, Hank felt the need to respond. "My wife's a slut," Hank said quietly. The other man's face changed from apologetic to sympathetic. "She likes it," he said. "You might as well enjoy it." Lisa had his belt undone and was onto the zipper. She stood and took his dick into her mouth. Her ass was right in Ron's face. He leaned forward and licked her. The man pressed in so close all Hank saw was the smooth part of the top of Lisa's ass and the smooth dome of Ron's bald pate. Lisa moaned on Hank's rod. She pulled off with a loud popping sound. "Oooh. Ron knows how to treat a slut, don't you Ron?" Hank watched as Lisa actually reached back with her hand and slapped her own ass, like some cheap stripper. Ron took her ass in both hands and brought her back down to his lap. Lisa held Hank's prick firmly in her hand as she sat back on Ron. As she sank down she let out a loud groan. Her mouth contorted to show clenched teeth and she tightened her grip on Hank's stiff rod. Hank looked down at his wife's tits. Her nipples stood out hard as little stones. A line in her skin cleaved her belly as she rocked on Ron's shaft. She moved a hand down to her crotch and used two fingers to spread the lips of her twat again. This time Hank saw only glistening pink. "Goddamn," Hank muttered. Ron was in her ass. "Urrh," she said through clenched teeth. "He knows what sluts like." Hank was going to come. She was not even stroking his meat, just gripping it and yet he knew he was going to burst through that grip no matter how tight it was. He swallowed again, dry as the last time. "Do sluts like it on the face?" he asked as he turned his hips. Lisa had no time to respond. His prick erupted and a great rope of gooey whiteness leaped from its head and splashed down on her chin. She leaned in and stuck out her tongue to catch the next spurt and it landed on the bridge of her nose. Ron triggered, too, pumping a smaller stream of spirit into Lisa's tight ass. All motion stopped save for gasps for air. The three cleaned up. Lisa gave Ron a kiss and thanked him. "My pleasure," Ron replied. "That was fun. You're adventurous. Both of you." Hank didn't know what to say to the man that just diddled his wife in the ass, leaving with an awkward goodbye. He took Lisa home and the two screwed through the night and into the next morning. ONE "You want me to go to Duluth in December?" asked an incredulous Heather Stanton. "Sure," said Maytag, "Didn't you read the article?" Gerry Maytag pointed to the folded-over newspaper he had dropped on his partner's desk when he first came in that morning. "Yes, I read the article," said Stanton, "I just don't see why we would need to go out there now." "We'll be back before Christmas, if that's what you're worried about." "I should hope so. But actually, I was hoping to avoid seeing winter from the perspective of Duluth, Minnesota. Or, more importantly, feeling winter from that perspective." "Pack warm clothes. This looks interesting," he said, once again gesturing towards the newspaper. The article in question was a human interest story in the national section titled "Romeo Adds Heat to Minnesota Winter", and focused on a retired engineer living in Duluth. Apparently, Ronald Gustafson, 56, had taken up the role of 'kept man.' Only it seemed he was being kept by many of the single women in town, and rumor had it by some of the married ones as well. Women from out of town had been making trips in order to meet the man locals were calling, "Ron Juan." He lived next to a downtown casino, and spent most of his time gambling, drinking, and dining, usually at the ladies' expense. "Ron Juan, huh?" Stanton asked. "Silly name, I know. Pedestrian, too. I like Duluthario better. Get it? Duluth and Lothario." "No one would get that," Stanton said. "Ron Juan may sound pedestrian, but pedestrians buy newspapers." "You have to admit Duluthario sounds more serious. For a case file, I mean." "Ha! You could call him Lee Harvey Oswald and it would not make this a serious case." "You're wrong, Stanton. Something funny is going on there." "Maytag, it looks like a cute middle aged man who treats women to some romance in exchange for quarters to feed the slot machines." "I don't think so, Stanton. Did you really read the article?" he asked as he lifted the paper from the desk, and ran his fingers over the columns. "Jennifer Olson," he read, "age 35, calls him, 'a real thrill, maybe the best lover I've had.' Mary Johnson, twenty-eight, a waitress at the casino admitted to being charmed by the local legend and labeled him 'a real lady killer'." Maytag looked up from the paper as Heather took a sip from her coffee and said, "Stanton, these aren't seventy year old widows that he's whispering sweet-nothings to, these are young women." "You sound jealous, Maytag. Maybe you should just go by yourself in an unofficial capacity and pick up some pointers." "Very funny," replied Maytag, "But you're too late. I've got the case approved and the flight booked. We leave at three in the afternoon." Stanton's jaw dropped towards the floor, and the same thing almost happened to her coffee mug. "You did what? That's great. If this is what goes on when I get into the office a little late, I'm going to have to stop jogging in the morning and just get here before you do." Maytag and Stanton arrived at Ronald Reagan airport at 2:00. Their flight, scheduled to leave at 3: 00 did not depart until 6:00. A snowstorm had closed the Minneapolis-St. Paul airport where they had a connecting flight. Stanton was not amused by Maytag's whistling rendition of "White Christmas." By the time they arrived at Duluth International, it was 10:00 local time. There was nothing to do other than check into the hotel and turn in for the night. After brushing the snow off their rental car, they made the drive into downtown Duluth. Few other cars were on the road. They drove in silence through snow covered evergreens and other bare-limbed trees. Colored lights strung on houses left small pools of color on snow covered lawns. They passed one strip where large candy cane stripes adorned street lamps. Another where small white lights decorated a string of trees along the sidewalk. It looked like Christmas, but the pair made no comments as they drove to the hotel. TWO Maytag had scheduled a morning meeting with Lieutenant Breyer of the Duluth police. They arrived at his office after a quick breakfast, during which Stanton remained humorless. "Come in, come in," said Breyer, as he shook the agents' hands outside his office, "It isn't every day we have the FBI up here in Duluth, especially in the winter." "I can't imagine why," said Stanton as she looked around the office. Around the wood paneled walls of the office were photos of Breyer holding fish and rowing in canoes. Stanton's attention had focused on a rather large fish mounted and hung on the wall behind Breyer's desk. "That's a prize winning walleye, Agent Stanton. Best day I ever had fishing." "Impressive," said Maytag gleefully. "You betcha. You two oughtta come up here in the summer. See the boundary waters and all. That's God's country, you know." "Actually I wasn't aware of that," said Stanton as she sat down. Despite having an extra pair of socks on, she could feel dampness on the sides of her feet where the snow was melting off her boots. "Yeah, that's right. So what can I do for you two? Is there something going on in town that I should know about?" "Actually," said Maytag, "We're kind of on a fishing trip right now ourselves." More like a wild goose chase, Stanton thought to herself. "We read an article on Ron Gustafson in the paper yesterday, and we were wondering if his association with the women of Duluth was completely legitimate." "What do you mean?" asked Breyer. "I just have a feeling that all is not as it seems with Mr. Gustafson. That maybe his dealings with these women are not wholly romantic in nature." Lt. Breyer leaned forward in his chair and said, "The FBI sent you two out here to investigate Ron Juan? Exactly what do you think these evil dealings might be, Agent Maytag?" He seemed offended. Stanton had wanted to know that herself for the past twenty-four hours, and took delight in facing him and showing him her own perturbed expression. Maytag remained cool and responded, "Maybe something as simple as prostitution, maybe as complicated as blackmail." "Blackmail?" repeated Breyer, "Don't you people do any research before flying half-way across the country? I went to high school with Ron, and I missed him when he went to the Twin Cities to work for that chemical company and they sent him all over the damned country for thirty years. I'm glad he came back here after retirement. He's a good friend, and I resent what you just said." Stanton lowered her head to hide the smirk that had involuntarily grown on her face. Maytag continued unhindered, however. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but, you must admit, it does seem somewhat odd that this man has become such a charmer." "It isn't that strange," Breyer said, "Ron is a decent man who knows how to treat a lady. Besides, there's no accounting for taste. I have no idea why people like rap music, but they do. Why don't you investigate that, Agent Maytag?" "As a matter of fact," began Maytag. Mercifully, Stanton interrupted him. "We're sorry to have wasted your time, Lieutenant," she said, "obviously we made a misinterpretation of Mr. Gustafson's activities. We'll try to be out of here as soon as possible." Stanton stood, and Maytag followed, adding, "I apologize, Lieutenant. I didn't know that you two were so close." "We are. I wish you Good Day." Once they were outside his office, Stanton turned to Maytag and said, "Nice going, Maytag, we looked like overzealous gossip columnists in there. Can we go home, now?" "What?" asked Maytag, "Didn't that just smell of cover-up to you?" "Not really. It seemed like what he said: poor research on our part." "I disagree, and if we want to do any research, I think we can forget about going to the police." "So you don't want to leave?" -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+