Message-ID: <43465asstr$1058782206@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: corp.supernews.com!not-for-mail From: Cyber-Surfer X-Original-Message-ID: Reply-To: Cyber-Surfer@cox-internet.com MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 01:09:25 -0500 Subject: {ASSM} {ASSD} Writing Duel - McCoy vs McN -- Frank McCoy: Old-Fashioned (MF Oral Cons) Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 06:10:06 -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: IceAltar, dennyw To: Cyber-Surfer@cox-internet.com Subject: Story: "Old-Fashioned" From: Frank McCoy Date: Mon, 21 Jul 2003 00:26:01 -0500 It's now, 12:24. One minute less than an hour Here's the story: And here's Frank's Entry Old-fashioned A pinafore. A bloody *pinafore*!!! It was bad enough that Mom had stuck me in this bloody dress, but a pinafore? Pinafores were for *kids* even in the *old* days. I was an *adult* now ... almost 18, and she insists I wear not only a dress, but clunky *oxford* shoes, with real leather, and a ... a ... a stupid kids *apron* that even little kids haven't worn for the last hundred years or so! Everybody would laugh at me. But there's no arguing with Mom. If I was going to be allowed to go to the dance, it was this way or nothing. I'd have selected "nothing", only three girls in the Senior Class last year had gone to this same dance ... and had come back with the *dreamiest* dates anybody had ever seen. Not from around here, that's for sure. Most of the guys in high- school in Middleton were about as dorky as you could imagine; thinking guzzling beer on a balcony was the height of macho "guyness", and that any girl who had any sense would fall all over herself to let him into her pants. Pants .... THAT is what women wore these days. Pants-suits, at the very least. Even if a gal wanted to dress up to attract men, it was in shorts, not some dorky dress. Even if it WAS a dress, it wasn't some full ankle-length travesty like Mom had drug up from someplace; and certainly no girl who respected her reputation would be seen dead with a stupid apron ... well OK, pinafore over the top. That was for *little* girls to wear, to look cute in. Cute .... I looked again in the mirror; and agreed I did look cute. The dress flared out in a fetching array. Flopping back, I did have to agree that the puff of the middle made my hips and bust look ... well, attractive. For some reason, my butt didn't stick out like I thought it would. Without the stupid pinafore, I might even look sexy. As it was, I just looked ... cute. Damn, Mom. Oh shit. Now I was going to have to remember to tell Father Francis about cursing my own mother at the next Confession. Even saying "shit" wasn't "something a respectful daughter would do." Yeah, right. "Are you ready, Dear?" Mom bustled into the room wearing an outfit that matched mine except in color. Where my dress was deep blue, with pinkish pinafore, Mom's was silky red with pale green apronish overgarment. I giggled a bit; realizing Mom looked almost like a Christmas Tree Ornament. "Your father and I have been ready for fifteen minutes. We'll get on the way as soon as you're ready." "I'm ready," I grumped. No point in belaboring the point. Mom and I had this out days earlier. If it wasn't that I'd never explain why I chickened out to the other girls in class ... especially Mary Kendecker ... I'd have jumped ship before now. "Oh a capital ship for an ocean trip, is The Walloping Window-Blind!" Oh God. It was bad enough *wearing* this outfit, without Dad rubbing it in by singing a tune from G&S. "HMS Pinafore!" I looked over at Dad, and my jaw dropped. THIS was Dad ... the guy who took me to soccer, dance-lessons, bounced me on his knee, and kissed "His Angel" goodnight when I went to sleep? This ... This *gentleman*? Polished black shoes that you could see your reflection in, black pants with razor-sharp creases, black form-fitting jacket that showed off his muscles somehow, black TIE?, and even (Good Lord!) black top hat? "If Miladies are ready," Dad bowed to each of us, "then may I have the honor of escorting two such beautiful creatures to the carriage that awaits?" My jaw dropped; but I found myself offering my right arm, while Mom offered her left. Somehow Dad got us both to the car, opened the door for each of us, and held out a steadying arm as we each got in, before closing the door behind each of us. I got the back seat; but it felt more like I was being chauffeured to the dance than just riding in the back seat of the Family Jalopy. The drive took a long time, it seemed. It was all I could do to keep from squirming around in the back seat and wrinkling my dress. A silky material like that shouldn't be mistreated ... especially not if I was hoping to meet some hunky guys like Sandy Malone brought home last year. I couldn't believe the place when we got there. Places like those just don't exist outside of movie sets and palaces for royalty. A stone wall with iron gate was opened automatically when the car pulled up. A long curving driveway led through tall trees and gardens to a staircase where other cars were unloading and smartly dressed valets were taking them away to some hidden parking area. I felt about as out-of-place as a beggar off the street in the White House. "If your company will head this way?" invited a butler- type that looked too good to be from anyplace but a casting agency. "Your tables are ready, and the party will be starting in about half an hour." Party? Tables? I thought it was just a dance. Somehow I found myself seated at an enormous round table, with two other families. One had a pretty young girl about my age, also wearing a long dress (but no pinafore) and the other held two adults and two boys ... well, men actually, in outfits that almost matched Dad's, button-for- button. Well, at least I wasn't the *only* person forced into uncomfortable clothing for this shindig. For the next hour, things got pretty predictable. I'd been to fancy parties before ... just not *this* fancy. Some bigwig, dressed up in a similar but even fancier monkey- suit to what Dad was wearing got up and gave some kind of speech about "proper" men and women, "seeing to it that our children are brought up right" and similar bilge I hear almost every day down at school. I tuned it out and scoped out the scenery. Scenery ... You know ... The boys. The two sitting at the table with us may have been picked as a match; with two boys and two girls; but they didn't interest me. Especially as both of them seemed to have their eyeballs glued to the girl (her name I learned was Katie) sitting next to me. The girl's dress had a deep `V' down the front; showing off cleavage that I just don't have ... yet. Even if I did, this fucking (forgive the language) dress was cut square across the top to match the idiotic pinafore. I shook my head. Boys were boys everywhere it seemed, even here. They all had only one thing in mind. For a second I felt a hot flush as I imagined just what those two boys would like to do with that not-so-innocent girl batting her eyes at them. And then I thought of what SHE seemed to be eager for, and a hot sticky wetness flooded me down below. Oh *shit*! I suddenly realized I wasn't wearing panties under that dress. I had intended to ... really I had. A "nice" girl like me just doesn't wear a dress without panties underneath. While I wasn't exactly a virgin any more, I still thought of myself as a "nice girl". I wasn't a "Rachel Roundheels" who would trip a guy and beat him to the ground. I didn't *need* to go begging for sex by teasing a guy by wearing no panties. Only in the fluster of wearing this outfit and the fact that I wasn't *used* to wearing long dresses, had made me forget to put them on. I often didn't wear panties when wearing pants or even shorts. On silky pants, the "panty-line" often showed; and on shorts, there's nothing as embarrassing as having your "unmentionables" stick out the sides or edges where you've carefully frayed the material until it *looks* ready to fall off and spill your bare ass out for everybody to see. A gal has to be in fashion, even if she isn't out trolling for men, you know. Damn. At least nobody here would know ... and besides, the panty-line wouldn't show on my dress, now that I thought about it. I almost managed to convince myself it omission was deliberate. Almost. Still, just the idea I was naked underneath this thin dress with only the silky fabric and stupid apron keeping people from knowing how bare I was underneath it, got me hot and slippery. Geesh ... You'd think I'd never gone without panties before. Once, when we lived in the country for a while, out where, "The foot of man never trod, and the Eye of God seldom saw," I used to go around naked in the outback area. Nobody ever saw me, and I sometimes walked around naked, exploring the woods and hills for hours. But that had been back when I was about ten years old until I got to be fourteen or so. YEARS ago. Now I doubt I'd have the nerve. But being naked ... even in front of a guy, wasn't something new for me. Being naked (or just FEELING naked) in front of a spiffy crowd like this however .... I'm not sure if it was more frightening, or incredibly sexy! I looked over to the table next to me and saw a guy smiling at me, as if he could read every thought I had. I must have blushed beet-red, as my ears felt on fire and my eyes watered. The guy grinned back, and sent a significant glance at Katie next to me, who had somehow become an incredible flirt while I was distracted; oohing and ahing and breathing deeply to thrust her bosom up and almost out of the restraints that barely held the girl's dress together. I couldn't help but grin back and roll my eyes. I'm not quite sure *what* it was we ate there ... Some kind of brown meat-dish that tasted incredibly good, a half- potato with something green sprinkled on it, a vegetable I didn't recognize, and a sticky-sweet chocolate pudding-type of desert. I wasn't really paying attention. My mind was too much on the laughing eyes of the young man at the next table, and how we both were giggling and snickering behind the backs of the company at each of our tables. It wasn't any surprise when the chairs were pushed back and music started up that the guy hurried over to my table and pulled out my chair to help me get up. "May I have this dance, Miss?" he asked, oh-so-formally. "Sandy. And I'd be delighted," I murmured; holding up my left hand for him to take, like I'd seen done in some old- fashioned movies. "My delight, I'm sure," he replied; taking my hand in both of his and touching the barest tip of my fingers with his lips in a gesture I hadn't thought existed outside of movies about life several hundred years ago. "You can call me Tom ... as in Tom Catt." Again I blushed. Just the touch of his lips on my fingers felt more erotic than some guys putting their pricks inside my body. Hell ... it made me feel more turned-on than the time Celine had taught me what tongues were *really* for. I'm no lesbian and neither is she; but Celly showed me why some women are. If I ever get a *permanent* guy, I'm going to teach him some of the trick Celly taught me ... Or we just won't remain permanent. Partners. Still, I understand that while *some* jerks won't ever put their mouth's "down there" on a woman, while expecting her to slobber their bones like it was a stick of candy, there are many guys who think a woman's vagina is fully as tasty as I sometimes find a guy's prick. Sometimes. It's funny, but unless the guy gets me turned on, the thought of sucking on his icky dick is just ... icky. Give me the right guy, the guy who likes me for ME, not my hot bod, and slurping his dong is a pleasure. Even making him cum and swallowing it can be fun, just to see that I have him so much in my control. You can lead a guy around by his dick while sucking him, and he'll agree to anything ... almost. Oh God ... Talking about dicks ... Something quite hard and pointy was obviously making it uncomfortable for the guy leading me around the dance-floor. Thankfully, black pants, black suit, and outfit hid the poor guy's swollen member, or we both would have been embarrassed out there. "Maybe we should step outside," I murmured into his ear; not believing for a moment I was being so daring with a guy I had just met a few minutes earlier. Why was I not surprised when he readily agreed? Like two teenagers sneaking away from their parents to have an illicit tryst, we both looked guiltily around for watching adults; then slowly danced our way out to the patio ... and then hurried down the steps into the garden I somehow knew from too many movies would be outside. LIKE two horny teenagers? Gawd, that was exactly what we were, and I couldn't believe what we were doing! "Oh God," I moaned into his ear. "I can't believe we're doing this!" Thus putting my thoughts into words. Tom burrowed his head into my neck. "Oooh, Sandy," he whispered. You smell so *wonderful* ... that perfume is something else." Perfume? I *never* wore perfume. Most of them make me itch. I think I'm allergic to one of the essential oils in most perfumes. Then I realized what Tom was referring to. Oh God ... My crack was running like a faucet; dribbling slippery goo down my legs like I hadn't done since ... since Tommy spilt himself inside me that time when he had promised to pull out. Shithead. Only this wasn't boy-cum, this was ME. Gawd, I was giving myself away. Tom's muscles held me close in an embrace I couldn't pull out of ... and didn't *want* to. While I was sure he'd release me if I ask, the last thing in the world I wanted was to move away. Somehow we found a hidden bench ... I was a little surprised at just how private it was; with hedges all around, and only a curved entry, as if intended just for lovers to find seclusion. Then I felt myself blushing again; realizing the bench *had* been put there fur just such trysts. I was sure that if I looked, I'd find several such hidden nooks by each of the patio exits ... and probably more private places hidden all through the house. Such decadence ... Such attention to the needs of horny teenagers! I became aware of something else ... two fingers which had somehow sneaked up underneath my dress, and were approaching the off-limits part of my anatomy. It was time to either stop things firmly, or accept the inevitable. It just wouldn't be FAIR to stop poor Tom, once I let him finger me properly. Instead of closing my legs, pulling my skirt down, and telling Tom firmly, "NO! Not on the first date!" at the very least, instead I found myself sagging back on the bench, spreading my legs a bit, and ignoring the fact that my dress was almost to my waist and the scratchy pinafore was being pushed almost up to my face. "Tom ... Tom," I moaned weakly in protest; while still sagging lower and allowing him yet more freedom where first one and then two fingers had entered my wetness. "I don't think we should ...." "Shhh," he hushed me; a finger from his other hand caressing my lips. "You like it, don't you?" How could I disagree? The two, then three probing digits were stretching me so deliciously ... almost like a miniature cock ... Twice as big as Tommy's, in fact. "But we shouldn't," I complained weakly. "I won't do a thing you don't want me to," he promised. "Oh God." I'm sure the Recording Angel put that down as a prayer. "Just let me ...," Tom directed; lifting my dress a little further, to bare my midriff and bellybutton. For a moment he stood there just staring at me ... I felt like adoring me ... and blushed to be so-admired while in such a compromising position. God, you'd think I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever saw! Then Tom was pushing my legs apart. Oh well ... What could I expect. Here I'd practically led him out here, welcomed his advances, lifted my skirt, and spread my legs for his fingers ... is it any wonder the kid wanted a little nookie? For suddenly I thought of Tom as a kid with his hand caught in the cookie-jar, and my furry snatch was the cookie-jar. Now wasn't the time to slam the lid on, after inviting his fingers in. Still, I had *hoped* for a little more finesse. I spread my legs even further; trying to hide my sigh of disappointment at the shortness of the foreplay. If this ever became something more permanent (and I wasn't sure it ever would be, if Tom came as fast as his advances were) then I'd have to teach the kid how to treat a woman right before sticking it in and jerking himself off in her. Only ... Only ... Only Tom didn't "stick it in". His pants weren't even unbuttoned! I felt a slightly stubbly face dip down between my legs ... and suddenly knew Celine was an amateur! While the two of us had fun together, we did each other out of friendship, NOT because "eating clam" was all that great a turn-on to either of us. Tom however, was eating me like my pussy was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, and the delight he had in tasting me was reflected in the way he savored each tasty drop of the slippery ooze I couldn't help producing. Once I jerked; vaguely irritated that my orgasm was so soon. Then a second time; this time clenching his face into my body. The third orgasm took me completely by surprise; and I was vaguely aware of a woman wailing in complete ecstasy ... I think it was me. "Oh Please, Tom," I moaned. "Please?" I wasn't quite sure what I was asking for ... Thankfully my lover was. I no longer thought of Tom as a boy. After that incredible orgasm, he was obviously a man among men; and all or any boys I had after this would always be measured against this one. I felt an insistent pressure against me "down below" and knew if I didn't object I was going to be fucked. Yes, fucked, there was no other word for it. However, if you think I was about to object to Tom putting his prick in me, then you're crazier than I am. Stop him? It was all I could do to keep from raping him instead of him raping me. This however, was far from rape. But it WAS fucking, plain, simple, and yet complex. I felt the man's prick slowly inch it's way into my body, as my body stretched and then welcomed the slippery invader. God, did that feel GOOD. Out about a half-inch, then in almost two. In out, in out, until Tom's swollen member was buried in my belly, and we both looked down at the incredibly erotic sight of my tummy being pushed out each time he slid in, and flattening each time he pulled out. No, tom didn't have some monstrous 12" dick like a porno-star. In fact, two of the three guys I'd previously had sex with, had bigger pricks. But none of them felt better, or more in-place inside me! It felt as if Tom's penis BELONGED inside me for the rest of my life. In out, in out. Oh God ... I was going to cum again! "Please?" I whimpered again, "Please?" This time we both knew exactly what I wanted. "Oh God," he moaned back; echoing my unspoken words. "I can't ... I don't ... Oh God." I couldn't figure out what the problem was, as I kept pulling Tom into me harder and harder. "I've GOT to pull out," he groaned. "It would be a shame to knock a nice kid like you up; and I don't have a rubber." It took almost ten seconds to figure out what he meant. Ten wonderful seconds of glorious sex. In, out. In, out. God, it was good! I made a firm resolution NOT to miss out on such wonderful ecstasy any more than I could help it. In, out. In, out. God, I was going to cum; and if I did there wasn't a chance Tom wouldn't cum too. No guy I ever heard of could hold out against the squeezing tightness of a teenager like me milking his prick in the throes of orgasm. I hurriedly counted the days since my last period .... "Do it," I finally gasped. "Cum in me." "Are you *sure*?" I knew Tom was fighting to hold back with everything he had. I nodded; barely able to groan out an answer. "It's OK," I assured him. "My period was just a little over a week ago, so I'm pretty safe." "Oh God." This time it was Tom's turn to moan, as he buried his prick in my belly. While it was true this wasn't my best time to conceive, there was always a chance, even in the worst times of month. Still, I wasn't about to make him pull out when (as far as I knew) the chances weren't all that good. NEXT time we met I'd be on the pill, if I had to browbeat Mom into it. A slurp, and Tom's prick jerked inside me. Once, twice, and then I wasn't counting any more, as my fourth orgasm of the night overtook me. This time it was right ... proper man/woman sex, with the man's prick properly belching thick white cum filled with sperm into the woman's waiting fertility. God, did that feel good. A prayer, not something obscene. Damn, it's a good thing this *wasn't* my fertile period, as I would have been knocked-up for sure. The resolution to have Mom get me on the pill moved up higher on my priority-list, ahead of remembering to get laid like this more-often. A baby before marriage just was NOT on my agenda. Regretfully, we both pulled apart. A thick river of white goo flowed out of my ravaged vagina for a few seconds, then slowed to a sticky trickle. Damn ... Neither one of us had a handkerchief in these old-fashioned clothes. We looked at each other and giggled; then Tom slipped his prick inside his pants, while I dropped the long dress over my leaking slit. Hopefully, nobody would notice. Tom and I passed each other notes about phone-numbers and other important things while we headed back to the party. "Oh ... THERE you two are," announced Dad, as he and Mom headed our way. "For a moment there, we thought you'd gotten lost in the maze." "Maze?" I asked. "Yeah ... The gardens were designed as a lovers' maze, where men and women could hide out and ... Well, you know." Mom blushed almost as red as I did when saying that. I looked closer at Mom and Dad, while a trickle of cum slowly slid down to one ankle. Dad looked flushed but bright-eyed, while Mom ... Pure and respectable Mom ... That was NOT a silvery dribble sliding down HER leg, now was it? No ... couldn't be! For some reason, on the way home, even though the car smelled intensely of male cum dripping down my leg and through the thin fabric of my skirt, neither one of my parents said a word, or even asked me what I had been doing. Oh yeah ... Mom got me on the pill, and Tom and I expect to be married next year ... right after graduation. Tom sleeps over now, about two times a week; and Mom never says a word. The things you don't know about your parents! -- _____ / ' / ,-/-, __ __. ____ /_ (_/ / (_(_/|_/ / <_/ <_ -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+