Message-ID: <43650asstr$1059437405@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Version: caremail 7.5.3401.0 From: "Emily van Haankden" X-Original-Message-ID: <19F4382D7C184014DBC6B8D9EF9F523E@emilyvhaankden.care2.com> X-Priority: Normal Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-MIME-Autoconverted: from quoted-printable to 8bit by sara.asstr-mirror.org id h6SHV0YN008477 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 18:30:53 +0100 Subject: {ASSM} Friend of the Family Wank {Emily van Haankden} (Fm mast scat) Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 20:10:05 -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: newsman, hecate This is a work of ADULT fiction. It is contains highly graphic depictions of extreme sexual behaviour. It is not suitable for children under the age of 18. ------------------------------------------------ ---------------------- Story Codes: Fm mast scat Friend of the Family Wank ---------------------------------------------- by Emily van Haankden Making yourself comfy in someone else's bedroom is always a bit weird, but I didn't want the headache -- wipers endlessly on driving through grey November drizzle, concentrating too hard on the motorway -- to spoil the evening, so we all agreed it was best if I had a bit of lie down for an hour or so. I drew the curtains, took some aspirin, lay down on top of the covers, undid the top of my jeans, slipped my hand down, and slowly lost myself in my favourite fantasy of the moment: Jack bending his little boyish botty over my head and huffing and puffing till he shits over my face; big soft light brown Mr Whippy swirls of creamy pooh, filling my mouth and covering my nose and eyes in stinky mess. Sometimes nasty is too nasty, but sometimes nasty is just nice. I didn't last long, and as my orgasm subsided, I drifted off into a light head- healing sleep. Mathew stood above me, all nervous, diffident, excuse me please Miss, mug of tea in his hand. I waved the tea towards the bedside table. "Are you feeling any better?" Mathew was a girlish boy, still with an unbroken voice. 13 at a guess. Pencil thin figure, with barely controlled curly brown hair, soft full lips, and bright hazel eyes. What a little angle. "A little" He handed me the tea. "Your hands are cold ... here, come and rub my temples". He didn't know quite what I meant, so I took his hands and placed his finger tips on the sides of my temples, and showed him how to gently message my aching brow in delicate little circles. Massage is a funny thing. You can rub yourself in the same place, in the same way, but it's just not the same if someone else does it. I sighed back into the pillow as his cool fingertips pressed soothingly into the fuzzy pain inside my head. I tingled as he washed my face in his warm breadth, leaning his face above mine as he focused with childish intensity on his task. I cooed and whispered how very nice it was, all the time softly pleading that he do it gently and more slowly. Boys are so easily assume trying hard equals doing it hard, but then, as something else was becoming hard, I could forgive him. The tent pole pushing up the centre of Mathews trousers pointed at me with juvenile keenness. I let him stop massaging me, and patted the bed for him to sit beside me. He did, and as he did so, he did that guy thing of looking me up and down along my prone body. Something caught his attention, and his eyes lasered in on my groin. Oh dear. I'd left the top of my jeans undone, and Mathew was gazing at the crimson frilly mesh of the top of my panties peeping out of the open Vee of my jeans. I lay my hand on the top of his thigh, and gave it a friendly squeeze. "Thank you, that was lovely ... do you give a lot of massages?" "No" he popped, blushing. "You should, you have lovely hands, show me them" He held out his hands. I inspected them and then took one hand in mine, and give it a little squeeze, before resting it casually on the top of my chest, so that the back of his hand was lying on my bosom. We talked for a few minutes, my hand on his thigh, his hand in mine resting on my breast. Mathew had a relaxed and easy charm with adults. His dad's a hotel manager, and Mathew had hung round people in social environments all his brief life, and it showed. I moved my hand so it was just touching the side of his erection with the side of my thumb -- nearly but not quite accidental, and asked if he had a girlfriend. He said no, so I asked about his sexiest teacher. He went all shy. I coaxed him, telling him teachers have sexiest pupils, and perhaps he was her sexist pupil. The thought, of course, hadn't occurred to him. Kids think teachers live in cupboards and only come out to teacher, whereas, it only feels like that sometimes. He talked with a bright face about Miss Bateman. I asked him what was sexy about her. He was all coy, unable to quite explain what was it that made her the linchpin of so many of his fantasies. So I asked him to describe her. Very long blonde hair, pretty blue eyes, nice smile. I asked him about he boobs, what sort of tits did she have. He blushed and turned his head away, but I caught his eye. "Well?" "Well ... sort of like yours" "What do you mean?" The poor love, he was squirming now. "er ... well, kinda small but ... er ... well she's got very ..." he hesitated over whether he should use a dirty word in front of a grown up. "Yes..." "well she's got very tall nips like you" he said in a rush. I laughed. Like this you mean. I pulled the front of my tee-shirt to my neck to show my little flat boobies with there large dark areola and tall nipples. "Ohhhhh WOW!" the startled boy cried. I glowed ... my tits don't often get a WOW. I placed my hand back on this thigh, but this time the palm of my hand covered the pointy tent in the poor lad's trousers. I pressed it flat. Instinctively he pushed against my hand. I'd like to say I knew exactly what I was doing at this point. It wouldn't be true, but I'd like to say it. With me, it's not just getting carried away, it's the addictive thrill of doing something naughty, something wicked. The door was half open. I felt sure I could hear if anybody came up the stairs. I could play with fire and get away with it. What a total dirty rush. I hadn't met Mathew or his parents before, they were friends of Lindsey. But when you teach you get good at judging people, and I judged Mathew was up for it, and not just his cock. A lad like Mathew, well he revels in being the man, is flattered by being taken as an equal, and would never say no to a bit of backroom hanky- panky. Not a bad lad, just one who wants to be on the inside. I cupped the back of Mathew's head with my hand, and lead him down to my breast. I stretched up into his pretty mouth as he sucked at my left tittie and then bobbed over to the right one. I gripped his cock through his trousers, and gave it a slow but firm rub. The boy slavered over my tits, my hand on his head guiding him to divide his attention between both hot nipples. My whispers imploring him to be gentle even as he was overwhelmed with excitement and lust and novelty and surprise and everything! I would be lost to his clumsy passion if I didn't take control. With the slightest change of timbre, a school teacher told him to stand up. Years of obedience training paid off, and he stood on shaky confused legs. I decided to dispense with foils and duels and to get to the point. We had are oasis of privacy, but who knew for how long. I unbuckled at his belt and tugged his trousers down to his knees. His tiny sky blue little undies - the kind only mummies buy - came too, and a perfectly formed cock sprung with bouncy enthusiasm. Mathew was no Jack when it came to being well hung. It stood, and I do mean stood, nearly vertically, four inches high, thin, veined, with an open fat purple head, a fringe of wispy pubic hair, and a pair balls so low hanging they almost looked like a pair of novelty items suck on as an afterthought. (Though quite a few of my girlfriends think that's true of all men's genitals.) I glanced up at Mathew and it was obvious that he had no idea was happening so fast to him. How very delicious. I ducked down - me sitting on the edge of the bed, my tee shirt fallen back to cover myself again, him standing in front of me, trousers down, in his parents bedroom. I took his cock in my mouth and started to give it a good firm no nonsense blowjob. This wasn't a time for a subtle beautiful experience. This was time for a quick nasty bit of sex in the gloom of a wet November afternoon. Mathew groaned loudly with feel of my mouth on his cock. I snatched my mouth away and give him a stern "SScccchh!" before returning to the job. There is something so splendid about controlling a man through his cock; times ten when controlling a boy brimming with wonder at what's happening to him. Of course, the trouble with boys is ... they're just so much shorter. So to spare my neck, I sit up and continue to give the dazed but happy youth a handjob, lifting up my tee-shirt again to give him something to aim at. I pump his cock till my hand is nearly a blur and my wrist is aching, and I'm just about to switch hands when he shoots his load all over my tits and tummy. Big white lumps of spunk slide down my front as Mathew tries to muffle his down shouts of pleasure. I quickly lick my hand clean and wipe the cooling spunk off my boobs and out of my belly button off with tissues, before all of my clothes get stained, then walk briskly to the enjoining bathroom. Someone is coming up the stairs. In heart stopping panic I check Mathew, but he's already had the sense to pull his trousers up. Lindsey appears at the door. "They were just wondering if everything is OK up here" Every syllable drips with double entendre and sarcasm. "Yes Yes" I shoo her away, cross she'd made my body dump half a ton of adrenalin round my heart with no obvious way of using it. "We'll see you both soon then" and leaves with a wink. Suddenly I feel pretty grotty and sordid. Mathew just looks at me as I dab tissues at the spunk stains on the carpet. And then notice a streak of spunk must of gone over my shoulder and rained on one of the pillows. "Who sleeps hear?" "Mummy" "Well I bet she'll be thinking of you tonight" as I tried to remove the worst of the stains. I sit down, still a bit flustered. "You'd better go down, Mathew. I'll be along in a minute." He skips off, genuinely pleased he can go back to being a boy again. I sit and sip at the half cold tea - yuck - and wonder whether being so stupid is worth the risk. And then I go downstairs, and I see Lindsey's eyes are twinkling at me, and it dawns on me that she set the whole thing up, and I can't help my face breaking out into a big cheesy grin, and I can't look at her, because if I do, I'll just giggle. Oh yeah, it's worth it. ---------------------------------------------- by Emily van Haankden / web: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ESF/www / ftp: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/ESF/ Help the planet each day! 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