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Subject: {ASSM} [BSFSF] Endgame, by Tom Bombadil
Date: Sat, 22 Nov 2003 23:10:02 -0500
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via Goldberry
Goldberry12spam@hotmail.spamcom (you can figure this out :)

Emails to me or posts to ass.d will also be read by Tom.

Enjoy!


[BSFSF] Endgame

by Tom Bombadil  (c) Nov 2003

This one is for Bradley Stoke's Flash Stroke Festival.  As stated below, 
anyone, including Mr. Bradley Stoke on his ASSTR web page, can list, 
archive, and/or share this story.

Disclaimer:  All the standard rules apply.  If you are offended by 
explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is illegal to 
possess such materials at your location, if you are under-age by law in 
your location, or if somebody else thinks you might have too much fun 
reading it, stop right now and remove this text from your computer.

This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions 
described by me coming straight out of my imagination.  As a work of 
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or actions 
described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in my life, or 
known to me in the lives of any of my friends or relatives.

You've been warned.

I give permission for anyone to share or archive this story.

********************************************************************

Endgame
A chill radiates from the large window, temporarily welcome on my 
overheated skin.  Cupping my breasts from behind, my lover's hands are 
now much more gentle, his touches lighter and more affectionate, his 
lips playfully nibbling on my ear, teasing me with kisses as his 
immediate lusts have been satisfied.  He has rented us a beautiful 
chalet, cozy but not cramped, high on a hill.  The fire is burning down, 
but it is warm and fills the air with the scents of pine and fir.  My 
limbs are still shaking a little in the aftermath.  It has been decades 
since I experienced anything like ...

Outside, the snow has stopped, the clouds have cleared, and a full moon 
floats high and bright in the night sky.  Far below our cozy nest, like 
a scene from a Christmas movie, the town glitters as though lit with a 
million candles.  Inside one of those tiny houses, my husband is 
"working late" with yet another mistress.  I lean back into my lover's 
embrace, smiling because for the first time since I married him, I will 
not be there to meet my husband when he finally staggers home.

<Fin>

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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