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Subject: {ASSM} "A Stretch of the Imagination" by Otter Boy (F-solo, humor, fant, veg)
Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2000 23:10:05 -0500
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<1st attachment, "stretch-of-the-imagination.txt" begin>
Codes: F-solo, fant, veg, humor
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This story contains sexually explicit situations and language. If
this bothers you, disturbs you, angers you, humiliates you, or just
makes you fretful in general, don't read it. If you are underage by
the law of the land in your locality, don't read this. If the law of
your land prohibits erotic literature altogether, I suggest replacing
your government with a less broken one.
This story is copyright 2000 by Otter Boy (writer@death.uits.indiana.edu).
Permission is granted to archive this work with permission of the
author, which will most likely be granted if you ask nicely and agree
to include this disclaimer without modification.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"A Stretch of the Imagination"
by Otter Boy
Maybe it was just something in the air, but Clarisse had been horny
all day. She had awoken with a beguiling little tickle in her
panties, she had sworn that her car's suspension system was designed
specifically to deliver the shock of every pothole to her clitoris
all the way to work, and even once she had gotten to work and
immersed herself in the crushing boredom of accounts receivable, her
frisky cunny continued to work diligently to distract her. During
every trip to the bathroom (and there had been more than usual
today), Clarisse had felt a powerful urge to linger in the stall
after she had patted herself dry and frig herself to a wild,
screaming orgasm.
However, that was hardly acceptable behavior for a junior accounts
receivable clerk at George, Matthew, and Sussex, and so Clarisse had
quietly shelved those urges. God, what a bunch of straight-laced
uptight pricks she worked with! Not a man who had an interest or an
eye for anything beyond /The Wall Street Journal/, and the
women--Jesus Christ, Clarisse had been active in several campus
feminist groups throughout college, and finally she understood the
origin of the term "frigid bitch". These were men and women who
never smiled, never cracked a joke, shat in perfect spheres, and
popped out of their mothers' twats fully toilet trained.
Given the environment, Clarrise had the distinct feeling that if she
were caught diddling in the ladies' room, she'd be bouncing on her
ass out the door before she had the chance to get her knickers back
up past her knees. And so the day had been one of growing and
inexplicable sexual tension that had become a burning frustration by
the time she clocked out of the office and at long last headed for
home.
It was monumentally unfair, Clarisse decided as she waited at a
stoplight on the way home, that her workplace had the indecency to
locate itself a full half hour's drive from her apartment. This
feeling was, she admitted, born of the fact that she was bored,
randy, and anxious to clutch at her genitalia like a chihuahua on
crystal meth the moment she got through the door. However, the
didn't make it feel like any less of a personal slight, and it
certainly didn't put her in a more rewarding job or a relationship,
Clarisse's two primary concerns beyond her current infatuation with
her groin.
"I wonder," she mused, checking the lanes to her left and right, "if
the tinting is strong enough so that I could just rub myself off
right here and get it over with?"
But when she lifted the hem of her flat gray business suit to give
it a try, she found that too much of the fabric was tightly secured
under her butt to allow any more than her token attempt. That, and
as the light changed from red to green and the traffic began to
advance again, she saw the driver of the minivan to her right smile
and give her a thumb's up.
More frustrated than ever, Clarisse angrily flipped him the bird.
"Fuck you, asshole," she said. "You've probably got a wife and two
kids at home and a fucking mistress besides. /Damn/, my pussy is
itchy today. What the fuck's gotten into me?"
The driver of the minivan was clearly trying to keep abreast of
Clarisse as they accelerated down the broad Cincinnati boulevard,
and Clarisse flushed angrily. "Goddammit," she growled. "I want a
piece of /me/, not you, you stupid, horny shit."
She accelerated, but still the minivan stayed almost exactly even
with her Accord. "What the hell am I supposed to do?" she asked.
"Finger myself while I'm driving, just for y--" And her jaw dropped
open, then clenched as she realized that the driver of the other
vehicle was her supervisor, a pudgy, bald-headed, type-A worm of a
man who badgered her as a second career.
Seeing that she had recognized him, Ethan honked his horn briefly
and waved. He slid his tongue over his pale red, massless lips and
leered happily at her, no doubt considering himself quite the stud.
Clarisse flipped him off again, but he only laughed and snapped his
teeth at the air, an act that was no doubt intended to mimic the
capture of a nipple, but resembled only a hungry dachshund reaching
for a snausage dangled directly before it. He wiggled his eyebrows
at her, even the epitome of Casanova.
She shook her head. "I hope you fucking burst into flames," she
said to Ethan's hopelessly conventional vehicle as they slowed for
another traffic light.
To Clarisse's amazement, he did.
Even better, it wasn't Ethan's vehicle that had caught on fire, but
Ethan himself. One moment he was merrily simulating fellatio as
they waited for the time to pass, the next moment he was twisting
and writing in a brilliant orange ball of flames as the sooty black
smoke that had recently been his chest, arms, and legs began to
blacken the window. She saw his palm emerge from the gloom and claw
frantically at the window, but it soon vanished again in the MBA
inferno.
The light turned to green again, and as Clarisse pulled away from
the intersection, she was conscious of three main things. The first
was a feeling of rich and unprincipled glee. The second was a
distinct awareness that the incident had made her even more horny,
and her wetness was beginning to soak through her panties. The
third was a jubiliant cheer at the discovery of her new-found mental
power. With an ability like that, more than ever, she couldn't
/wait/ to get back to her apartment and try a few things...
* * *
Clarisse absent-mindedly manuevered her Honda into the carport
behind her apartment building and killed the engine. It irritated
her that she had to put up with things as petty as parking the car;
after all, she had things to do, powers to investigate, dammit, and
she was *horny*. But as she sat there in the car, ready to extract
the key from the ignition, it occurred to her that perhaps she
didn't need to put up with the administrivia of life any longer.
Clarrise closed her eyes and wished herself inside the apartment.
/Poof/, she thought. She opened her pretty green eyes again and was
rewarded with frustration: the dashboard of her car.
/Hmmm.../ she thought. /It did feel pretty good when that fucker
caught on fire.../ Maybe only sexual thoughts gave her the power.
/What I really wish,/ she thought, /is that I were inside so I could
strip naked and get on with things./
No poof. No living room. Just car. "Goddammit," she said. "It
worked fifteen minutes ago. Just put me in the freaking living
room, already."
And instantly, Clarisse found herself sitting on the couch in the
front room of her apartment, absent-mindedly scratching her cat,
Clawed, behind the ears. The cat purred happily and rolled over to
present his fat belly to her.
"I get it," she said. "If I verbalize whatever I want to happen,
that's how it'll go. At least, that's what it seems like."
Clawed's purring had now risen in volume to the point of
distraction. "Oh, Clawed," she murmured as she tickled him under
the chin. "I wish you were a vibrator."
And no sooner had Clarisse said that words than Clawed had
metamorphosed into a smooth, plastic, tiger-striped vibrator. It
buzzed and hummed exuberantly, evidently clamoring for exposure to
an orifice flushed with involuntary embarassment and deepening
sexual tension. She brought her slim hands to her mouth and giggled
helplessly.
"Oops! I'm sorry, Clawed, I /don't/ wish you were a vibrator." She
paused for a moment, then added, "I wish you were a kitty," as an
afterthought.
Inside of a second, Clawed was transformed back into a pudgy
fourteen pounds of kitty that sniffed and glowered at her, his
dignity obviously having been grievously wounded by his short stint
as a personal massager. He glared at her for a moment to emphasize
the magnitude of her gaffe in the world of feline society, then
hopped down from the couch and waddled off in search of a smackerel
of Tender Vittles.
"Well," said Clarisse to herself, once her laughter had subsided to
the point where speech was no longer a chore. "Why am I sitting
around in here? I should be in the bedroom." She paused, then
said, "No, fuck that. I'm feeling horny /and/ inventive. Put me in
the kitchen."
And instantaneously, there she was, sitting on the floor, slightly
reclined, with her legs bent and her straightened arms supporting
her body. Clarisse grinned mischieviously and breathed in deeply,
enjoying the way the action caused her breasts to swell against the
still-buttoned jacket of her suit. It felt like the fabric was a
warm hand enclosing both of her breasts, and the snug sensation
served only to elevate her burgeoning sexual desire.
After this, however, Clarrise looked down at herself and sniffed
contemptuously. "Clothes?" she said. "What the hell do I need
clothes for? Let them be gone!"
Suddenly all of Clarisse's attire lay beside her on the kitchen
floor, nicely folded and sorted in order of layer. Her moist
panties were at the top of the pile, and Clarisse wasn't altogether
sure whether the cloying scent in the air eminated from the
dew-soaked cotton panel or her freshly exposed vulva.
She lightly rubbed her hands all over her naked body, her soft
fingertips sending tingles up her spine as they grazed over the
milky skin on her breasts and down her belly to the hot thicket of
hair that covered her pubic mound. She ran her fingers through her
pubes, moving just close enough to her inner lips so that she could
detect a hint of her moisture at the tips of her fingers.
"Yeah," said Clarisse. "This is going to be perfect!" As if to
test the validity of her statement, she tweaked one of her nipples
and immediately felt a sensual protest in her clitoris. Then she
used one hand to gently part the lips of her vulva as she used the
lindex finger of the opposite hand to graze the tip of her
clitoris--and when she did so, she threw her head back as her hips
bucked convulsively.
Grinning evilly, Clarisse used the toes of her right foot to swing
open the door of the refrigerator. As it swung open, the overhead
light inside the refrigerator lit up to reveal a smorgasboard of
vegetables and fruit on its shelves. Clarisse was a vegetarian, and
this was her diet. Today, however, the produce was to be used to
satisfy another appetite altogether.
"Okay, groceries," Clarisse said to the shelves. "Today is your
lucky day. You're not gonna get eaten. You're gonna get fucked."
Clarisse laid back on the kitchen floor with her legs parted and her
bent knees in the air. She rubbed her palm absent-mindedly a few
times over her vaginal lips as she deliberated how exactly she ought
to go about this--after all, she had a new power to explore, and
there was no telling where she could take this!
Clarisse raised one hand into the air and presented its open palm.
"Carrot," she commanded, as if she were a doctor preparing for
investigative surgery.
No carrot appeared just yet, so she added, "Please," and the
requested vegetable materialized in her hand.
As she twirled the carrot idly in her hand, she addressed the unseen
force that was seeing to her desires. "Let's get something
straight," she said. "I'm fucking horny. And I better not have to
say 'please' to you the whole damn time I'm trying to get myself
off."
She felt that the atmosphere of the room reflected some sort of
celestial understanding, and so she smiled and brought the carrot
down to the cleft of her swollen pussy lips. One hand rubbed the
flesh around her love button in a circular motion while the other
slowly guided the carrot into her vagina.
"Ohhh yeah," she sighed, finally able to experience the sensations
for which she had been aching all day.
Clarisse furiously rubbed at her swelling clitoris, and she pumped
the carrot in and out of her well-lubricated pussy. But the carrot
was providing only marginal pressure on the sensitive flesh on the
roof of her vagina, and Clarisse demanded some better G-spot
stimulation. Tossing the wet carrot aside, she raised her hand
again and commanded, "Cucumber!"
Apparently the unseen force had accepted her earlier rant, for the
demanded vegetable appeared in the hand. "Ahhh," sighed Clarisse as
she set about the task of working the cucumber into her vagina. The
fingers of her right hand provided constant pressure on her clit as
she pushed the vegetable against the opening of her pussy. She
could feel every ridge and bump of the green produce as it slowly
sank into her body, causing a delightful sensation of fullness that
electrified her. Her relentless stroke of her clitoris accelerated,
and she began to pump the lumpy vegetable dildo in and out of
herself.
Oh, yeah, this was good, and the girth of the cucumber was putting
the most exquisite pressure against her G-spot, causing that part of
her vaginal wall to swell against the intgruder and add an erotic
aching sensation to the flood of feelings that was dominating her.
"Yeah, ribbed for her comfort," Clarisse sighed as she pistoned the
green vegetable.
But even though all of this felt like the caress of heaven itself,
Clarisse wasn't yet satisfied. Dammit, there was a whole new world
to explore here--she wanted more, more, more!
"And," she added, "I /know/ that I'll be able to take whatever I
dish out, right?"
Again it felt as if the cosmos had nodded in agreement, and so
Clarisse retrieved the cucumber from its moist container and lobbed
it over her shoulder, extending her hand yet again and calling out,
"Celery."
A single stalk of celery appeared in Clarisse's hand, and she
angrily tossed it back into the fridge. "Look, asshole," she said,
"when I say 'celery', I mean a whole bunch of celery, not just one
friggin' stalk, kapish?"
Instantly (and was that a musical chime she had heard in the
background?) the bunch of celery appeared in her hand. Her clitoral
stimulation hand worked overtime as her other hand pushed the thick
bundle of stalks against the slick opening of her pussy.
On any other day, accepting so large a package would have been out
of the question, but now Clarisse could feel the walls of her vagina
stretch to accomodate the foreigner without any discomfort to speak
of. In fact, it mostly felt totally, absolutely, deliciously,
overwhelmingly /full/ in a way that she had never experienced
before.
"Ahhhrugghhh..." she breathed as she slid the thick bundle of stalks
in and out of her throbbing pussy and its walls spasmed and she
frigged wildly at her engorged clitoris. "Oh, yes, oh yes, aw
goooood, yeah..."
Clarisse's rhythm increased and then increased again, and she
slammed the produce into herself at an alarming rate as her
fingertips played over her sensitive nubbin like a blind
speedreader. "Unnghhh... unnghhh... unnshhh..."
But even though it all felt intense enough to blast her eardrums
right out of her skull, the part of Clarisse that was still sentient
rather than primal demanded still more.
"Gahhhh... mmmmphhh... give me... uhhghh... a squash!"
And, as commanded, a heavy, pale yellow vegetable about a foot long
and a good five to six inches in diameter appeared in her waiting
hand. But the several pound weight of her new love object did not
frighten Clarisse away; in fact, with a single contyraction of her
pelvic muscles, she shot the bundle of celery across the kitchen,
and it smacked wetly against the cabinets hard enough to rattle
glassware on the shelves.
No sooner was the celery gone than she was using both hands to guide
the monstrous vegetable into her eager pussy, and once again the
walls of her vagina magically expanded to accept the biological
dildo. She could find no feature to grasp on the slick squash to
use to push it in and out of her, but she found that by rhythmically
contracting the muscles in her vagina, she could alternatiely push
the massive vegetable out of her pussy and suck it back in. This
freed both of her hands for full-time work on her aching clitoris,
and she used one hand to hold the small shaft steady as she applied
direct rubbing pressure to it with the other.
"Ooooouuuhhh!" she moaned as she made the squash drum against her
cervix over and over. She had thought that she had felt full with
the celery, but the squash made her feel incomparably /occupied/.
Her head was tilted back and her eyes were tightly shut, but in the
window of her mind, Clarisse could see clearly how the skin of her
abdomen rose and fell as the thick vegetable pumped in and out of
her.
The intensity of feeling caused by the violent probing and her
frantic fingerwork was at last becoming too much for Clarisse, and
her moans and guttural interjections became less and less coherent
as her body began to scheme to give itself salvation in the form of
an other-worldly, mind-shattering orgasm.
"Gnnugnghhh... hrrgnnghh. Mmmugh! Uhhh... ohshit gngghh fuckyeh
gahhhhh..." Her head flipped wildly from side to side, and the
relentless pistoning of the squash continued.
But it was still not enough, not for the big climax. She needed
just a little bit more, just a bit more, something bigger...
"Pumpkin!" she cried in a brief moment of coherence.
A reasonably-sized Halloween carving pumpkin of perhaps eight pounds
magically appeared inside her vagina and moved itself back and forth
just as the squash had been doing a moment ago. But instead of
gratitude, Clarisse felt a twinge of anger. Her pussy fired the
pumpkin at the wall of the kitchen like a cannon, and it exploded
into a mist of seeds and pulp as it shattered on impact.
Clawing at her overstimulated clitoris, Clarisse screamed,
"Godddammit, not a fucking /normal/ pumpkin! I want the
motherfucking county fair winning, won't fit in a wheelbarrow, three
hundred pound pumpkin from hell! /Give me my fucking pumpkin, I
wanna COME!/"
And then there it was inside of her, distorting her entire body
around its massive girth. She was lifted off the floor entirely by
the gargantuan vegetable, and her feet touched the ground only on
the downstroke as she humped the collosal pumpkin. The thing easily
measured a good four feet across and five feet high and made her
felt right on the edge of popping and Jesus Mother Fuckin'-A
/Christ/, did it feel good!
The moist sucking sounds of the bloated gourd entering and
withdrawing from her vaginal vault threatened to eclipse her moans
in volume as she bounced up and down its entire orange-ribbed
length, but this was not due to any lack of effort on Clarisse's
part. As she diddled at her clitoris with both hands and an almost
maniacal fervor, she saw the engulfing shadow of her impending
orgasm looming on the horizon, as big as a fucking ocean liner and
bearing down fast.
"Ahhhghhhh..." moaned Clarisse, utterly and totally lost in her
passion and one with the universe. "Ennrrghh... nngggrgghh... oh
yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah ohyeah ohyeah... ah, ah, oh--oh--oh y--"
"MISS LEONARD!" a voice behind Clarisse bellowed.
Clarisse screamed as the world warped around her and fantasy
splintered into fragments and she came crashing back into the
unsatisfying world of her cramped junior accountant's cubicle, her
daydreams broken and fading. She spun wildly in her office chair,
her toes curling in her restrictive pantyhose as she peered at Ethan
Hardridge with fear and alarm.
"I've been watching you for the past ten minutes, Miss Leonard. You
haven't done a thing. Not a blasted thing."
Her eyes fixated on the tightly woven beige carpet instead of the
angry, pudgy face of her supervisor. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hardridge. I
must have been distracted." Inwardly, she enjoyed the greater truth
of her statement.
"We don't pay you to idle," said Ethan. "You can be out of here
just like that--" He snapped his fingers. "You'd better realize
that."
"Yes, sir," said Clarisse, still not daring to meet his gaze. "I'm
sorry."
"Hmmphh," Ethan snorted, making it clear that he was accepting
Clarisse's apology only out of social obligation. "Try to keep on
task in the future, Miss Leonard. George, Matthews, and Sussex
expects a little more from its employees."
With that, he spun around and marched from her cubicle, giving her
no chance to protest or respond even if she had been so motivated.
Sulkily, Clarisse set her fingers on the home row of her keyboard
and studied the account open on her computer monitor.
But in her mind, her vagina was swallowing Ethan Hardridge whole and
firing him out like an artillery shell, and he would explode against
the side of the building in a thousand meaty bits as her body
vibrated with the best orgasm ever...
THE END
<1st attachment end>
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