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From: "Raw Truth" <rawtruth@biogate.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 22 Mar 2000 22:53:23 PST
Subject: {ASSM} Dream (FF MF M)
Date: Thu, 23 Mar 2000 06:10:01 -0500
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I have intense dreams, dreams that sometimes overshadow my waking life. What
follows is a typical example. I don't know if they'll make sense to anyone
else, so feedback is appreciated.
I've been to the theater with a leggy Asian lady. Between acts, we
smooched and fondled each other shamelessly. After the show, we're going to
my office. Our eveningwear is mussed. She pulls my shirt-tail out during the
elevator ride up, reaching under my shirt to run her red, red nails across
my chest. She laughs and says that it's almost womanish, how sensitive my
nipples are. I grunt an exaggerated he-man grunt and pull up her dress,
sliding my hand into her panties. They are noticeably wet with her arousal.
Ding! The door slides open and we slip apart. She pulls her dress back
down and steps into the dark hall. I follow her, and we walk down the
hallway without a word. I am behind her, watching the hypnotic dance of her
firm buttocks as she walks. She sways her hips deliberately, enticing me
with their incredible grace. She winks at me and walks into the Ladies room.
I continue down the hall to the conference room, unlocking it with my
key and quietly opening the door. I take off my shoes and leave them in the
hall. I enter in stocking feet. Although I leave the lights off, the windows
are open allowing the streetlights to paint the room in a pale blue glow. I
take off my pants, fold them, and place them on the conference table.
I walk across the room and wait in the darkness. The PA system turns on
with a crackle. The volume is very low, but I can hear the introduction to a
Book on Tape; F. Scott Fitzgerald, I think. It is hot and still. Time
passes. I feel a bead of sweat roll down my inside leg.
After who knows how long, the Asian woman enters. She unlocks the door
with a key of her own and opens it. She is wearing a grass skirt and combat
boots, but nothing else. I stand perfectly still, not so much as breathing
as she climbs up onto the table. She lies down with her legs spread, a clear
invitation to anyone coming through the open door. She closes her eyes and
begins to recite along with the recording. Does she even know I'm here?
The night-shift cleaning lady steps into the doorway, dressed in her
brown overalls. She is a dark, attractive woman of ambiguous ethnicity.
Hispanic, perhaps, or Hawaiian, Asian, Spanish. . . She pulls a strap-on
cock from her equipment belt and slides the shaft of it into her mouth,
lubricating its orange rubber extent. She puts it on over her clothes and
steps toward the table. She teases the lady with the tip of the dong, making
her want but not making her plead. She penetrates then, pumping with slow
and even strokes. The lady's breath becomes uneven, she stops speaking, and
the strokes become more confident. The Asian beauty screams out my name,
thrashing under the ministrations of the muscular custodian and falling limp
as her lover withdraws.
The cleaning lady takes off the dildo and tosses it in the trash. She
writes on the white board: "1:30 AM Fucked visitor" Then she is gone, and I
can hear the quiet recitation of the novel and the shallow breathing of my
Asian companion.
Times passes. Sweat pools under my armpits. There is a click as the
Book on Tape ends. A clock strikes in the distance. The lady on the table
stirs. She looks up at me and tells me I was wonderful, just the best. She
sits up and dangles her feet to the floor. Some of the stems of her grass
skirt were broken in her recent encounter, others bend out at right angles
to the curve of her hips.
She approaches me and promises to make me feel as good as she feels.
She presses me up against the glass and hisses, parting my lips with her
tongue, drawing curly-q's on my cheek with it, and probing one ear as if she
expects to find treasure there. She whispers in my ear that we are being
watched. I ask by whom. She answers that there is a man in the West Tower. I
ask her what he is doing, but kiss her before she has a chance to answer.
She is cold to the kiss and ends it quickly. He is holding binoculars in one
hand, she says, and masturbating with the other.
She looks out the window, talking to me but unresponsive to my touch. I
suppose you are the kind of man who would do that, she says. I suppose
you've spent a night alone like that.
No, I reply, I am the sort of man who would do this! I pull her
forward and step around behind her in one motion. She slaps against window,
gasping as her breasts press against the cold glass. I put one hand on her
shoulder, pointing my cock between her cheeks with the other.
I suppose you are, she says as I guide my cock between her wet lips. I
slide into her slowly. As I penetrate deeper, the warmth of her body
evaporates until she is only a reflection on the window. I look past it and
see a slender Asian woman pressed against the glass of a window across the
way. I cannot hear her panting and moaning, but I see her throw her head
back in obvious ecstasy. The man behind her is driving into her with deep,
powerful strokes. With each thrust, she is pressed hard against the glass
and her breasts press flat. I finger myself in time with their fucking, and
climax just as he climaxes. My jism erupts, passes uninterrupted through the
window, and falls as if in slow motion onto the sidewalk below.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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