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Subject: {ASSM} {EZ} Bad Girl (many but mild) <*>
Date: Wed, 19 Apr 2000 19:10:34 -0400
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The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations where it is legal. If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read. This is a copyrighted work. Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written
permission of the copyright holder, except may be posted as part
of a review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive
sites.
Copyright 2000 by E. Z. Riter.
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
Please! Give me your comments!
Dear Reader, I want to thank Mat Twassel and Bronwen for the
seeds, and Ruthie and Gail for editing and assistance. My
stories are now archived in the ftp section at www.asstr-mirror.org
Good reading. E.Z.
BAD GIRL
"Flight 555 now leaving for Albuquerque," the loud speaker
announced.
Bag and briefcase in hand, I joined the throng at the gate. The
woman I'd been watching was a few passengers behind me.
She was an attractive woman but not unusually so. In fact,
nothing was unusual about her except her body language. That
spoke volumes. Eyes glued to the laptop in front of her, she'd
squirmed in her seat. Her mouth would slowly open. Her eyes
would widen and she'd blush furtively before glancing up to see
if she were being watched. Then, she'd focus on the laptop again
to repeat the cycle.
She could be doing only one thing - reading an erotic story. And
she was aroused.
If her secret was reading erotica, mine was writing it. As I
watched her in the terminal, a story bubbled in my mind.
I knew she was married from the rings on her fingers. Did she
have children? A lover? What did she and her husband do behind
the locked door of their bedroom? Did they do it alone?
The boarding queue slowly entered the plane and I worked my way
to row 27, threw my suitcase in the overhead, and slipped into
the window seat. To my pleasant surprise, she was hovering
behind me.
"Excuse me," she said. "You're in my seat."
"Oh?" I replied. "What seat number is on your boarding pass?"
"Twenty-seven C. And C is the window seat."
"I'm sorry, but A is the window seat."
"That can't be. I specifically asked for a window," she replied
tersely.
"I'll be happy to trade with you," I said smiling at her.
She seemed relieved. I wondered if she was a white knuckle flyer
and the window brought solace. As I slipped back into the aisle
to let her enter, she brushed against me. I smelled a natural
scent that made my cock twitch.
When the plane was safely in the air, she turned in her seat with
her shoulder resting against the window and hurriedly opened her
laptop computer.
Ah, that's the reason she wanted that seat, I thought. She wants
to finish her story.
In seconds, her body language began again. In the terminal, her
legs had been primly together, feet on the floor. Now, angled in
her seat with her legs extended, she was reading intensely. Her
legs opened slightly. Her feet angled out as if a lover were
between them.
After twenty minutes, I could stand it no longer. I turned to
her and said, "Are you enjoying your reading?"
Her eyes were glazed when she looked at me.
"What did you say?" she mumbled as she struggled to focus.
"Are you enjoying your reading?"
"Oh, no. It's just memos from the office. I have to catch up."
I leaned closer to her.
"You're not reading memos. You're reading dirty stories and
they're turning you on," I said as my eyes held hers.
The blood drained from her face as she slumped back against the
seat. When her color returned, her frightened eyes locked onto
mine.
"You're wrong," she gasped. "I'd never do anything like that."
I whispered, "I'm not wrong, but don't worry. I read them, too.
In fact, I write them."
We were inches apart and eye to eye. Hers, colored a marvelous
light brown, were wide and uncomprehending. I leaned back,
hoping my smile was nonthreatening and sexy. She closed the
laptop abruptly and sat primly again, facing forward.
It seemed an hour, but was probably less than a minute when she
said, "I don't believe you."
"How can I prove it?" I asked.
"If I read such things, and I'm not saying I do, mind you, but .
. . would I have read anything by you?" she asked.
"I don't know. I write under the name E.Z. Riter."
"Now I know you're lying," she said, but her eyes said something
else. "I was reading one of his stories." She blushed at her
admission and looked guilty as a thief with a hand in the poor
box.
"I always enjoy talking to a reader," I replied. I gave her my
best grin. She gave me a dirty look, sat back, and then quickly
lunged toward me.
"All right. Prove it! He wrote a story about a woman who wants
her husband to impregnate her best friend on a special holiday."
"That's V Day," I said.
"Oh. Okay. He wrote a long mind control story."
"My Inheritance."
She asked more questions about my stories. Somewhere during the
grilling, I raised the seat arm and moved into the middle seat to
be next to her.
"Move back to your own seat," she said firmly.
We didn't talk for about fifteen minutes. She was as still as a
statue. Finally, she turned back to me.
"Are you married?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
"I am."
Silence again. When the plane started its descent, she resumed
our conversation by saying, "You really are E.Z. Riter, aren't
you?"
"Yes, I am," I said.
"Do you live what you write or is it all fantasy?" she asked.
Her voice had an urgent undertone.
"When I write violence or harm to someone, it's fantasy."
"Like `Slaves'?"
"Yes, but the others are all real or reality based."
"Oh, sure. Like `Karen', where the woman has an affair with her
daughter's fianc . You're not going to pretend that was real."
"Close enough. I know a man who's having an affair with his
mother-in-law."
"People don't do those things! Do they?" she asked
incredulously.
"You'd be amazed at what real life brings."
"Not in my corner of the world. Do you . . . " She stopped,
turned beet red, and shivered.
"Go on. You can ask me."
"What about the people in `Heat'?"
"That was a completely true story about me and a wonderful woman
I was seeing."
"You? I thought it was about a married couple."
"Well, she was married," I replied. It was my turn to blush and
she grinned. It was the first warm, sexy grin I'd gotten from
her.
"So you do live what you write."
"Not exactly, but I do enjoy sex and pleasing women," I replied.
"Was that you in `Anniversary'?"
"No. They're good friends of mine. They've been happily married
many years now."
"Good heavens! I always thought you writers made it all up."
"Most of it's real, but I never let a few facts stand in the way
of a good story."
As we listened to the flight attendant's pre-landing
announcements, our eyes never parted. Her confusion was
palatable.
"Do you live in Albuquerque?" she asked.
"No. I live in Houston. I'm going to be here for a week on
business. Do you live here?"
"I live someplace else," she said secretively. "Where are you
staying?"
"The Airport Hilton."
"Me, too."
Our mundane conversation ended as the plane bumped to the ground.
In the van to the hotel, we sat apart. We carefully avoided each
other when checking in as to not reveal our true identities.
I hesitated to say anything because she'd rebuffed me on the
plane, but when I exited the elevator on the second floor she
asked, "What's your room number?"
"Two twenty-nine," I answered.
She nodded in solemn acknowledgment as the elevator doors closed.
When she knocked fifteen minutes later, I opened the door so
quickly it startled her. She took a deep breath and held it as
she stared at me. I thought I could hear her heart thumping, or
maybe it was mine. Finally, she exhaled and a tiny smile curled
the corners of her lips.
"May I come in?" she said.
She was wearing the business suit she'd worn on the plane. Camel
colored, it was a coat over a white blouse and a skirt.
"E.Z., I'm a good wife. My husband's the only man I've had." I
didn't say anything. She walked to the window to stare out at
the street below. She turned back toward me. "I want to be
someone else for a few days."
"Who do you want to be?" I asked.
She grinned sexily. "I'll pick a name from one of your stories."
She thought for a second. "Just call me Becky. I want to do
things I've never done before and probably will never do again,
but E.Z., I want to do it my way."
"Which is?"
"Tonight, just you and me."
"I'd like that," I replied.
"So would I," she said with in a throaty growl. She slipped off
the suit coat and threw it on the chair.
We watched each other undress. I took her in my arms and kissed
her.
Taking my hands in hers, she murmured, "Come on" as she pulled me
toward the bed. "Hurry," she said as she scooted on the bed to
rest her head on the pillows.
"No foreplay. I want you in me, E.Z.," she insisted.
Quickly, she thrashed in her first orgasm.
"So good. Don't stop. Please. More."
The light green of the bedspread turned dark from her sweat
before she lay replete under me. I slipped out and rolled over.
"You didn't cum," she said after she floated down from her
afterglow.
"A little trick I learned. Now I want you to suck my cock."
She smiled as she slipped down the bed to wrap her mouth around
me.
Two hours and much fun later, she slipped out of bed and began
dressing.
"Tomorrow night I want to be tied up and . . . " She exhaled
loudly. Her eyes were devilish and bright. "...taken roughly."
"How roughly?"
"This really is for my pleasure, isn't it?" she questioned.
"Yes."
"I probably need a good spanking," she replied coyly.
"I can do that," I said.
"I thought you could," she countered.
We didn't speak as she finished dressing. At the door, she
quickly turned to kiss me on the lips.
"See you tomorrow night, E.Z.," she promised.
I was in Albuquerque to work with a small, but dynamic, high-tech
firm. Three men and a woman made up their management team. The
woman, Sylvia, was the president. She wasn't a figurehead. She
ran the place with an iron hand. She was also the wife of
Jeremy, the chief high-tech maven. I'd been to bed with Sylvia.
In their open marriage, she slept with anyone she wanted and she
wanted a lot.
Over coffee that morning, I told Sylvia and Jeremy about the
woman from the plane who called herself Becky. They lent me the
bondage equipment from their collection and that night I was
ready when Becky appeared at my door.
Becky stripped hurriedly. Her eyes gleamed, her skin was a faint
pink as the blood coursed through her in anticipation of our
evening together. She trembled a little when I locked the wrist
restraints on her and groaned when I bound her arms behind her,
wrist to elbow.
I tantalized her breasts and caressed her body as she shifted
eagerly from foot to foot. Her pussy was soaking wet. With
hands and mouth, I took her to the edge of orgasm and stopped.
Taking her head in both hands, I said, "You're a wild little
slut, Becky. You need a good, hard spanking."
"Yes, I do," she answered eagerly. "Then I need a big, hard cock
in me."
"I'd hate for the neighbors to hear," I said. Her eyes gleamed
as she opened her mouth widely for the ball gag.
She resisted a little, probably for show, when I sat in the
straight chair and pulled her, face down, over my lap. She
squealed on the first swat. Her legs were widely spread. Rapid
fire, stinging slaps of her behind, interspersed with strokes of
her pussy, quickly carried her to the top. Back arched, legs
rigid, she screamed through the gag when she came.
I slipped a small vibrator into her pussy before beginning her
spanking anew. Multiple orgasms wracked her before she collapsed
inert from exhaustion.
I removed the gag, unbound her arms and helped her to bed. I
crawled in beside her and covered us over. She snuggled against
me and whispered, "Magnificent."
It certainly was, I thought, as I drifted to sleep.
"Wake up, E.Z." She was gently shaking me. I glanced at the
clock. We'd been asleep about an hour.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I'm horny," she said with a grin. She flopped on her back.
"Come on, stud. Tie me to the bed and make me beg for it."
Using the ropes dangling from her wrist restraints, I secured her
arms to the bed corners. Then I went to the bathroom. When I
returned, she was squirming with her legs tightly together,
trying to get off by herself. I sat down and pulled her foot
into my lap to slowly massage it.
"Don't! I'm ready now. Fuck me," she demanded.
"We'll do it my way," I said resolutely.
"Bastard," she said, but she was grinning at me.
Her skin was prickly from her dried sweat, but soon it was slick
and wet again. The room smelled of sex on sex, that sweet,
pungent odor when fucking follows fucking. Becky was moaning,
whimpering. Her nipples were hard and dark rosy from blood. Her
lips were hot when I kissed her. She relished being tied to the
bed, and pulled and strained against the ropes as she twisted in
her need.
"Come on, E.Z. Fuck me," she pleaded.
I knee-walked between her legs. She thrust her hips toward me
frantically. With a hand behind each knee, I opened her wide and
pushed her knees back to the bed. She grunted at the strain.
When my cock nestled at her opening, she tried to get me in her,
but she couldn't.
"Oh, no. Don't do this. Put it in me. Please."
I rocked up and down, letting only the cock head slide between
her hot, slick lips.
"Please," she whimpered. "Please. Let me have all of him. I
need him. I want him."
I teased her until tears of desire ran down her face and I
thought I'd go nuts if I didn't fuck her. When I slammed into
her, she screamed. I let go of her legs to cover her mouth.
Those legs wrapped around me like steel cables, squeezing me
until I couldn't breathe, before she came with an unmatched
intensity. This time I couldn't hold back and I exploded in her.
In the morning, she was beside me. I made coffee and awakened
her. She was dressed when I came out of the shower.
"E.Z., tonight I want to do something even wilder. I want to be
gang banged. You know. Like the Becky in your story. Maybe we
could go to a pickup joint."
"Let me arrange it," I interrupted.
She cocked her head quizzically and grinned.
I talked to Sylvia as soon as I got to work. She made all the
arrangements. That night, Becky arrived at six sharp as we'd
arranged. She was dressed in a pullover sweater and skirt with
low heel shoes.
"No bra and no panties," she said with a grin.
Sylvia welcomed us to their home and introduced the other
participants. Jeremy was there, of course, and Phil, a young man
who worked for their company. The other man was named Dan. He
was average in size and black.
When Becky saw him, she murmured, "Another fantasy realized."
"Would you like a drink?" Jeremy asked.
"No. I want to get started," Becky replied.
"Any rules?" Sylvia asked.
Becky looked puzzled for a minute, then answered, "No anal sex
until I ask for it."
"Anything else?" Sylvia asked.
I couldn't see Sylvia's face, but I could see Becky's. Slowly,
her questioning eyes morphed to a sexy grin. Becky took two
steps, slipped her arms around Sylvia's waist, and raised her
head to be kissed. Sylvia kissed her tenderly, then led her to
the bedroom. We men, suddenly not needed, followed behind.
Standing by the big king-sized bed, they undressed each other
leisurely, touching and kissing as they cooed little words of
appreciation to each other.
"I want to taste you," Becky whispered to Sylvia as she pushed
her back on the bed. Becky slipped to the floor between Sylvia's
splayed legs and buried her head in Sylvia's crotch.
Jeremy undressed quickly. He dropped to his knees behind Becky
and put his hands on her legs. She turned quickly and pushed him
away. Her face was covered in Sylvia's juice.
"We'll tell you boys when we want you," Becky said.
Sylvia grabbed Becky's hair to pull her face back between her
legs. We finished undressing as Sylvia orgasmed against Becky's
willing mouth.
Four hard cocks were hoping the ladies were ready for us, but
they weren't. Sylvia dined on Becky, then called for her
two-headed dildo, which Jeremy retrieved from their bedside
table. Their faces were ecstasy as they penetrated each other.
Orgasms wracked both of them before they parted, sweaty and
panting.
"Dan," Becky called when she'd recovered. "I want you next, but
I want you to pull out when you're ready to cum and let me take
you in my mouth. That goes for all of you."
No doubt it was Becky's show and we were only the players. We
took her how and when she wished. She let Phil be the first to
penetrate her virgin ass, which he did gently and with great
success judging from her reaction. When she took three of us at
once, I was on my back with my cock buried in her pussy. Jeremy
and Phil were in the appropriate places. I watched her face as
she experienced indescribable joys before collapsing on me.
Becky refused to clean up when it was time to leave. At the
Hilton, she strutted through the lobby looking and smelling well
fucked as the few people there stared open mouthed. She spent
the night in my room. In the morning, we showered together
before making love gently and sweetly.
"I'm leaving at noon," she said as she dressed.
"I'd like to see you again," I said sincerely.
"No. My three days of wild fun are behind me. I'll never do
this again, but E.Z.... thanks. Thanks for making my fantasies
realities."
That was June, 1999.
In April, 2000, I was checking my e-mail account in Hotmail.
Despite the fan letters, it's usually ninety per cent spam, but
this time there was something special. The address said it was
from Becky. The subject was "Remember Albuquerque."
It read: "Hello, E.Z.,
Thank you again for letting me be a bad girl, a slut from one of
your stories. I wouldn't trade those three nights for all the
world.
We bad girls do something else, too. We get pregnant by men who
aren't our husbands. I had a healthy, happy baby boy on March 27.
I know you're his father because I use a diaphragm. I didn't use
it those two nights when it was only you and me. I don't know
your real name, but I wanted my baby to be named after his father
so I named him Edward. I'll think of Albuquerque and you every
time I see him. Think of us sometimes. Becky."
I tried to respond to your e-mail, Becky, but mailer-daemon said
I was blocked. Telling our story is the only way I have of
contacting you. I know you're out there somewhere reading this.
Becky, I know you'll take good care of our child. And, if you
want to be a bad girl again, you know how to reach me.
The End
Please! Give me your comments!
E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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