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From: "Allison George" <allison_george@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} One of Those Things (MF, mast)
Date: Sun, 9 Jul 2000 23:10:39 -0400
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NOTICE: This story contains descriptions of sexual activity and
should not be read by anyone under the age of 18 even if you've
handled an IPO. Any comments that the gentle reader has should
be directed to me at: allison_george@hotmail.com
My lawyer (who incidentally is also my hubbie!) wants me to
advise all readers that this story is copyright under 17 USC
Section 102. Permission is given to download a single copy of
this story for the purpose of reading it off line. Permission is
also granted to archive the text in its entirety on any
non-profit web site. Any other distribution including posting of
this story to a commercial web site without the author's
permission is strictly prohibited.
One of Those Things (c) 2000
By Allison George
It was just one of those things, sitting there on a toilet just
off of his bedroom on the 24th floor of the Plaza Hotel. She was
having as much luck trying to stem the flow of the milky white
oil oozing from her quim as the little Dutch boy did trying to
keep the North sea from the newly reclaimed coastal plain. She
chuckled at the thought of a little blond-haired moppet sticking
his dike-plugger into her slippery cut; at least it might get her
off, which is more than the comatose marketing manager in the
next room accomplished. Damn it all, he urged her head down onto
his cock but wouldn't touch a drop of her love nectar. No, it
was just dip the swizzle stick, mix it up, and get it out as
quickly as possible, a quick cock-in-tail with no climactic
afterthought.
Yeah, it was just one of those crazy flings she thought to
herself. The flight from San Francisco was a real bitch. A line
of storms stretching from the Canadian border down to Oklahoma.
The pilot taking the 757 south through the northern part of Texas
but all this did was add an hour to the flight with plenty of
gut-wrenching bumps. How could she ever been roped in by this
character, particularly with the IPO presentation scheduled for
tomorrow. Not only did this jerk fall asleep two minutes after
shooting his load into her, but he must have hidden her panties
somewhere. All her clothes save cotton bikinis were on the chair
where she put them before sliding between the sheets into his
embrace.
Damn, she had been thoughtful enough to stick a couple of panty
liners in her purse. A lot of good they'll do now. She sighed,
thinking about how to explain to the cleaners the dark stain in
the crotch of the charcoal-worsted slacks. There were sure to
ask what it was and where it came from. Come from? Heck, it was
come! Sure she could save herself the embarrassment and consider
the slacks ruined but it was the principle of the thing rather
than their cost. Too bad she was staying on the 17th floor,
otherwise she could slip on one of the terry cloth robes and slip
down the hall to her room. Negotiating the hallway and the
elevators with a blue blazer, wool pants and silk blouse draped
over her arm was bound to raise eyebrows. It was still too early
to think that there would be a clear path to her own room.
Several wads of toilet tissue soaked with their joint spent
fluids of love gurgled down into the sewers of New York as she
flushed. She was tempted to ball them up and stick them right
next to Mr. Marketeer's nose, hoping he might roll over and give
his cheeks a nice sheen. However, the thought that the musky
emollient might awaken the slug before she could escape was more
than she could bear.
While washing her hands the solution becomes obvious. Of course,
why not fashion a primitive Kotex out of a hand towel? She
slipped on her blouse, feeling the cool silk chafe gently against
her breasts, still swollen with desire. Folding one of the clean
towels in half she placed it against the crotch of the wool
slacks, carefully pulling them over her hips to settle her puss
against the soft nap of the towel. A fresh coat of lipstick and
a spritz of cologne behind each ear and she was ready to get out
of this room and into a hot bath. She did a quick pirouette to
see it the towel caused any unsightly lumps. Nothing she couldn'
t live with. Grabbing her bag and slinging the blazer over her
shoulder, she headed for the door taking one final look at Mr.
Marketeer asleep, oblivious to her departure. Too bad she
thought, you don't know what you missed.
Each step along the hallway towards the elevator brought back a
swift reminder of the absence of sexual fulfillment. The towel,
lubricated by his spent come and her own continued arousal, slid
back and forth along the inflamed furrow. Damn it all, why do
men have to be such bastards? They always come with the greatest
of ease. It only would have taken another minute or two of firm
hard strokes to quench the flickering flame of lust that still
burned lightly along her moist nether lips. Shit, just one of
those crazy flings that seemed to have taken over her life
recently.
She was flush with anger over the ruined evening as she
approached the elevator. Just great, company to share the ride
down as she noticed a couple in their early 50s waiting
patiently. Don't act like a bitch in heat, it's not their fault
she thought. She presented her best demure smile. The man
returned an appreciative greeting while his wife only frowned in
return. Of course, how stupid could she be? The man's
appreciation was only for the twinned nipples pressing darkly
against the white sheer silk, her breasts held tighter than usual
because of the towel stuffed in her pants. Oh well, maybe it
will give him a rise that will hang around long enough to please
the little wife later this evening. A quick ciao, and she was
off the elevator down the hall to room 1725.
Seeing the water start to fill up the bath, she flipped a couple
of orange-scented bath oil caps into the tub. Might as well make
the best of the rest of the evening. She kicked off her pumps
and slipped out of her slacks. The damp towel fell to the floor.
Double shit and damn, the faint pink tinge on the makeshift
crotch piece reminded her of the one thing she neglected to pack.
The last several weeks were hectic, focused on honing the
presentation; she'd moved from one meeting to another, often not
getting home until ten or eleven at night. All thought of her
lunar-linked cycle was forgotten. Here was the evidence of yet
another egg biting the dust, unable to reach the magic moment of
consummation. She'd call down to the desk for a box of tampons
take care of tomorrow's looming necessity.
She turned off the cold spigot, letting the hot water heat things
up for an additional minute. A breathy sigh escaped her lips as
she stepped into the tub, sliding down, letting the heat flow
into each pore as she submerged, the bobbed auburn curls
relaxing, her hair fanning out over the water until only her nose
was still above the surface. She lingered this way, breathing
slowly, until her body reached equilibrium with the gentle
buoyancy and warmth of the bath. Pushing herself back and forth,
her breasts, swollen from both lust and the hormonal passage into
the next fertility cycle, swayed gently bringing forth small
wavelets that lapped against the sides of the tub. Extending her
legs, she pushed against the end of the tub, surfacing, ready to
cleanse herself of the lingering foreign fluid and the unspent
tension in the lips that guarded her honey pot.
Taking a bath oil cap, she popped it open, releasing the
fragrant fluid over her distended nipples. With smooth
deliberate circles, she massaged the oil gently over the aureolae
of each swollen mound, passing briefly over the nubs. The
plaintive introduction to the Casta Diva began to echo in her
mind, moving down through various neural highways, escaping from
her lips in a soft hum. Whether the passage of the centuries had
left any druid blood in her was beside the point. The kinship
with the moon and stars was enough to give her body renewed
strength. She increased the speed of the tight circles, dwelling
longer on each nipple; a tweak and finger flick transmitted
excitatory signals downward to those golden sex receptors, which
reacted with quivering contractions.
'Tempra, o Diva, tempra tu de' cori ardenti' - - leaving an
excited nipple, her right hand began its slow passage down her
smooth stomach, pausing only briefly to massage the beginning of
muscular knot that portended the discomfort to come in the
morning. 'Ah, bello a me ritorna del fido amor primero' - - her
hand pressed against the fringed mound, a finger lingering at the
portal of sexual release as her other hand tweaked and teased
each nipple in turn. Her breath quickened and heart fluttered
with that first touch to the love pearl. She quickly slid over
the little bead, slipping past the clenching lips, stirring the
warm pot, drawing forth more oily elixir that mixed with Mr.
Marketeer's residual come until there was enough of the soothing
balm. She began to gently massage the love pearl with her juice
slickened finger until it was fully erect at which point she
began to quicken the touch. The rhythm of fingers on her left
hand on her breasts swiftly harmonized with the flickering digit
on her cunny button. It wasn't long before her body began to
quiver as the heat spread outwards from the linear axis between
her breasts and cunny. It was the shimmering silver chime from
one of those bells that now and then rings that brought a swift
final conclusion to her need as she slumped back into the
perfumed water. It was just one of those things.
It was just one of those nights, she thought while she passed her
fingers through her hair, separating the tangled strands. Each of
the limp strands curled back on itself with each pass of the hair
dryer until her head was again a mass of auburn curls, cascading
down and lingering just above her shoulders.
Too many of her physical needs were going unmet these days.
Maybe it was work, who knows? She had hoped this day would have
started with just one of those fabulous flights across the
country. A sip of champagne in first class coupled with the
thought of her Internet Company finally going public quickened
her pulse. Being an east coaster by birth, she always loved New
York; the Valley being way too casual for her. After the analyst
presentation tomorrow morning and a meeting with her bankers in
the afternoon, a weekend to play before having to trek back.
Norma at the Met on Saturday and a reunion brunch with her old
college roomie, Liz, on Sunday.
Damn, why didn't they close the plane's door on time. An
attractive man had been the last to get on, taking the seat next
to her. An regional vice president of marketing for a Fortune
500 consumer products company, he was headed back to corporate in
New York for their annual strategic planning session. Idle chat
during the flight revealed the different paths each had taken
since business school. He'd opted for the established corporate
path, while she capitalized on her undergrad degree in computer
science, moving into a couple of start up situations before
founding her own dot com company. He was a half-decade her
senior, clearly a prospect for a nice dinner out, if not more.
After finally making it past the turbulent midwest, she suggested
that they go out for dinner before settling in. She'd made
reservation at Le Taxi in midtown earlier in the week and would
be pleased to share her table with him. It was a brief surprise
to hear that he was also staying at the Plaza. Yes, something
might come of this night, maybe even a trip to the moon on
gossamer wings. Just one of those things to take the nervous
edge away from tomorrow's presentation.
The evening's promise most certainly collapsed under the weight
of great expectations. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe he was
just one of those slam, bam, thank you ma'am kind of guy, who
knows? Maybe if we'd thought a bit of the end of it, we wouldn't
have even begun.
From the moment they'd de-planed the heat of sexual attraction
between the two of them started to build. Her breasts, seemingly
fuller and more sensitive than the day before, strained against
the confines of her bra. She had already unbuttoned a second
button of her blouse to try to catch any cooling breeze that
would wick away some of the built up heat. In the cab towards
Manhattan, her nether lips twitched silently emitting the mild
warmth and scent of arousal that she certainly thought he could
detect. So much assurance when she saw the bulge in his khakis;
so little realization upon the evening's end.
She finished smoothing moisturizer into her face and gave her
hair a final fluff. She'd only need a quick shower tomorrow; one
of the benefits of a perm was not having to fuss much. The
flashing message light on the phone surprised her as she made her
way back into the main room. Mr. Marketeer apparently chilled
from the lack of the warm body he fell asleep with had called to
find out why she had left. When we started painting the town, we
'd have been aware that our love affair was too hot not to cool
down. Too simple by half she thought.
Damn the nerve of him, asking her out again tomorrow night! No
way on earth was this going to happen. Better to say so goodbye,
dear, and amen; she didn't even want him to think here's hoping
we meet now and then. While he may have thought it was great
fun, she didn't think so with only a filled quim and no come.
But it was just one of those things.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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