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Subject: {ASSM} [Write Club Duel] Seamus v. Father Ignatius
Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2000 20:10:04 -0400
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Here are the two stories, Seamus first.
The nine words were:
Nat: Belly Dancer, Lolita, Zimmer Frame
Seamus: Surveyor, Harness, Commission
And from me: Logorrhea, Quandong, Nasturtium
My verdict is on Alt.sex.stories.d. Enjoy.
-----
Hecate
The Project Manager by Seamus
I really wanted to do engineering but Dad said it wasn't suitable for
girls. Architecture was too flighty so I became a surveyor. I told him it
was like
being an accountant and he was happy.
Here I was on my first job. One month out of college and I'm on a building
site, part of the team making a landmark to last a hundred years. At last!
I'm nearly the youngest and certainly the smallest on the team but I've
been briefed. I'm representing the client here and my employers. I'm
entitled to
respect and must insist upon it.
I'm not on my own here of course but on a project this size we share out
the work and I'm responsible for the ground works contract. Five million
pounds worth of everything from digging the foundations to the
landscaping.
First day there I'm into a contract meeting. The architect has changed the
building. The engineer says he will have to redesign the foundations and
the contractor wants it minuted that this will cause a delay and additional
cost and he wants a change instruction. Then they all look at me.
I spend the rest of the day reading the contract, trying to find out what
I'm meant to be doing.
Next morning my boss calls me aside for a quiet word. The client has heard
the foundations are in delay and the contractor has put in a claim for more
money. They're depending on me to keep it on track. I'm not just a quantity
surveyor, I must project manage this contract. What have I let myself in
for?
After lunch my site safety boots are delivered - the smallest in the boot
room I notice - and I get a hard hat high visibility jacket and head out on
site. It looks like the ante room to hell. Acres of mud stretch ubder steel
grey clouds in all directions with occasional buildings being attacked by
enormous yellow machines. Everywhere are men doing things. Shouting,
waving, driving the machines.
"Hey sonny what you doing?" It's the contractor from the meeting
yesterday. "Oh it's you Miss Patil. What are you doing here."
I pull myself up to my full 5ft and look him in the eye "My job".
He looks down and gives me a smile and his eyes twinkle soo blue. He's
Patrick and he's old enough to be my father. He walks me round the site.
We go up in the crane to get a view out over the site but first I have to
put on a safety harness - like a mountaineering harness. Patrick helps me
tighten the straps until I'm being squeezed all round by these straps then
we go up
a ladder to a tiny platform a mile up in the air. I am scared by the height,
a freezing wind is blowing at me trying to push me off. Patrick comes up the
ladder behind me and I feel him behind me from my neck to my ankles. His
arms around me as he grips the hand rail in front of me.
I feel like a god, flying above the little ant people far below.Yes! This
is what I want.
CHARLES
The problem I find is Charles the architect. Charles is brilliant. It must
be so; he told me himself. From his desk we get a constant stream of
wonderful drawings. The problem is no two are the same. He can't make up
his mind.
I corner him one evening when the site office is quiet (Everyone else
starts at eight and goes down the Pub at five. Charles wanders in after nine
and
stays till seven).
"We need some answers Charles. When will you get out the rest of the
information?" I say.
"What do you think of this?" he asks.
"Charles" Swish. Smack. In my nervousness I had picked up a ruler. Now I
brought it down on the drawing board. It makes a surprisingly loud smack.
Charles jumps and stares at the ruler like a rabbit caught in the
headlights.
I feel a sudden twinge in my crotch and notice a lump in Charles'.
I rub up against him. " Which is it Charles? This" swish, Smack "or this?"
swish, Smack.
"Eh This one?"
"Very good Charles. See you get the drawings issued by morning"
I make one last rub up against him and leave.
I'm feeling so excited I can hardly drive to my digs and I spend half the
night masturbating furiously and imagining flogging Charles to a pulp.
Next day the drawings are on my desk though one has a funny stain.
JOHN
John is the engineer. If Charles was an endless stream of drawings then
John is an endless stream of talk. Everything has to be done by the book and
John has an endless stream of reasons why his calculations aren't done. He
sits
at his desk across from me all day typing away at his computer.
I want to try the rubbing up against him but the way he's sitting I can't
get near him. I don't really fancy it anyway. Charles is beautiful and
delicate
but John is old and sweaty. I figure it out eventually. I come in one day
in a suit and instead of trousers. I notice he's looks away every time I
look
up. He's directly opposite me so only he can see under my desk. I decide to
try
something.
"John. When will those calcs be ready" I ask.
"Well. These things cannot be rushed. Our quality assurance procedures .."
I open my legs so my skirt rides up until he can see my panties and his
logorrhoea dries up in mid flow.
"Er" he mutters
"Tomorrow?" I ask.
"Eh?"
"You'd do that for me?" I ask rubbing my stockinged legs together.
"Er. Yes. Of course"
Now whenever after he starts to bluster I just rub my legs together and he
loses track of what he was saying.
PATRICK
It's not Charles or John I fantasise about. Once a week Patrick and I
square off in the contract meeting.
"What do you mean it's an extra" I'll shout. " The contract specified
matched 5 year old Quandong trees not less than 2 metres tall. We've
changed it to Nasturtiums you can get in any garden centre!".
He played out those damn quandongs for months. He'd ordered them. They
were in a nursery in Singapore labelled and ready to ship and if we
cancelled the order we wouldn't get a refund - we would have to pay extra.
He is always makes it sound so reasonable
The months whizz by and finally we are in sight of the end. The sprinkler
systems are to be commissioned and Patrick and I will be witnessing it on
behalf of the contractor and the client.
I'm wearing a 'little girl' summer frock but I'm all business.
"Show me these damn Quandongs then. Let's see what we got for all that
money." Patrick leads me into the far corner of the garden. There is no one
else around - Charles designed this corner of the gardens as a private
spot.
I sit him down under the ha ha out of sight then get myself soaked by the
sprinklers so my dress clings to me like Lolita in that movie.
I start a belly dance for Patrick, undulating my hips as I walk towards him
then plaster my wet body against him.
He tries to push me away. "We can't. No. It's not right" he stumbles. "I'm
too old for you. When your my age I'll be walking with a zimmer frame"
Time up!
The Lesbian Lolita (BMWFwf bi interr voy span nc 1st? <*>)
(c) August 2000 Father Ignatius
FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com
-----
Write Club Duel #3
Opponent: Seamus (seamus@zdnetmail.co.uk)
Referee: Hecate (hecate1@bigfoot.com)
Special rules: No MF rom; at least three characters.
Challenge Words:
Nat: belly-dancer, Lolita, Zimmer frame
Seamus: surveyor, harness, commission
Hecate: logorrhea, quandong, nasturtium
-----
I left the nursery early to sick-visit my old mum. The supervisor
tried giving me shit about it but I gave him the eye. White
bastard, I thought as I left Mullumbimby behind me and and drove
to my mum's house at Burringbar, black men don't have family
problems? Bastard. I was a bit worried when the nurse's car
wasn't in the driveway of her house. So as not to get parked in
when she returned, I parked round the back. I was more worried
when no-one answered my knock. I let myself in and went to my
mother's tiny bedroom. She seemed to be fine but very deep
asleep.
I went into the dining-room to look for the nurse: since my mother
fell ill, the dining-room table was a nurse's station. Her bag,
my mother's medications, fresh bandages and so forth were all
stored there. My mother's Zimmer frame was also there. Her
bedroom was too small for it. She'd been bed-ridden for months,
anyway. I wandered around the house calling, "Hallo? Anyone
home?" but the place was empty. My calling out showed no sign of
disturbing mum. She was really out. Wondering what had become of
the nurse, I looked around. Everything seemed neat and tidy
enough. There was even a nice nasturtium arrangement with the
flowers I brought in from the nursery. Mum couldn't have done
that for herself. I sat down by the bed and leafed through a
magazine to pass the time.
I was getting worried enough to wonder how to discover the nursing
service's telephone number when I heard a car draw into the
driveway. Two car doors clunked closed. I heard footsteps crunch
on the drive and happy, feminine laughter. Looking out of the
bedroom window I saw the nurse approaching with her arm around the
waist of a young girl somewhere between childhood and adolescence.
The nurse--her name was Jackie, I remembered--was wearing uniform.
It was a an epauletted white, one-piece that zipped all the way
up, from hem to neckline, snugly accentuating her fit, young,
narrow-hipped figure. Her tanned, bare, tennis-player legs were
shod in sensible, flat-heeled, brown-leather nurse shoes. The
all-the-way zip was currently pulled far down, exposing her
hemispherical little breasts. There was no sign of a bra or a tan
line. Or, my eyes roamed to check, a pantie-line either. Tsk,
tsk--what would Florence Nightingale have said?
The stocky, broad-shouldered young unknown was wearing a yellow
tank-top that outlined small, budding breasts. She was wearing
khaki shorts with a brown leather belt, thick socks and
light-weight hiking boots. She was a little sweaty and grimy.
Maybe she'd just hiked down the mountain.
As I watched them come up the garden path, they stopped and
embraced and kissed deeply. Jackie's straight brown hair fell
forward to either side of the girl's face, obscuring her
mischievous grin. I could see her throat working, though, as if
her tongue was busy. I belatedly realised that the young girl was
more than a friendly young companion. She seemed very young,
though. A regular little lesbian Lolita.
Giggling, the two of them broke apart, shooting looks under their
eyelashes at the neighbours' gardens but there was no-one to catch
them out in their public daring. Slightly embarrassed, the
younger girl rubbed a hand through her short, straight, blonde
hair and hastened forward.
* * *
I heard the door open and close quickly and quietly. There was
some giggling and whispering and then Jackie's voice came clearly:
"Don't worry, I sedated the old bitch. She'll be out for hours
yet."
"Cool. Hey, look at all this doctor stuff. Do you really use all
this stuff?"
"Yeah. I have to change her dressings every day. It's a
mission."
"What's this gross item?"
"That's a Zimmer frame. The old lady uses it for walking."
"Ag, shame," said the young girl perfunctorily. She was far too
young to begin comprehending the trials of the aged.
I didn't know what to do. If she'd been alone, I think I would
have met Jackie at the door and given her a dressing down for
neglecting her patient. As it was, I was disconcerted by the extra
visitor. I didn't know what to make of her. I didn't know the
protocol for ticking off neglectful nurses in front of young women
whom they kissed in public and who then called my mother an old
bitch. While I dithered, the moment passed and I found I was
trapped. Whereas they had started out in the wrong, by not
revealing myself I had intruded on their privacy, the tables were
turned and I was feeling hotly embarrassed.
And such privacy: matter rapidly became worse. There was some
rustling and giggling and someone said, "Ow! Too much, you slag."
Despite myself, I felt drawn towards the bedroom door. Looking
down and across the passage, I could see a small slice of the
dining room but there was no-one to see.
"No, not now. We're in a strange house. I don't feel relaxed
enough. Make me a cup of tea--I'm your guest, after all, you
know."
"Stuff tea, Kim. We're _alone_ in a strange house. I've been
short-changing the old bag on her sedatives all week to save up
for knocking her out for the afternoon today. It's 'Come into my
parlour said the spider to the fly' time." There was more
rustling and giggling.
"No," said the young girl, half-joking and half-serious. "I want
to be properly entertained." She was playing hard-to-get and
enjoying every moment.
There was a clank and a dragging noise and the Zimmer frame she
appeared in my narrow field of vision. Kim perched herself on the
upper bar, hooking the stout, flat heels of her hiking-boots over
the lower bar and keeping her precarious balance by leaning
forward and, gripping onto the handles from the wrong side, taking
her weight on her arms.
"No," she said firmly. "I'm going to sit here until you get me a
nice cup of tea." Her chin lifted in defiance and I saw the
mischievous smile come out again.
"Then you're going to be sitting there a very long time," Jackie's
voice replied, slightly muffled. I heard a rustling from the
direction of the medical stores and then the sound of a length of
heavy, medical tape being pulled off the roll and the snipping of
scissors.
"Whatcha doing? You're not going to change her dressings _now_?
Gross..."
"I'm going to change _your_ dressings, young lady."
Jackie appeared with a length of the heavy adhesive tape. Before
Kim realised what was going on, Jackie's hands flashed out and
taped Kim's wrist to the bar of the Zimmer frame.
"Hey!" cried Kim, and fought back with her free hand. She tried
to dismount but her hooked boot heels delayed her long enough for
the heavier Jackie to force the free hand down to the bar and tape
it too. Kim teetered precariously. She wanted to get down but
could get her balance to do so. She couldn't lean back, or she'd
fall. She couldn't lean forward because Jackie was in the way.
And her hands were bound tight to the frame with the heavy-duty
plaster.
Oh, my God, I was thinking, how am I going to get out of this?
Part of me, the civilised part, was terminally embarrassed. The
other part was fascinated. I couldn't drag my eyes away from what
was going on.
Jackie dipped into her pocket and brought out a roll of bandage.
She stooped and, with a nurse's quick fingers, she tethered Kim's
ankles together, and to the lower bar of the frame. Kim squeaked
indignantly. "Jackie! Jackie! Let me off this thing. I'm going
to fall and break my back."
"You aren't going to fall if you keep still."
"Jackie! No!"
"Hush, my dear," said Jackie, "or I'll hush you. We can't afford
to wake the patient, can we?"
"Jackie, I mean it! Let me go! I'm going to fall!"
"Tut, tut," said Jackie, "I despise disobedience." She
disappeared and came back with a good length of the broad
sticking-plaster and placed it firmly over Kim's protesting mouth.
Fingers to her prisoner's jaw, she stretched it firmly into place
with strong rubbing pressure from her thumbs.
"There you go," she said, "I had to study logorrhea for my
psychology practical when I was in training. I never found any
use for it before. Goes to show--nothing is wasted."
Kim's cries became squeaks and her eyes roundened imploringly.
"'ease, 'a'ie" she squeaked, "'ease. 'Em 'e 'o!"
"My, how persistently disobedient you are," said Jackie. "If
you're going to be like that, I'm going to have to spank you."
"_'ease_, 'a'ie..."
"Okay, then," said Jackie, "you asked for it." And she reached
for Kim's belt buckle. Kim started back. The frame rocked
alarmingly on its back legs. Kim hastily shifted her weight
forward again.
"And thank you," said Jackie as the belt buckle swung back towards
her fingers. She undid it, pulled the belt out through the straps
of the khaki shorts and doubled it over, holding both ends in her
hands, making a loop. Kim finally went quiet. Very, very quiet.
Oh shit, I thought. What am I going to do? What am I going to
do? What am I going to do?
What Jackie was going to do was to start slapping the outside of
Kim's thighs gently with the belt. Left, right, left, right,
forehand, backhand, forehand, backhand, slap, slap. Gently,
remorselessly, slowly working her way from knees to waist and
slowly back again. Kim's legs got redder and redder and she threw
her head back and then, as the movement threatened to topple her
backwards, she snapped it forward again.
Next time, Jackie went up the outside of one thigh only--left,
left, left, left--and went round behind to slap at Kim's twitching
little bum. The khaki shorts were offering 'way too much
protection, I could see that. She went round the front with the
belt and stepped between Kim's legs. Kim snapped her knees shut
defensively.
"No, no, _no_," said Jackie. "We aren't having any one _that_."
"Open!" she commanded.
"Mm-mm!" refused Kim. "'ease, 'a'ie!"
"Open!" said Jackie, and whacked her across the lap with the belt.
Kim started to cry.
"Open!" said Jackie and lifted the belt for a really hard shot.
Kim gave it up and opened her legs. Jackie stepped forward and
unbuttoned the shorts.
"Lift up your bum," she said.
"Mm-mm!" said Kim again, shaking her head.
Jackie went round behind her. "When your bum is ready to get up
off that bar," she said, "just do it." And she started the gentle
slapping again. Kim's buttocks and thighs got redder and redder
and redder and so did her face. She started moaning and shaking
her head about. Eventually, inexorably, the bum lifted from the
bar and the tears streamed down her face.
"_Good_ girl," said Jackie, approvingly. She dropped the belt and
took two hands to drag the shorts and some skimpy little yellow
panties down Kim's legs until they were festooned round her
ankles. Kim's revealed bush was a mass of thick, blonde curls.
Jackie went and got more of the sticking plaster.
"Open!" she said. With professional efficiency, she taped Kim's
knees back to the frame so she couldn't close her legs, no matter
what. Her ankles were bound close together on the lower bar, her
knees were bound back to the frame and her bare bum was hanging
over behind the frame. She had to lean forward even more to stop
from falling over backwards. And Jackie picked up the belt and
went back to the gentle slapping, this time between Kim's thighs.
Forehand, backhand, left, right, on and on and on. Kim kept
wanting to lean back but hunched forward again every time the
frame rocked.
When the slapping got so far up Kim's inner thighs that there
wasn't room to swing the belt any more, Jackie sank to her knees
and walked on them forward into Kim's crotch. Her head sank in to
the shadows under Kim's crouching torso. There was a long moment
of tension and then Kim gasped and started. Jackie's dark head
moved up and down gently, unhurriedly, and Kim gasped and
whimpered and writhed and strained against her strange harness.
One of my dark heads was buzzing with the effort of figuring out
what to do whereas my other dark head had absolutely no doubts on
the matter--it was making valiant efforts to get out of my
trousers. It wanted me to carry it into the dining-room and bury
it, up to the hilt, between those reddened, bound legs. Now.
Now, now, now.
Not daring to breath I moved as silently as I knew back into mum's
bedroom and rearranged the rampant family jewels as comfortably as
I could, which wasn't much. I glanced furtively over my shoulder
but mum, thank God, was deep under. I felt ashamed that I could
even have a boner in front of my own mother, in her own bedroom.
Well, I could--and a monster one and I was going to have to do
something about it and soon.
The crescendo of ecstatic sounds from Kim drew me back to the door
and I watched while Jackie's eager tongue drew Kim slowly, slowly,
slowly up to a shuddering, tape-tugging, head-shaking,
frame-teetering climax. At each lick, she gasped and her head
went back and rocked the frame and at each rock she clenched her
abdomen and swung herself back from overbalancing. Gasp, clench,
gasp, clench, she was doing the actions of a belly-dancer while
strapped to a Zimmer frame and getting licked off.
I could see sweat on her fit, strong back, trickling into the
cleft between her young, round buttocks.
Oh, God.
"I seem to have made a tactical error here," said Jackie, after a
pause for reflection. "Here I am, as horny as a three-balled
tomcat, and here you are, all trussed up like a Christmas turkey
and not in a position to help at all. Oh, well, I'm just going to
do the best I can." She unzipped her white uniform and shrugged
it off. The epaulettes made a small sound as they hit the floor.
And she straddled one of Kim's knees and slowly started humping
her leg, holding onto her shoulder and eyeballing her unblinkingly
the while. She licked her forefinger and burrowed it into her
crotch. Breaking her gaze, she threw her head back and gave a
luxuriant, full-throated, open-mouthed groan. The humping rhythm
picked up and she brought up her hand and gripped Kim's neck to
give herself leverage as her movements became more vigorous. She
yanked on Kim's neck and mashed her taped mouth to her own. She
started making little squeaking noises in her throat. She was
close.
Oh, dear God.
Was I going to have to masturbate in my sleeping mother's bedroom,
with a belt-wielding nurse could hear at any moment? No.
* * *
"Good afternoon, ladies," I said, stepping through the door.
Jackie spun round with an agonised intake of breath. Her hands
flew to her heart. Kim jerked back and shrieked nasally through
her tape gag as she crashed backwards onto the floor. Wide-eyed,
she goggled at me over her the flesh-coloured tape across her
mouth, over her half-formed little girl breasts, over her curly
blonde bush, between her taped-open legs, over her pantie-hobbled
ankles.
"Oooooo, 'od," she moaned from behind the tape.
"Shit!" shrieked Jackie, "Who are you? How long have you been
there?"
"This long," I said, opening my fly. My cock, free at last, free
at last, thank God Almighty, free at last, sprang out at her. "I'm
Kenny, remember? Your patient's son? I work up at the nursery in
Mullumbimby?"
"Ooooooh, no," she said, backing away as she eyed my raging
hard-on. But she was still breathing hard, and raggedly. I had
interrupted her on the very cusp of her orgasm and, though her
heart might have been ponding from fright, her cunt was past the
point of no return and desperate for release.
"Ooooooh, yes," I said, "What's the matter? Have you never seen
black wood before?"
"You keep that thing away from me," she said, but she didn't sound
convinced.
"This is not a thing, sheila. This is a dong." I chuckled. "It's
a hairy quandong, a quandong bush, with two big, ripe, hairy black
fruits hanging off it. See? We grow them up the nursery and this
nurseryman is here to plant you a quandong in your bush."
"No!" she said sharply, backing away more. She came up against
the dining-room table.
"Now, you listen to me, sheila. I wonder what the Nursing
Commission would have to say about withholding medication to
sedate your patient senseless for your afternoon fuck. My mother.
The old bitch. The old bag. Remember? Not to mention what the
police would have to say about you bringing a legal minor
trespassing into her house for immoral purposes."
I caught up to her, backed her bum hard up against the table. She
put up her hands to defend herself. I caught her wrists and
twisted them back. Despite herself, her torso swung back over the
table. Despite herself, her legs rose up and I roared as I sank in
to her warm, wet cunt that, despite herself, welcomed me
gratefully. I drew back slowly and plunged forward. "Oh!" she
cried. Again slowly back and again the plunge. "Oh!" she cried,
louder. Her interrupted orgasm was sweeping back on her and as I
plunged a third, a fourth, a fifth time she cried out in
humiliation, in rage at her betraying body, and was swept away in
the flash-flood of her treacherous orgasm.
She rocked and sobbed and spasmed and I felt her clench and clench
and clench and clench and, when at last it was over, the fight
went out of her and she turned aside and wept.
* * *
I wasn't nearly done but I don't like fucking a weeping woman. I
pulled out and let her go, let her roll off the table and flop
onto her hands and knees. She was finished, out of it.
I turned to the Zimmer frame where the blonde nymphet was lying
helpless. Her open cunt stared at me above the socks, the shorts,
the panties. She was pulling frantically at the tape and
straining at the bandages but she couldn't do anything but rock a
little bit. I knelt between her legs, reached forward and cupped
her tiny, half-girl, half-woman breasts in my hands. I circled my
thumbs round her still-hard nipples and let her take my weight as
I lowered myself to my elbows.
I took hold of a corner of the broad sticking-plaster and ripped
it off in one jerk. She gasped with the pain and I plunged my
mouth onto hers and I thrust my tongue down her throat and I
swayed my hips forward and penetrated her. I put one hand behind
her head and the other at her waist and ploughed into her. Was it
my imagination or was there some resistance to start with? No
matter; it went away and I fucked her and fucked her and fucked
her until I was done. When I finished, she was crying too. There
was blood on my cock, I noticed as I buttoned up.
* * *
"Now," I said, "if you don't want the Surveyor of Complaints at
the Nursing Commission to hear how you look after your patients,
you'll start making a proper job of looking after my mum, starting
now. And I'll see you ladies again, same time, next week. If you
know what's good for you." And I left. All things considered, I
didn't want to be around when my mum woke up.
-----
ENDS
- The Stories of Father Ignatius are at
http://turing.mth.uct.ac.za/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Writing/
- I would be pleased to hear from you, at
FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com, about whether or not you liked this
story, and why.
- Thank you for reading me.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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