Message-ID: <26575asstr$970261819@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Path: not-for-mail
From: "Father Ignatius" <FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com>
X-Original-Message-ID: <8r2bf1$2b23$1@news.adamastor.ac.za>
Reply-To: "Father Ignatius" <FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: 29 Sep 2000 15:11:29 GMT
X-Priority: 3
X-MSMail-Priority: Normal
X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.00.2919.6600
Subject: {ASSM} [REV] Expanding Julie's Sexual Horizons {Father Ignatius} MF oral anal toys voy <*>
Date: Fri, 29 Sep 2000 17:10:19 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26575>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw

Expanding Julie's Sexual Horizons
MF oral anal toys voy <*>
(C)September 2000 Father Ignatius

This is a revised version of a story originally written as a
Write Club (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/Write_Club/)
duel with Jack of All Trades (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/j/wwwoat)
refereed by Rui Jorge
(http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/). Thanks, Jack;
thanks, Rui.

The Challenge Words were:

Jack of All Trades

quadrangle
infatuated
catalytic

Father Ignatius

armchair
bridge pencil
toothpick

Rui Jorge

tragicomedy
ninja
squeal


- The original versions of both stories are in the ASSTR
Collection at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moder
ated/Year2000/26508

- I would be pleased to hear from you, at
FatherIgnatius@hotmail.com, about whether or not you liked
this story or not, and why.

- Thanks to DrSpin (http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/DrSpin/www/) for the
editing, advice and encouragement in revision and to Denny
for meticulous proof-reading.

-----

When I first introduced Julie to my friend Jim (a
shit-stirrer who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut),
he made some witty little comment to me under his breath
about "Mud-wrestlers always did do it for you, didn't they?"
Julie has excellent hearing, as it happens, and so it wasn't
far enough under his breath. She didn't let on, though. With
a completely neutral expression on her Victorian
porcelain-doll face, she made as if to shake hands with him.
When he put his hand in hers, she dislocated his thumb. I
found this both scary and a major turn-on.

Okay, she's a pretty meaty girl. She won a lot of swimming
trophies at school and anchored the freestyle relay team.
She has big, full, swimmer's shoulders; a broad, firm
swimmer's back; her narrow waist flares out to wide, womanly
hips and well-rounded, well-muscled buttocks above long,
powerful legs.

And she has large, business-like breasts. She
characteristically wears some sort of a sports top as well
as a bra to give them extra support. They get most
distractingly-and not only for her-in the way when she's
working on a drawing-board. "Thank God for CAD stations,"
she says, through a curved Cupid's-bow mouth. I told you she
looked like a Victorian porcelain doll, and so she
does-complete with brown, old-fashioned bangs, a snub nose,
and laser-like, icy-blue eyes that might have been made of
glass. Eyes like that make a man want to do things for a
woman. That, and not getting his thumbs dislocated. When she
walks into a room, people notice. I was completely
infatuated.

The first time we had sex I discovered that she wasn't shy
to tell me what she wanted. We spent Saturday afternoon
together and were fooling around on the sofa after dinner. I
had unbuttoned her shirt, revealing her ample frontage and
was kissing her neck and the upper slopes of her breasts.
When I started tickling their undersides, she came to a
decision and stood up, lifting me to my feet. She shrugged
the shirt onto the floor, took me by the hand and, reaching
up behind her back to unhook her bra as she walked, led me
into my bedroom. She dropped the bra on the floor and,
turning to me, pulled me onto her front as she lay back on
the bed.

I burrowed like a happy puppy into her abundance and, in the
following ecstatic minutes, worked my way from her glorious
mouth down to her navel and below. Rubicon time. I edged the
waistband of her tracksuit trousers down a cautious,
gentlemanly half-inch, and licked politely. I felt the firm
fingers of a firm hand close round the top of my skull and
felt my face pushed further down her belly and closer
towards it. She lifted her buttocks off the bed as I
straightened up to draw the trousers down to her thighs and
then she lifted her feet off the bed to let me pull them off
entirely, to drop them unregarded on the floor.

I bent down again to business, to her pale yellow lacy
panties that half-revealed the whorls of her brown pubic
hair pressed back behind that dainty barrier. The hand
appeared on top of my skull again and I felt my nose pressed
firmly into service. We started off going slowly side to
side. Then-after a sudden, sharp gasp from Julie-we went
more gently up and down for a while. Finally, the team
worked up to a little circular motion one way round for my
face and the other for her pelvis, making her breathe deep
and fast.

Abruptly, she caught her breath, lifted my face from her and
again lifted her buttocks from the bed. I pulled the
stained, soaking panties down her legs, leaving a trail of
moisture down one thigh, past her ankles and heels and
tossed them into oblivion. I bent again to her crotch but
she grunted "Mm-mm", closed her legs, took my cheeks and jaw
in her two hands and pulled my face up to hers. My eager
cock, straining in my jeans, ploughed the furrow between her
thighs until the tip butted into her curls as she pulled off
my tee-shirt.

I felt her hands push in between us, beneath my belly. Her
fingers slipped under the waistband of my jeans and met
inside my underpants, either side of my frantic, imprisoned
cock. I felt her thumbs undoing the single metal
waist-button and then her thumbs clamped her fingers through
the cloth. She ripped my zip open in one smooth movement by
pulling apart the fabric on either side. And pulled my
underpants and jeans down around my thighs. My cock flopped
eagerly out and burrowed into her crotch. I felt her thighs
open under mine, felt her belly muscles contract under mine,
her pelvis swivelled and her hands, under my buttocks, were
pushing me firmly into her. "In," she said. I did it.

Her hands moved to my rib-cage, her thighs gripped my pelvis
and she set the brutal rhythm she wanted. "Harder," she
grunted, teeth clenched. I did it. I gripped her shoulders,
swung back, swung forward and, impelled by her firm hands,
thrust hard into her. She pushed me back and together we
swung me forward again. I reverted to wild, uncontrolled,
back-to-teenager thrusting, revelling in the honey feel of
my cock sweeping roughly back and forth up her toned,
gripping cunt, rushing and tumbling towards a hasty,
inelegant, glorious, animal explosion of pleasure.

The zip was never the same again. I eventually replaced the
jeans and learned to get them off quickly myself when she
got that look in her eye. But we always did much the same
thing, in missionary position. Eventually, I made an
elaborately casual remark about expanding her sexual
horizons. She didn't say anything but looked thoughtful and
uncharacteristically uneasy.

* * *

My casual remark had been catalytic, I eventually
discovered. Enlightenment began the next time I went to her
flat to take her to the movies. I rang the bell a few times
without getting any response. I eventually delivered a
brisk, last-try rat-a-tat on the door-knocker. The door
swung violently open and there stood Julie. She was naked
except for stereotype-teenage-fantasy black fishnet
stockings, stereotype-teenage-fantasy suspender belt and
stereotype-teenage-fantasy strappy, red high-heels. I gaped.

"Don't just stand there!" she snapped. "Do you want the
whole neighbourhood to see me like this?"

Her hand shot out. Two powerful fingers dug into the
waistband of my jeans behind my belt-buckle and she yanked.
I disappeared, pubis first and still gaping, into her
doorway like... like... Well, not a cork into a bottle. But
you know what I mean. The door slammed behind me.

The whole neighbourhood, at my guess, would have been
fascinated to see her. While I carried on with the gaping,
my cock got into the business of reacting to Julie's (I
madly supposed) movie-going outfit. Her fingertips noticed
my response and she smiled fondly and cupped her other hand
under my balls, encouraging further action unlikely to lead
to the movies. This made me nervous; she doesn't do fond
smiling. She was acting a little bit off in other ways, too.
She gave me a sweet, sweet smile-the first on record-and a
deliciously memorable kiss, gentle as cigarette smoke. She
usually kissed me as if she were attacking grapefruit. I
noticed when she did it that we stood exactly eye-to-eye
because of the high-heels.

She smelled nice, not of perfume-which she didn't wear-but
of something fruitily familiar and half-remembered, redolent
of cosy comfort, like your mother's home cooking when you're
nine years old and never not hungry. Trying to understand
her uncharacteristic behaviour, I made the mistake of
pushing the minor mystery to the back of my mind.

She backed down the passage into the living room, pulling me
by my belt-buckle and, well, my balls. By the time we got
there, my cock was once more trying to get out of my
trousers. Mere movies, I hoped and prayed, were off the
agenda. She yanked the end of my belt out of the buckle and
got down to dragging my nether clothing off.

"Shoes off" she said. I did it, standing on the back of one
with the toe of the other foot and wrenching my feet clear,
the way it freaked my mother out when I did it on her budget
as a child. By the time I was barefoot, my jeans and pants
were shackling me and I stumbled out of them hastily as
Julie pulled my tee-shirt over my head. There was another
whiff of the familiar, elusive odour. In no time, I was bare
as a babe with my eager cock questing hungrily around,
dragging me behind, in the direction of Julie.
"Eager-beaver," said that little, irreverent internal voice
that got me into such trouble before I learned not to let it
out of my mouth. Hey, where's she gone?

She hadn't gone anywhere; she had turned her back on me and
bent forwards over the back of the armchair, gripping the
arms in her hands, hair flopping down and obscuring her
face. The high-heels lifted her just to the right height to
allow her to do this; her lower belly nestled into the
crumpling antimacassar.

"I've been thinking about what you said about expanding my
sexual horizons," came her slightly muffled voice as I
leered at the marble roundness of her buttocks, the dark
anal cleft, the suggestion of an anal opening, the glimpse
of labia, the roughness of brown hair catching the light;
the long, strong legs, held straight and plunging into the
whore-sandals. "Start at the left."

I pulled myself together. Got a grip on myself, you might
say. Left? Left what? Next to the armchair, on the table,
was a startling array of objects. A can of Crisco,
courteously opened, standing on a housewifely Kleenex. A
toothpick. A very thin, round bridge pencil. Hearts,
naturally. A regular, hexagonal, wooden pencil,
red-and-black Staedtler HB. A quadrangular ballpoint pen,
slightly thicker. A tiny little dildo-sort of pre-pubescent,
I guess-I didn't know they came that small. Trainer dildo?
Then a somewhat larger dildo, a gap and, finally, a really
huge dildo. "To dream the impossible dream," hummed the
internal voice, half to itself. And, finally, a whole box of
Kleenex. All in a row, ends all lined up, equally spaced
(except for the gap) in textbook anal retentive fashion.

Anal retentive? In a rush, I saw that the gap was where my
cock fitted into the series and realised what Julie expected
of me. She was mysteriously patient and quiet. Looking back
on it, that should have made me nervous, too. As it was, the
bit I was thinking with was straining with renewed
excitement and my brain only caught up much later. I dipped
the toothpick into the Crisco, twiddling it in my fingers to
get it thoroughly coated, and bent to the wonderfully round,
firm, strong buttocks.

I eased them apart with thumb and forefinger. They tensed
and resisted. I felt Julie's effort of will that relaxed
them and allowed me to part them, revealing the puckered
little rosebud of her ass-hole. I blew gently on it and
watched it pull in and then relax like a sea-anemone when a
diver swims past. A warning growl from the front of the
armchair hastened me forward to my duty.

I slowly introduced the toothpick a careful half-inch into
her ass. It was too small for her to resist. I twiddled it
again and was rewarded by a little gasp floating around the
side of the chair. I transferred the toothpick from anus to
Kleenex, generously Criscoed-up the thin, round little
bridge pencil and pushed its rounded end firmly into the
trying-not-to-resist rosebud. Twiddling it did nothing-it
was too round-so I replaced it with the hexagonal Staedtler.
This time, twiddling produced a squeal and the full hips
writhed around on the back of the chair. Julie's knees bent
for a fraction of a second and then resolutely straightened
again. The quadrangular ballpoint was an even greater
success.

It was dildo time. The trainer dildo needed much more
encouragement to go in than the writing implements had but
once it was in it was obviously doing a much better job and
I experimented for the first time with a back-and-forth
motion. I had to put a hand on Julie's back to steady her
but she writhed around so distractingly that I decided to
skip the next dildo and get into action myself. I
straightened and pressed my straining cock against the
rosebud, holding her by the hips. She tensed and I felt the
buttocks clamp closely and forbiddingly round the top of my
cock. Encouraged, I pushed harder but, with a flicker of
annoyance, she clamped harder. I bet you didn't know
buttocks could clamp with a flicker of annoyance. Well, they
can.

"Crisco," said Julie. Ah, yes. I did it, my cock luxuriating
in the lubricated touch of my fingers and palms. This time,
I pressed firmly but patiently but relentlessly and
eventually the relaxation came and I was able to force my
cock slowly, slowly in. The tight band of her sphincter
travelled slowly up my cock until it was firmly clamped
round the very root as-gasping, eyes closed, head flung
back, naked toes sliding slightly on the carpet, Crisco'd
fingers slipping as I grasped her hips-I strained to get one
more millimetre further inside her.

* * *

At this point, I later worked out, she must have fallen
asleep. The intensely pleasurable gripping sensation around
the base of my cock transformed into an intensely painful,
much more powerful grip.

"Ow! Ease up!" I said.

No response.

"Please?"

"Please! Julie! You're hurting me!"

No response. A gentle snore-yes, by God, a snore!-drifted
around the armchair. And there I stood, trapped. Horniness
drained away but the blood in my cock didn't; it had no way
to get out. As the minutes ticked by, it seemed to me that
my trapped cock grew within her and pleasurable tingling
gave way to painful throbbing. Julie gave a little grunt and
made, I guess, a turning-over-in-bed motion. For the sake of
my yet-to-be-conceived children I grabbed her firmly,
Crisco-slippery, and held her onto the top of the chair. The
hideous force of the clamping band eased momentarily but,
before I could react, clamped down again double-hard. She
slumped a bit further forward as she settled, raising me
helplessly to tip-toe. I started to sweat. I grabbed the
chair either side of her hips, heedless of Crisco marking
the fabric, grateful for the greater friction to hold her
steady.

"Julie! Julie! Wake up!" I prodded her butt frantically. Not
a hope. She was really out, drugged almost. How could this
be?

I braced my knees and pulled, trying to walk backwards on
toe-tip. No change. I tried harder, recklessly throwing my
torso back to get a bit of momentum. Ow! Don't try that
again. I pulled back as hard as I could without jerking. The
chair slid back across the carpet, loaded legs digging into
the pile. Great. Really great.

I put the heels of my hands on the back of the chair and
pushed back, doing vertical press-ups on the chair-back.
Nada. Harder. Julie slid a little bit back over the chair,
to her original position. This was progress; I could get my
heels onto the floor again. With a little sigh, she slipped
back again, remorselessly pulling me to tip-toe once more.
Damn and blast.

I looked about for inspiration and caught sight of myself
reflected in the flat's picture window that used to look out
over Table Bay. I looked ridiculous: obscured (mercifully)
from pubis down by Julie and the chair, I stood teetering
with arms thrown back for balance and looking worried. I
looked exactly what I was-a man with his cock trapped in the
butt of a slumbering Juno. Well, at least things can't get
any worse, I thought, reflecting on the tragicomedy.

At that point, things got worse. My gaze travelled through
my reflection and focussed on the newer block of flats that
is the reason Julie's flat doesn't look out over Table Bay
any more. And there, on the external walkway, gazing
slack-jawed into Julie's front window, stood a family of
up-country tourists from Gauteng. They'd caught sight of us
on their way from the lifts to the kitchen door of their
hired holiday home. On the other side, it looks out over
Table Bay but, right now, they were finding me a lot better
value than the view they'd paid for. "Vanderbijlpark can't
offer anything like this," you could hear them thinking.
Well, I should bloody well hope it can't.

As I watched, aghast, the mother chivvied the under-age
daughter indignantly through the kitchen door, followed her
in and banged the door righteously. The father and the
near-grown-up son continued to be rivetted, with idiot grins
pasted over the front of their moron heads. After the
briefest possible interval, the net curtain of a bedroom
window flicked aside and the wide-eyed daughter returned
unimpeded to her gaping. The mother, for her part,
materialised discreetly in the kitchen, thin-lipped with
self-righteous, wouldn't-miss-it-for-the-world disapproval.
Her Gauteng neighbours were certainly going to get chapter
and verse on life in the decadent Cape when she got back
home.

And every second that passed, my poor captured cock got more
and more and more painful. I was trying not to think about
dogs gnawing off their legs to escape traps when Julie
snorted, raised herself up on her arms and looked about her,
dazed. She obviously had no clue where she was.

"Julie! For God's sake...!"

She didn't seem to hear me. But, at least, she stood up. My
heels greeted the floor once again, with affection.

"Julie! Hey, Julie!"

No dice. She shook her head, as if to clear the sound of
dream voices, and obviously regretted it.

"Ooooh, shit," she said and, gripping her head in her hands,
strode off-in such a way, I have to tell you, that I formed
the opinion that she'd completely forgotten she was wearing
unaccustomed high-heels-down the passage to her bedroom.
Guess where I went? Yelping in pain and horrible
anticipation of pain, I had an instant crash course in how
to march in lockstep with stumbling stiletto heels. All in
all, I did rather well: I only got a stiletto heel-driven by
the full weight of this mysteriously groggy, stumbling hefty
woman-onto my toes three times. At my three corresponding
screams of agony, she gasped in pain and clasped her head
afresh but otherwise behaved as if I wasn't there, Rather an
insult, really, I've since thought, when I had leisure to
consider.

She dragged me into her room and, like an exhausted
long-distance swimmer who has gone out too fast too soon,
she "dragged the piano" (i.e. me) into the final lap and
gratefully threw herself face-down onto her bed. I was
painfully yanked with her and flipped forward as she
crashed. Ow! And a split-second later, the teeth of my upper
jaw met her skull with an explosion of blinding pain.
Double, triple ow! Jesus bloody buggering Christ! Pity my
top lip was in the way.

When I'd blinked the tears away, I saw a near-empty bottle
of sherry by it on the bedside table. She'd won it in a
raffle. Didn't drink the stuff. It had been standing around
unopened for months. At last I identified the elusive odour
Julie was putting out: Bertram's Extra Dry Sherry. Julie,
normally abstemious, had most of a pint of sherry in her.
Calming herself for expanding her sexual horizons, no doubt.
Pity her anal sphincter obviously wasn't calmed enough to
expand. Hell, blast and double damnation. No wonder she was
out. She was going to have the mother of all hangovers when
she eventually came round. Serve her right, the bloody
bitch, I thought vengefully. Me and my big mouth. I wasn't
in a position to do much but at least I could kick myself,
which I did.

The drink went to her head when she bent down? The pain in m
y cock was now beyond unbearable, to say nothing of my other
wounds. I lay on Julie in what, normally, would have been a
highly erotic position-nothing is sexier, I believe, than
firm, round buttocks nestled into the lower belly-wondering
frantically what to do. I wasn't well-placed for icy
calmness but eventually I thought of the shower. An icy cold
shower was exactly what we both needed, in the worst way.
Particularly the innocently slumbering Julie, I thought
bitterly. It was only a matter of getting there. I lay there
contemplating a variety of bizarre ninja manoeuvres to
achieve this but eventually I realised that it was a choice
of carrying this Juno into the shower or dying of blood
loss-merciful, merciful blood loss-following the regrettable
explosion of my cock.

If I could slide her gently half-off the bed with her knees
on the floor, I could get enough leverage to lift her and
all would be well-relatively well, anyway. If she slid past
to the point of no return and flopped onto the floor, I
might as well be nailed to the floor by my scrotum until
dead.

I pulled experimentally. Ow, ow, bloody ow. That wasn't
going to work. I rolled her to one side, got one arm around
her waist, rolled back, pushed up with the other arm and, in
exquisite agony, anti-humped her-you should pardon the
expression-slowly backwards towards the edge of the bed. She
slumberingly resisted every inch of the way while I sobbed
and swore and gritted my teeth. When her knees went over the
edge of the mattress, she suddenly went of her own accord
and I was left with my fingernails clawing at the bedclothes
like a cat being Velcroed off the sofa, desperate to stop
her before she pinned me to the floor for the rest of my
short, unnatural life. Stiletto-stamped toes shrieking in
protest, I stopped her at the last moment and, after a deep
breath and a prayer (for God to have a sense of humour) I
braced myself on my wounded feet and, clasping her with both
arms, humped her-this time you need not pardon the
expression-to the door of the shower. God, she was a weight.

I staggered grimly forward on my very last reserves of
strength and lifted her triumphantly over the sill of the
shower cubicle and God-who does, it turns out, have a sense
of humour-arranged for her heels to catch and over we went,
twisting as we fell. Always the gentleman, I broke her fall
with my body, smashing my head gallantly on the tiled wall
in the process. When the flashes of light behind my eyelids
eventually flickered out, I fought to roll Julie over on her
front and, as she hung from my poor, abused cock, I kneeled
and wrenched the cold tap with all the force I could muster.

I was deluged in freezing, stinging water. So was Julie. She
screamed angrily and threw her head back. This time my lower
lip paid the price and got between my teeth and her skull.

"Fuck!" she screamed, not knowing where she was.

"Fuck!" I mumbled resentfully, clasping my abused face.

She realised fast enough that she someone naked was lying on
her nakedness, though, and briskly smashed her elbows
backwards at me. The anal sphincter crushed me tighter than
ever and I felt a rib crack before I could grab her arms.

"Jesus, Julie, it's me! Relax! Stop!"

She swung her head round as far as it would go and
recognised me. She didn't seem to take it as good news.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she screamed.

"I'm expanding your fucking sexual horizons, you dizzy
bitch. Now let me go."

"Let you go?" I saw her on her face the reflection of her
physical stocktaking. Sexual horizons?

"Oh." She blushed, for the first time on record.

"Do it, dammit. Let me go. I'm dying here."

Pause

"I can't."

"You can. Bloody do it."

"I can't."

Then the bloody woman started to giggle helplessly. I was
about to get her attention by the famous hangman'
s-noose-executed-with-soap-on-a-rope trick when, at least,
the giggling allowed her to relax and the horrible clamping
eased up. I didn't wait but wrenched myself free, sobbing
with relief. My cock was unrecognisably huge, shaped and
coloured like an aubergine. I lay and cried for a very long
time while the cold water beat down on my distressed
manhood.

"Oh, God," said Julie, "I feel sick." And she vomited
copiously onto the shower floor. The sweet, sick smell of
half-digested sherry chokingly billowed out through the
shower stall.

Time and water eventually helped. Julie, staggering to stand
and see straight, tried to be solicitous but spoiled it by
giggling and the turned worm drove her away with harsh
words.

Much, much later I got dressed again. My cracked rib hurt
damnably, putting on my underpants was exquisitely
painful-but marginally better than the prospect of zipping
my cock if I didn't-and I couldn't get my damaged toes into
my shoes.

Julie tried to get me to stay but I wanted to get my head,
my rib and my toes to a doctor. Driving was horribly painful
but not as hard to bear as the appreciative whistling and
applause I got from the Gautengers as I limped across the
car park. They playfully tossed me a can of Castle lager, as
a sort of street-theatre tip, I suppose. Unfortunately, I
was looking shamefacedly down, not up at my third-floor
tormentors, and didn't see it coming to catch it. They throw
accurately in Gauteng and the can ricocheted off the bonnet
of my new BMW and cracked the windscreen.

"O, aarde! Sorry, hey, man," came a Gauteng voice,
followed-not a moment too soon-by the sounds of hurried
withdrawal.

And, yes, when the doctor saw my other wounds, he suspected
I'd been mugged and insisted on me stripping completely. And
yes, he then insisted on a full and complete explanation of
my empurpled penis. And yes, he then failed in his manful
struggle not to roll around on the floor laughing. He nearly
made it but made the mistake of catching the nursing sister'
s eye and then they were both off, snorting and trying to
say, "I'm sorry" and then giggling off again while I stared
patiently at the wall praying unsuccessfully for the ground
to open up under me.

The news spread through the hospital like wildfire and I was
escorted off the premises by a goggle-eyed escort of
wheelchaired and ambulant patients and every member of staff
who could find an excuse for walking, whispering, behind
me-about a hundred per cent of them, I judged.

* * *

The zip on those jeans was never the same again, either.
And, if I ever get another erection ever again (and I'm not
betting on it) and it isn't exquisitely painful (and I don't
believe it won't be) there'll be no more expanding of sexual
horizons. It's the missionary position for me, preferably
with someone the size of Allie McBeal. And I'm never eating
aubergine again either.

-----

ENDS

- My collected stories are at
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Stories.html

- 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.

28th September 2000


--
Father Ignatius<Father Ignatius at hotmail dart calm>
Stories: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Stories.html
Life on ASSD: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/FatherIgnatius/www/Play/
Write Club: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/Write_Club/
Iron Writer: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Rui_Favorites/www/Iron/

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+