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Message-ID: <27710asstr$975953407@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Shufflespeare" <webmaster@eroticpages.co.uk>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sun, 03 Dec 2000 21:29:44 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Story: Be Careful What You Wish For... (Ff)
Date: Mon,  4 Dec 2000 13:10:07 -0500
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

Yeah, right so it's another lesbian story but there's a plot in this one so
have a read and tell me what you think.
Shufflespeare
www.eroticpages.co.uk

Be Careful What You Wish For...(21/11/00)

Every now and then, Dean Musgrove likes to make a special effort to keep the
spark in his marriage alive. But tonight's intimacy has an ulterior motive.
Tonight is reserved for the realisation of a closely held fantasy, which had
begun life as a scene on a videotape. It holds secrecy, mystique and it is
about women.
Nothing new there, you might think. But these women are hidden away behind
closed doors; by themselves and without men. Not shopping for shoes or
chatting about the latest skincare lotion. These women are doing things with
one another. The sort of things that a woman usually needs a man for.
And we are not talking about car maintenance either. But maybe if Dean had
kept his wifes car in better condition, she wouldn't be stranded twenty
miles from home and without any way of contacting him.
The evening is cold and getting dark and Angela can see her breath in the
headlights of the oncoming cars with their drivers eager to get home to a
hot meal and a warm smile from their loved ones. Angela on the other hand is
alone in a strange place and without a clue as to how she is going to get
home.
Until she hears footsteps and a dark figure walks past her window, into the
path of light from the traffic. Angela tries not to breathe as the stranger
peers at her through the fogged up windscreen. Angela clings to the darkness
around her for comfort. She doesn't want to be a story on the eleven o'clock
news. Woman butchered at side of road. Or worse still, raped and butchered.
Gloved hands try to wipe a clearing in the windscreen. The whining squeal of
leather against glass bites into her and makes her long for her husband. He
would make this safe. Everything would be all right if he were here. Even
his voice was comforting.
"Is anyone inside there?" a concerned voice asks from beyond the windscreen.
"My name's Theresa. I was wondering if you needed any help?"
Angela's shoulders drop in relief. How could one woman make her feel so safe
with so few words?
Theresa brings coffee from the kitchen while her guest chirps away on the
telephone to her husband, explaining where she is and why she is late. But
the loving tone soon changes and Angela puts the phone down looking somewhat
distressed.
"Something wrong?" Theresa asks.
"It's Dean. He has a special evening planned for us."
"That's nice. Better call a taxi before it gets cold," Theresa says,
offering her a card with a number and adding, "I wish I had someone to spoil
me like that."
"The thing is, when I say us, I don't mean just me and Dean. He's invited
Jerry over."
"Jerry. Who's Jerry?"
Theresa listens sympathetically as Angela pours her heart out about Jerry
and her husband. Theresa sits in shock as Angela finishes her story.
"I'm not surprised you don't want Jerry in your house." Theresa remarks, "if
she really tried to get Dean to change his mind the night before your
wedding, she sounds like the sort of friend you could do without."
"But that's not the worst of it." Angela continues, "Jerry wanted him for
herself."
A small tear prompts Theresa to reach for the tissues as Angela goes on to
sob about Dean's plan for their evening.
"He wanted to what?" Theresa cries in disbelief.
"I know," Angela cries, "husbands don't ask their wives to do things like
that."
Angela accepts the offer of a cigarette, too distraught to remember that she
had quit three years ago and listens as Theresa quietly reassures her.
"Listen honey, if that guy thinks that one woman in his bed isn't enough,
and wants to have Jerry in there as well, you're better of without him.
That's what I say."
Angela looks up at the Theresa through tear filled eyes.
"I am so sorry about this Theresa. I'm dripping my mascara all over your
lovely carpet. I'll phone a taxi although I don't know where I'll go."
Theresa looks at the trembling lip and listens to the sobbing.
"There now," she says, "he isn't worth it. You can't go back tonight. I've
got a spare room and I'd be glad of the company."
A million stars join a full moon to watch over the silent house as the two
women talk.
"I can see you're upset," Theresa says, pulling another tissue from the box,
"but is it because he asked Jerry to join you or the thought of another
woman in your bed?"
"It's not the thought of another woman," Angela says, letting the slightest
trace of a smirk chase away her tears, "when I was twelve, I had a friend
called Rachel Howitt. We would spend a lot of time in her bedroom, talking
about this and that. Well, mostly about boys. One time, when we were talking
about a boy that we both really fancied, I asked Rachel if she would let him
fuck her. One thing led to another and we ended up with our knickers off. If
it hadn't been for her big brother coming up the stairs, we probably would
have ended up playing with one another."
"But you didn't actually touch Rachel. Does it excite you to think about
doing things like that now?" Theresa enquires.
"Come on Theresa. I'm a twenty four year old married woman!"
"Yes; twenty four not ninety four. You should live a little. Let's say I
leaned across this sofa and kissed you right now. What would you think?"
"I don't know. I suppose I would think you were being affectionate."
"I don't mean that sort of kiss, I mean this sort of kiss," Theresa says as
she lunges the distance between them before Angela has the chance to move.
The clock on the mantelpiece chimes midnight and the springs in the sofa
squeak. By the time the clock chimes the half-hour, Theresa is holding
Angela's face in her hands.
"What is it?" Theresa asks, "was I being too forward?"
Angela wipes the last of her tears away before answering.
"If Shaun had kissed me like that, I wouldn't have to guess what he was
after. The thing is, he'd have got what he wanted and satisfied himself
leaving me to listen to his snoring."
Theresa smiles, "Bit of a fast worker is he?"
"You could say that. But at least with Shaun I know what to expect. I've
never done this kind of thing with a woman. I don't know what comes next."
Theresa pulls Angela into her breast and sighs.
"Think of it like a meal. That kiss can be the aperitif or the after-dinner
mint on the plate beside the tip for the waiter. It is entirely up to you!
And that is the beauty of it, no pressure. We can just lie here and hold
each other or we can..." Theresa says, breaking off her sentence.
"Or we can do what?" Angela whispers, in an innocent voice that sounds
almost scared. Theresa replies without words.
Theresa's hand cups Angela's left breast through a chemise blouse in the
soft glow of the flames from the fire.
"I've never had a woman touch my tits before," Angela says, as she pulls at
the buttons and discards her blouse, "you don't maul them around like my
husband."
"You'll find there are a lot of things I won't do like your husband,"
Theresa smiles, "and if I can persuade you to part with that skirt, I'll
show you what I mean."
Angela jerks as a finger invades and explores her cunt, drawing tiny circles
on her inner walls before settling on one spot. Her legs feel weak as her
lover squats and applies a hand to her tummy, the finger inside begins to
curl and Angela panics as the sensation of needing to urinate takes over.
Between her open legs, Theresa laps at the piss trickling down the inside of
Angela's left thigh.
Bucking around on her lover's tongue, Angela feels the tightening of her
womb and knows that she is not far off. With a final stroke of her clit, she
is over the edge and ramming her hips against Theresa's face for all she is
worth.
As the flames crackle in the fireplace, Angela lifts her face from her
lovers breast which has been serving as a pillow while she rode down her
orgasm.
"I've got a sneaking suspicion you've done that before, Theresa!" Angela
quips smiling.
Theresa grins and kisses Angela lightly on the forehead.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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