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Message-ID: <28112asstr$978228602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Laura Smith" <lauras_1979@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} "Of Sweat and Semen" by Laura Smith (F/MMMMM..........)
Date: Sat, 30 Dec 2000 21:10:02 -0500
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This story is intended for adults only.  I should confess that where I live 
it is VERY cold and snowy right now, so I decided to write about heat as a 
means of escape.  Trapped indoors, I wrote this story during the course of 
the two football games that were on TV today.  I hope you enjoy this off the 
cuff effort!



Of Sweat and Semen
By Laura Smith




The great city lay quiet at noon.  On account of the fierce heat, few people 
were about.  The storm, which passed noisily before dawn, had done little to 
cool down the sweltering tenements, and now from the damp pavement, steam 
was rising, giving the place an unearthly, hellish appearance.

Laura hurried towards the subway, pulling at her dress.  The thin fabric 
clung damply at her chest, between her shoulder blades and at the small of 
her back, but pull at it as she might, it slapped back against her and 
stuck, like a clammy, lascivious hand.  A hot wind poured up the stairs from 
the station, whipping along bits of trash and dust so that it seemed to 
Laura, shielding her eyes while descending the stairs, as if she was 
entering the mouth of some ungodly cauldron.

Trains on other lines in distant tunnels, boring through the city like 
vicious metal worms, shrieked and groaned faintly as Laura waited on the 
platform.  Because this was not her usual station, Laura mostly used the 
uptown lines, she was unsure of where to wait for the train.  Down the 
platform a couple of men waited, rough looking types, and Laura edged 
towards them, staying enough at a distance where she hoped they would pay no 
attention to her.

The train rounded the corner in the tunnel like a hissing, grinding devil, 
its headlights piercing the dusty, humid air like beacons signaling to ships 
far out in the fog.  The car was packed and sweltering - no chance for a 
seat, and Laura wedged herself in as best she could and reached out for a 
strap to hold onto.  Before the doors even closed, Laura became aware of the 
strong odor of men and their sweat in the car.  This line, which ran up from 
the docks and beneath the central city to the freight yards, was used mostly 
by working men and Laura could almost pick out their trades by what she 
smelled - the fishermen, stevedores, and mechanics - had about them, in 
addition to their sweat, the smell of fish, tarred rope, and oil.  But 
pervading everything was the briny smell of the sea.

The doors slammed shut with a whirring of the machinery and the train 
lurched forward, jostling Laura against the coarse bodies of the men around 
her.  Rounding the first corner out of the station, the lights flickered and 
dimmed.  Laura knew the heat was causing a great strain on the electrical 
system in the city.  She imagined all the thousands of fans perched near 
open windows, uselessly stirring up the muggy air or blowing across the tops 
of melting blocks of ice in the homes of the wealthy.  Yesterday at her job, 
the machinery had spun down.  For a moment everything was eerily dark and 
quiet before the lights came back on at half power, lighting the cavernous 
factory a murky brown.  And then the boss strode down the line, telling all 
the girls to go home for the day.

Suddenly, the train came to a stop, throwing the passengers against each 
other once again.  Laura felt a man's muscular thigh press against her hip.  
The light flickered and hummed, for a moment holding on to that familiar 
faded brown hue before going out all together.

Strangely, no one said a word.  The working men all around her stood as 
silently as penned cattle.  Laura caught her breath and listened for the 
slightest sound, but heard nothing, not even breathing.  It was so odd to 
hear not one voice - not a baby's cry, or a woman's scream.  Laura wondered 
if she was the only female in the car.  She hadn't noticed any other women 
before, but thought nothing of it.  This was a working man's train.  She 
imagined the heat had taken its toll on the shipyards as well.  Without 
power, the machines for loading and unloading the ships would be idle.  With 
no lights in the great warehouses, the men would be stumbling about in the 
dark, and the gaping holds of the ships must be as hot as iron kettles.  
Laura supposed the train was packed with men, streaming away from the docks 
towards whatever rest and comfort they might find in the tenement blocks 
across town.

 From far up the tunnel there came a great shriek of metal on metal that 
sounded like some ancient, iron bird calling out in agony.  The floorboards 
rumbled slightly beneath Laura's feet as the sound echoed and died away, and 
then once again all was silent.  Laura imagined that this was probably the 
way the world would end - not in some heroic struggle or in poetic glory, 
but in faceless and dark silence, with hordes of the common people waiting 
quietly for an unremembered death.

The car seemed to grow hotter, if that was possible, and the men pressed in 
on her from all sides.  Laura could feel the hard buttons of a man's 
trousers digging into her side.  His belt buckle pushed into her hip, 
painfully.  She tried to shift position but was unable to move.  She 
considered clearing her throat to politely let the man know he was 
intruding, but Laura found the thick air sticking in her throat.

And then it began.  The men around her moved back slightly, and Laura 
realized they had been pressing in on her from all sides by design, not 
because of the overcrowded car.  As if moved by a single will, she felt 
several pairs of rough hands begin to grope her at once.  Laura tried with 
all her strength to summon up her voice to cry out against these men, but no 
sound would come out.  She tried to struggle, but found herself frozen as 
the coarse hands passed over her arms and shoulders, across her breasts, and 
down her back.

To her horror, Laura realized that wherever the hands touched her clothing, 
the thin fabric of her dress simply dissolved.  Laura could feel it 
sloughing away like a newspaper left out in the rain.  The men's hands 
continued rubbing over her until she was naked from the waist up, and still 
they touched her, on the breasts, under her arms, and she could vividly feel 
the thick callused fingers against her skin. When the hands moved lower, 
Laura began to tremble, the only movement her body seemed capable of.  The 
hands passed over her thighs and buttocks with their strange ability to 
dissolve her clothing undiminished.  A hand slid over her belly and snaked 
its way between her legs and Laura felt the last remaining shards of her 
dress and the undergarments beneath it disappear until the thick rough 
fingers were in contact with her most sensitive flesh.

Strong arms looped under her armpits from behind as large meaty hands 
grasped her by the ankles and Laura found herself lifted off the floor.  
There were more hands on her now.  They seemed to be everywhere - between 
her thighs, kneading her buttocks and pressing against her breasts.  Many 
pairs of hands were holding her by the legs, and they began to spread them 
apart.

Laura felt a man positioning himself between her legs.  The rough fabric of 
his trousers rubbed the insides of her thighs and then she could feel the 
hot blunt head of his penis probing at the opening to her vagina.  The man 
grasped her at the waist, hooking his thumbs over her pelvic bones, and 
pulled Laura towards him, thrusting his burning penis into her.  Laura was 
surprised at how easily the thick organ went into her, but her breath still 
caught in her throat and pain shot up her spine from her pelvis.  The hands 
all over her body held Laura firmly while the man withdrew his penis and 
thrust it into her again several more times.  He shifted his hands around to 
her buttocks, grasping and pulling them apart before pulling her pelvis 
against his and holding it against him while inside of her, she could feel 
his penis jerking and twitching.  The man's grasp became painfully strong, 
and then Laura could feel the wet throb of his ejaculation.

After finishing, the first man was replace by another who slid his rigid 
organ into her easily.  Laura felt something ticklish between her breasts, 
and then the sensation of liquid and she realized one of the other men had 
relieved himself - squirted his semen between her breasts.  She felt some of 
the hands release her, only to be replaced with the blunt straining heads of 
penises nudging against every part of her body - her breasts, her neck and 
face.

The second man ejaculated inside of her, but Laura scarcely noticed.  All at 
once, she felt the men all around her beginning to ejaculate, spreading 
their thick warm semen over her face, into her hair, and across her belly.  
She felt as if she was drowning in it - dissolving into the coating of hot 
sticky sperm.

The hands that were still holding onto her gradually lowered her feet to the 
ground.  To her amazement, Laura discovered that clothing had somehow 
rematerialized on her body, although everything was soaked and smelled of 
fresh semen.  The hands at her shoulders released her also, and began 
stroking her, smoothing down her dress.

 From far up in the tunnel, Laura heard the distant shriek of grating metal 
again, and a moment later the train began to rumble and inch forward.  The 
men had all backed away, so that no one was touching her.  Laura's mind 
whirled: what would she do when the lights came back on again?  What would 
happen?

The lights flickered several times before sputtering back to full power.  By 
now the train was back up to full speed, and Laura discovered that she was 
standing just as she had been before, holding a strap in a car full of 
sweaty working men.  Her clothing was drenched - with sweat.  A bead of it 
ran down her forehead, stinging her eye.

The large man in greasy overalls, who had been standing beside her the whole 
time, holding onto a strap with two gnarled hands, looked down at Laura and 
reached into his breast pocket.

"Care for a handkerchief, missy?" he said.



The End
By Laura Smith

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