Message-ID: <29479asstr$985299002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <murraycate@hotmail.com> From: "cate murray" <murraycate@hotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <F26MFWGu2sZcbnQIrGC0000318d@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 22 Mar 2001 15:35:01.0929 (UTC) FILETIME=[A904C190:01C0B2E5] Subject: {ASSM} (ASS) Mrs Scott's Triumph (Cate Murray) FF, MF, inc. Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 17:10:02 -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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/29479> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, t4425, newsman _________________________________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free E-mail from MSN Hotmail at http://www.hotmail.com. <1st attachment, "mrs scott's triumph.txt" begin> This work Copyright (C) 2001, by Cate Murray. I reserve all rights of distribution not otherwise expressly granted herein. Should you like my works and wish to add my story to your collection, you are at liberty to do so for personal use. In addition, electronic distribution is allowed through BBS or the Internet as long as the text retains my by-line, copyright data, and signature, and no fee for this transmission is charged or required by the transmitter. Transmission or distribution by all other modes; print, duplication to optical or magnetic media, and such other modes as may be currently or ultimately provided, are expressly forbidden. I, Cate Murray, retain all rights to such transmission. In addition, this is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to or association with persons living or dead is coincidental. Situations may be described which without proper care could cause bodily harm or injury. Fiction is best left as such. Don't attempt any of what is described herein without providing utmost care and consideration before the fact. . If you are not yet of the age of majority, or if accessing, reading, possessing, or distributing material of this nature is illegal in your community; or if such material offends you, I invite you to leave now, before you begin. Mrs Scott's Triumph By Cate. The girl riding Mrs Scott began to jerk her body spasmodically up and down. Suddenly she stiffened, raising her jaw and stretching her neck muscles like a cobra rising, holding absolutely still for a few seconds before collapsing, moaning, onto the body of the woman beneath her. Mrs Scott had sensed in her own vagina a faint fluttering. She had almost approached one of the neat little orgasms that she used to have in the early days of her marriage and for a moment she considered rolling Connie on her back, mounting her and, belly to belly, continuing the delicious rocking motion which had earlier brought such gasps of excitement from the girl. Connie began feverishly to kiss Mrs Scott on the throat, on the chin, more dry kisses on her mouth. Then, gripping the older woman's shoulders, she pushed herself up, bouncing into a sitting position astride Mrs Scott's chubby waist. She leaned back and pushed her long dark hair back from her face, then swayed forward, sitting erect again. She licked her dry lips. "My God, Cathy," she said hoarsely, then began to lower herself down to stretch onto Mrs Scott's body again. "No," Mrs Scott said. "Listen to me, listen to me.," gripping Connie by her slender shoulders. Connie sat back, straddling the older woman's pubis, avidly caressing the fleshy belly between her thighs. "Remember what I told you," Mrs Scott said, gripping her wrist. Connie looked a little troubled, but nodded dumbly in obedience. "You love......"Mrs Scott prompted. "I love.... Connie struggled "Listen, let's get this straight It's you I love, Cathy.." she said. Mrs Scott shook her head. Then she ordered Connie to look into her eyes. "I love only women," Connie said. "Yes, I love only women." "Yes, " Mrs Scott said. "What are you?" "I'm a a lesbian," Connie said. "Can we ?" She placed a hand on Mrs Scott's left breast. "!No, this was only to prove it to you." Mrs Scott said, and Connie's face fell in disappointment and she childishly pouted and bit her swollen underlip . With her pale face, tiny nose and abundant dark hair, Connie was indeed beautiful and Mrs Scott was very satisfied with her night's work so far. She was enjoying, and a little surprised by, the very pleasant engorgement of her clitoris and, considering their inexperience, she thought she and the girl had performed admirably. When Connie had called two hours earlier she left her red sports car at the end of the driveway under the streetlight. There was light drizzle of rain falling and the dark top of the car was up. "Hi, I'm Oliver's Mum, won't you come in," Mrs Scott said graciously, thinking that her son had really picked a beauty this time. Connie was tall and slim, wearing a black suit with narrow trousers over high-heeled boots. Her skin was very pale and she had a sweetly tilted nose and a pretty mouth, tilted down at the corners, which illuminated her face with unexpected radiance when she smiled. "Oliver will be down shortly. Connie, isn't it? Will you have coffee - a drink?" Mrs Scott said. "Please call me Cathy, by the way." "Thank you, er, Cathy, " Connie said. "Perhaps just an orange juice." The comfortable living-room was in shadow, with just a small table lamp glowing through a red shade in the corner. "I'm hoping to do medicine," the girl said. "Oliver tells me you are a doctor," "Oh no, that was a long time ago," Mrs Scott smiled. "I gave it up soon after I got married." Connie appeared the sort of girl who would be more likely to flick impatiently through a magazine that to enter into conversation with an older woman such as Mrs Scott, but she submitted willingly enough to questions about herself. She admitted to having dated rather freely. "But Oliver is different," Connie said, and Mrs Scott believed she meant it. Love was a nicer word, a better long term prospect. But infatuation, though much derided and usually short-lasting, was the only truly exhilarating feeling in this sad world, Mrs Scott thought. And this girl was on edge. She was desperately conscious of being in Oliver's house and that she was now talking to his mother. She was "in love." She had obviously noticed nothing wrong with her drink, which she had almost finished. Connie would not have known how she found herself with Mrs Scott at the window that looked out over the lawn. The rain had been falling all day, after a long dry spell and the old, silver-grey timbers of the house were soaking moisture up like a ship long in dry dock, grateful but grumbling slightly in protest as they became swollen again with damp. The pretext had been to show Connie the sea, which was about a hundred yards away, the beach lying just beyond the end of the lawn, which was marked by a hedge of shrubby veronica and patches of tasmarisk and sea-thrift. There was a faint dull roar from the breakers, which were just luminous enough to see in the gloom, but Mrs Scott drew Connie's attention to the raindrops as they beat against the windowpane and ran in sparkling rivulets down the glass. "So beautiful, don't you think?" she said. Only Connie's pale face was reflected in the glass, her hair indistinguishable from the darkness beyond. Mrs Scott rested her hand gently on Connie's shoulder and together they watched as the tiny beads of rain gathered on the glass to collect, tremble on the pane, then finally, overcoming whatever tension held them there, stream downwards. Connie's breathing rate had dropped and her eyes were now closed under their long lashes.. Shadows and points of light were projected on her pale skin by the streetlights outside. Mrs Scott, her hand on the fragile shoulder bones, could feel the warmth rising from the girls body, yet when she touched Connie's forehead it was cool and dry. Mrs Scott felt a moment's regret at what she was about to do to Connie but, so far as Oliver was concerned, she was without scruple. She began to speak slowly and insistently into the sleeping girl's ear. Then, when she felt Connie was ready, she brought her into the next room and sat her down on the day bed and told her to remain asleep but to open her eyes. She began to question Connie and quickly found that she was promiscuous and that she had had an abortion when she was nineteen. Connie had thought she had no sexual interest in other women but now, under Mrs Scott's tutelage, she knew different. When Mrs Scott kicked off her shoes and stepped out of her simple day-dress Connie stared in astonishment at the fleshy naked body standing over her. It wasn't a perfect body, though there was an attractive symmetry to the fleshy thighs and the soft gourd of the belly and the older woman's breasts were quite cheekily pert for a woman of fifty five. Would you like to make love to me? Mrs Scott asked. With only a whimper Connie fell on her knees and buried her face between the older woman's thighs. Mrs Scott raised her up and helped her to remove her clothes. However, before allowing the by now frantic girl to proceed, Mrs Scott took a pair of surgical gloves from the table beside the bed and ordered Connie to lie on the bed. She removed Connies panties and checked her pubic area and then, methodically, her vagina for any signs of sores or discharge. Satisfied, she tossed the soiled gloves in the waste bin, sighed and climbed on top of the girl. "I can show you a simple technique," the red-haired woman had said, before it all started The women's' group was not quite what Cathy Scott had expected when she took up the invitation from a friend to whom she had gone in desperation. In spite of the sober colonial furniture the large overheated room smelled of patchouli and joss sticks and probably marijuana. The red-haired woman had been giving a talk on herbal medicine although, as she jokingly confided to Mrs Scott later "I'm more at the witchcraft end of things." The woman had predatory green eyes and raddled skin with incipient wattles beginning to mar the lines of her strong jaw. Her hair, which was rather a strange color, was, she confided, tinted with herbal dyes. She was probably ten years older than Mrs Scott who at forty two, was frantic at discovering her husband had been having an affair for over a year. Technique? Did she mean a sexual technique? It turned out that, in spite of her rather raffish appearance, this was the red-haired woman's own house. Cathy Scott didn't quite trust her, but was intrigued enough to stay behind after the others had left. Because the woman used a carriage clock with a brass pendulum to induce a trance after persuading her guest to take a teaspoon of a white powder in her drink, Mrs Scott could tell she was in trance for three periods of ten minutes each and one of half an hour. It was about one o'clock in the morning when the red-haired woman was satisfied that Mrs Scott understood the techniques she had taught her. She rang a cab for her. At the door she handed her a large brown glass jar with a screw top which she had put in a paper sack and surprised Mrs Scott by kissing her on the lips. Straightening her skirt in the cab, Mrs Scott was puzzled when she noticed the run on the left thigh of her nylons, which she had stopped, with a dab of nail-varnish. She had noticed the run putting on her stockings that morning, but it was now on the stocking on her right leg! She was even more astonished to hear on the cab radio that it was Friday morning, considering that she had met the red-haired woman on Wednesday night. She was terrified that Oliver would be frightened and that her husband might have called the police. But he was, of course, out and a surprisingly calm Oliver said: "A lady rang and said you were spending the day with her. She seemed nice." When Mrs Scott opened her purse she found her own pale blue panties freshly laundered and packed in a plastic bag. Intrigued, she went upstairs and lifted her dress. She was wearing a tiny pair of new white panties with a large heart drawn in crimson lipstick on the crotch. She felt sick at first. She would have to examine her vagina daily for signs of discharge or sores for several weeks to come. Then she sat down on her bed, bit her lip and smiled. She was embarrassed and more than a little curious as to how the red-haired woman had used her, but all in all, she thought she had had good value. If it worked! The following day she began the induction techniques on her erring husband. The house was very quiet after the noise of the sports car had died into the night. It had been embarrassing at the end, with the girl weeping and begging, kneeling before her and hugging Mrs Scott's ankles. For a moment she had felt a perverse pleasure that a girl of twenty-two should kneel in abasement before a greying woman of fifty-five with a thickening waist and an embarrassingly large bottom. Cathy Scott had instructed Connie in her soft, insistent voice that she would remember nothing of tonight apart from her new-found desires when she came out of the trance. Then the girl's instructress had opened her thighs and permitted Connie to crawl gratefully between them. Slavering helplessly over the older woman's greying pubis, she was allowed show what a good student she was by eating Mrs Scott out. Again Mrs Scott was brought almost to the brink, but she knew now that she could wait. She gently lifted the girl's head and led her to the downstairs bathroom to shower before going home. At the door she kissed her gently on the lips. The stairs creaked and the house seemed to groan softly in the wind as Mrs Scott made her way up the second flight of stairs to the turret room. Her husband had in the end proved a disappointment. His silly little affair ought to have been enough to warn her that his powers were waning, even if, in her inexperience, she hadn't noticed before. Although brought successfully to heel, he had never brought her near ecstasy. At least he hadn't died like the husband of a friend, after being removed by paramedics from another woman's bed. He had quietly suffered a heart attack in his study, a glass of scotch in his hand, while Mrs Scott masturbated in the turret room above and the wind blew forlornly outside. The room was board panelled with a timber floor and rag rugs and a bow window overlooking the Sound. . There was a brass sextant with a brass and leather telescope on a shelf. On the moonlit windowsill there was an exquisite model of a whaler that had taken Oliver nearly three years to make, and a Bermuda rig schooner half-completed on the table. He would never need to work, and this was how he occupied most of his time. The house had originally belonged to a retired sea captain and Mrs Scott often thought she could still smell the ghost of navy-cut shag tobacco in the timbers. The old imagined captain was a special love of hers and sometimes Oliver played that role for her. She herself had been Madame Bovary or Connie Chatterley, or other anonymous, desperate women as the mood took her. But the role of Mommy was probably her best, the one that still excited Oliver most. Oliver was sitting in the wicker chair as she had left him, staring blankly at the raindrops on the window. The moon had come out now and the drops of water on the window were projected on his face, as they had been on the girl's face earlier. He was so beautiful that she thought she felt her womb move within her as she removed the rough army blanket that covered him and turned to spread it on the bed. When she turned back he was standing and his erection was like a bleached bone in the moonlight. Mrs Scott led him to the bed and when he lay down she tucked the blankets tenderly around him and kissed him on the lips. Mrs Scott rested her heavy knee on the bed and dropped her robe from her shoulders, allowing it to slide with a faint hiss to the floor. She climbed over Oliver, feeling the hairy male kiss of the blankets on her ample buttocks as she heaved over him, then lowered the soft pudding of her belly on to his and sheathed his erection until she was securely in the saddle and fully united with him. The wind shook the house again and its vital timbers shivered as clouds scudded across the moon. The sea was a faint dreamy roar. Normally she either rolled to the inside of the bed, taking him on top of her or Oliver, particularly if it had been several days since she had allowed him to worship her, woulde reverse their positions and enjoy her greedily, leaving more leisured lovemaking until she had managed to arouse him again later. It was hardly surprising if she spoiled him. Tonight, however, she would not be denied. He knew her in this mood and after a couple of fruitless attempts to unseat the heavy woman pressing down on him he submitted. Lifting herself but with her breasts still caressing his body she gripped the bed-rail. The bed began to creak as her movements became more rhythmic and waves of pleasure mounted in her loins and belly. She felt engorged by the sound of the wind, the heat of the bed and the rasp of the blankets on her buttocks, the silky friction she was generating against the walls of her vagina and the electric touch of his skin all along the length of her body. The creaking of the bed grew louder and the bed-head began to click against the wall. She was acutely aware of their complete privacy in the huge house, of her utter possession of him. She began to pant like an animal, grinding against his hips. Oliver tried to match her, but remained pinned, virtually helpless under the weight of his mistress. He began to moan loudly in capitulation as Mrs Scott's breath shortened. The bed-head was now thrashing in a regular rhythm against the timbers of the wall and she began to gasp hoarsely, then gave an exultant shriek, which reverberated down the well of the house as she rode him triumphantly to climax. The End. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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