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From: "cate murray" <murraycate@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} (ASS) Mrs Scott's Triumph (Cate Murray) FF, MF, inc. 
Date: Thu, 22 Mar 2001 17:10:02 -0500
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<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>


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