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Message-ID: <30010asstr$988146603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Deja User" <empath69@my-deja.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Alphabet Game: Box Supper"{Dancer}(MF oral)
Date: Tue, 24 Apr 2001 17:10:03 -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




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<1st attachment, "Boxsupp.txt" begin>

SUBJECT LINE:
{ASSM}"Alphabet Game: Box Supper"{Dancer}(MF oral)


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Admonition: This story contains explicit descriptions of 
people engaging in careless and unprotected sexual 
activity.  PLEASE do not emulate these people since they 
are fictional characters existing in a fantasy world where 
sexually transmitted disease and unwanted pregnancy don't 
happen.  You don't live in such a world, so "let's be 
careful out there."

Oh, and minors shouldn't be reading this stuff - if you 
can't place the quote I just made in the last paragraph, 
you probably aren't old enough to be flipping through ASS*. 
Bugger off and watch 'TV Land' instead, so you can bone up 
for little age-testing quizzes like this! :)


Copyright notice: Dancer, the author of this smutty little 
opus, holds all rights of reproduction.  Private copies for 
personal perusal and archives for NON-commercial 
distribution are permitted by her.


Plea for attention: The only reward ASS* authors can expect 
is the joy of sharing their creation with the rest of 
humanity.  But wait - how does that author KNOW if people 
are reading and enjoying his story?  Yep; if you like a 
story posted to alt.sex.stories.*, the fair thing to do is 
email the author and tell them so.  I promise that it'll 
make YOU feel good to send them kudos, after all, Mark 
Twain said, "The best way to cheer yourself up is to try to 
cheer someone else up."  As always you may contact me (and 
my wife Dancer) through my 'legacy' Deja News email 
account:             <empath69@my-deja.com>  
(Wow, I'm not just an author, now I'm an AGENT, too!  ;)


Editor's Note: Here it is - part two of Dancer's 'Alphabet 
Game'; twenty-six hot, little vignettes she whipped out in 
something like a week or two - Lord Malinov eat your heart 
out with that semi-annual 'story-a-day' run I remember 
*way* back in the 20th century! ;) (Is he still around?)

And relax - these stories are all self-contained - you 
don't HAVE to read them in order, or read any of the ones 
that might squick you...

=============

The Alphabet Game (2\26)
Box Supper
Copyright Dancer 2001

The benefit auction had earned over $2,300 for Emily 
Taylor's trust fund. Poor little mite lost her mother to a 
drunk driver just as she was being brought home from the 
hospital. Normally, I'd donate several items for the Masons 
to auction but my cousin, Barb, talked me into cooking up a 
box supper and a batch of homemade cookies to sell with it. 
I wasn't nervous about what I'd fixed. It was the 'having 
supper with the man who paid the most money' part that 
worked my panties in a knot.

"SOLD!" shouted Dick, the auctioneer, and he pointed his 
gavel down front. "To the man with the black Stetson in the 
third row!" I craned to see who purchased my meal but the 
crowd of people made it impossible. Barb clamped onto my 
elbow and dragged up the steps to Dick. He was handing my 
box over to the buyer, pumping his arm. "Here's the pretty 
little filly you'll be dining with! Candy Foster!"

Barb gave me a shove and I rushed over to the two men. I 
couldn't tell what my dinner date looked like because of 
that friggin' hat. Dick mashed us together, presenting us 
to the crowd. This was embarrassing! The whoops and hollers 
were deafening as I walked off the stage, leaving Hatboy to 
follow me. Out of the prying eyes of the people, I stepped 
smartly up to the man and poked his chest. "You say one 
thing about Candy being dandy and I'll give you a swift 
kick in the balls."

"Don't worry. I learned my lesson in the fourth grade," he 
drawled, tipping the hat back to reveal his features.

"Les Moorland?" I cried and hugged him. "I haven't seen you 
since Jesus was a boy! How are you?"

"Right as rain, sweetheart," Les replied, wrapping his free 
arm around my shoulders. He tilted his head. "Feel like 
having supper in the back of my truck?" I nodded yes and 
off we went, catching ourselves up on our pasts. His Chevy 
pickup was parked a block away and we ran for it. He opened 
the door for me and I climbed inside, taking the box supper 
from him. Les hopped in behind the wheel, cranked the motor 
and drove out to Crystal Park, several miles outside of 
town.

                *               *               *

We ate deep-fried chicken in a comfortable silence. We'd 
known each other for nearly all our lives and chitchat 
seemed out of place between us. Les told me he looked 
forward to dessert. I giggled at the dual meaning and said, 
"Well, I hope you'll enjoy eating all my cookies." He 
slapped his Stetson on my head and pushed it over my shit-
eating grin.

"Candace Marie! I can't believe you'd say such a thing in 
mixed company!"

I thumbed the black felt out of my twinkling eyes. "I'm 
kidding!"

"Are you?" Les asked. I glanced into his blue eyes and saw 
a banked fire of lust burning there.

"Lay down and find out," I taunted him. He took off his 
denim jacket and balled it up, then rested his fair head on 
the homemade pillow. On my knees and before his eyes, I 
lifted the hem of my dress to my narrow waist and revealed 
my bikini undies. I pushed them down my to my knees, leaned 
to one side and tugged the cottony fabric off. Rubbing my 
panties across the bulge in his jeans, I tucked them under 
his belt buckle.

"A souvenir?" Les asked with a raised brow.

"Think of it more as a token of my esteem." I crawled up 
and knelt with my wet slit inches from his mouth. His broad 
hands touched my waist, holding the skirt up and away so I 
would be able to watch. He slithered his tongue past my 
puffy outer lips and swirled around the opening. "Oh, Les, 
lick her is definitely quicker," I sighed. He grinned 
against me and went straight to work.

He curled his muscle length-wise, thrusting it in and out 
of my twat and collecting the creamy juices in the curve. I 
widened my stance, offering him complete access. It felt 
like an open-mouth kiss down there as he tasted me with his 
tongue and pressed his lips against my nether ones. I cooed 
softly as Les ate me out with a thorough tenderness. He 
knew when to stop or go, lick or suck without me 
verbalizing my wishes. I used his nose to stimulate my love 
button, grinding my mound side-to-side.

Picking up on the cue, he flickered his tonguetip over the 
nubbin rapidly and I rewarded his diligence with a shower 
of cum. My legs wanted to clamp shut but I forced them to 
stay wide. Les pursed his lips over my clit, sucking the 
sensitive flesh sharply. "Oooohh, oooohhh, mmmm," I groaned 
as quietly as I could. I sat back and stretched my legs out 
to either side, then let gravity carry me onto Les' face as 
I performed the splits. It was a double-edged movement: my 
legs couldn't shut but Les couldn't breathe. 

A sting of pleasurable pain shot through my clit as Les 
bit, steadily increasing the pressure of his incisors. My 
body twitched with another orgasm and a thick flow of honey 
trickled out my pussy. He released the slippery pearl and 
licked me clean of every drop of cum around my lips and 
inside my hole. He bent his knees, giving me something to 
fall back on as I went limp. Les inhaled much-needed oxygen 
and wiped the gooey cum off his nose and chin, then sucking 
his hand.

"Candy, that was the best box...supper I ever ate."

End part 2


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