index


Message-ID: <31652asstr$996052202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Clem Kadiddlehopper <manco6204@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Adam Parker (MF cons)
Date: Wed, 25 Jul 2001 05:10:02 -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


nfm

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Make international calls for as low as $.04/minute with Yahoo! Messenger
http://phonecard.yahoo.com/

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

Adam Parker (MF cons)

  - 1 -

   He strolled down the aisle, a study in casual elegance; jeans with a
bright buckle, a blue work shirt and boots - the uniform of a cowboy
who rode the leather of German and Italian steeds, like the rented
Porsche in the Safeway parking lot outside.   About one out of six heads
turned as he passed.  He was recognizable, even if some the people who
stared couldn't put a name to the face.  He made an impression even to
those who weren't searching their memories for a celebrity name.  Few
Safeway shoppers wore sunglasses to shop for cereal, as he pretended to
do, checking the side panels of the boxes for all-important statistics on
fiber content.

   The urban cowboy was Adam Parker; five million per movie plus
percentage Adam Parker.  Oh, he wasn't quite in the Kevin Costner or
Robert Redford league.  Think Sean Penn, Johnny Depp, Val Kilmer.  If
you'd been in the store a few weeks ago, standing in the checkout line
and flipping through People magazine, you might have noticed his finely
chiseled face and carefully wind-blown hair at number six on the most
eligible bachelor list.  His last movie was a summer hit, top five for two
months, a financial and critical success currently wowing them on the
foreign circuit.  His agent that morning predicted two hundred million
gross before it hit the rental and DVD market.

   He was on top of the world, and women lay strewn at his feet for his
taking.  Starlets wanted to be seen with him, fans dreamed of his
embrace, and the tabloids speculated he was gay.  Even the female lead
in his current picture had made it quite clear that her bed was available,
given that they had a few days off from the shooting schedule, the result
of a drug binge by the director, currently drying out in parts unknown. 
But Adam didn't want the star of stage and screen, wasn't interested in
the league of leggy starlets and had no taste for the barely-legal groupies
who lined the sets.  He wanted the lady in aisle seventeen; cereal, peanut
butter, jellies and women going about five foot three and 180 pounds.

   She had been his target from the minute he walked into the store, just
a glance as she crossed the end of an aisle.  He picked up a basket and
hurried to cut her off, walking down the front of the store as she shopped
the back, catching up as her cart crossed another aisle, stopping to check
his first impressions.  She wheeled into the cereal aisle, and he walked
in the other end, ignoring the pretty girl he had almost run into, who was
now staring at his back, trying to find a name for his face.

   The target fit the Adam Parker profile; not old, not young, an attractive
face, long straight hair, blonde or brunette or whatever, height irrelevant,
big legs, large stomach but not gross, and huge boobs.  His logic said she
was single, and his logic was never wrong - one had only to scan the
contents of her cart, as no married woman would buy a half quart of
milk.  He watched as she selected a jar of peanut butter and beat a hasty
retreat to the safety of the vegetable aisle to cover herself with a few safe
purchases.  A woman that size didn't stay that way eating carrot sticks
and goddamn rice cakes.  But she was bound by nature to be secretive
and guilty about her food purchases, especially on Friday, binge night.

   All week she would have played it straight, not eating as light or
exercising as much as she had promised herself, but keeping it in bounds
so at least her clothes fit at work, well enough to get by.  But Friday
meant two days to recover before the hell of Monday morning, praying
the skirt would fit one more week.  Friday night was food night, and if
he was right - and he was always right - she would end up in the very
place she started in her mind when she walked through the door; frozen
foods for pizza and ice cream.  He knew the habits of his prey.

   He followed her by circling around to the front of the vegetable aisle,
stopping to select a couple of apples to dress his basket, both of which
would probably end up in the store's trash bin as soon as he walked out
the door.  He watched as she pretended to be interested in cruciferous
vegetables, broccoli and kale and stinking cauliflower.  It was a good
thing Adam didn't have a slow metabolism, because he believed
vegetables were meant to be eaten indirectly; first fed to livestock, then
consumed as steaks and chops.

   He always selected the time carefully on his hunting expeditions. 
Five-thirty was a good time to start, catching the secretaries and clerks
just getting off shift, stopping on the way home for their Friday night
treasures.  If he didn't strike gold in one store, that left plenty of time to
prowl a few more.  Even if he ended up at eight o'clock with no
prospects, he never compromised by taking the easy way out - hitting a
bar, being recognized, instant chick magnet.  If he bedded a different
woman every night, especially the wrong sort, the tabloids would have
a field day.  It was safer to use a discreet escort service that catered to
visiting celebrities if he ended up with blue balls for the weekend.

   She put something green in her basket and began to walk the back
aisle again, and he quickly followed, seeing another "aha" expression on
a face he passed.  He strolled past the dairy and meat cases, admiring her
chunky calves above the plain black pumps, her hair flowing down her
shoulders, hints of her ass through the skirt.  He could feel himself
becoming aroused, on the trail.  The woman looked perfect; well dressed,
a white blouse with ruffled fringes, a blue pleated skirt with the
appropriate vertical lines, and a matching jacket that was much too small
to be fastened, forming blue fabric walls on either side of her stupendous
bosom.  All crisp and clean and starched, very Austrian.

   She was nearly at the far end of the store now, and there was only one
possible destination, Adam knew with a smile.  He reached the end of the
aisle and fiddled with a package, keeping her in sight.  The pizza side of
the frozen food aisle was safe, and she quickly grabbed a box, maybe not
even her favorite, and tossed it into the cart like she really didn't care,
a casual purchase.  She turned the cart, and finding herself safe and
alone, started to edge across the aisle, past the french fries and onion
rings, past the frozen waffles to the holy of holies, the ice cream section.

   She opened the door quickly, looking for just the right pints.  Nothing
that was too fattening, leave the right message for the checker, as if they
cared; but something indulgent, Haagen Daz frozen yogurt with caramel,
Ben and Jerry's low fat with marshmallow.  She had one pint in the cart,
burying it under the bath tissue, and was reaching for another as he
pounced.

   "Is that a good kind?," he asked.

   She was startled, so focused on obtaining the ice cream without being
noticed that she hadn't seen him move up the aisle behind her, and the
pint slipped from her hand, rolling across the aisle.  She was horrified,
caught, revealed, trapped in the ice cream section with one of the
offending articles in plain sight.  Worse, confronted by a man, a very
handsome man, standing well within her defense zone, occupying her
space.

   "I'm sorry, I'll get it," he said, walking over to retrieve the pint. 
"Here, let's put this one back, I'll get you another one."  He picked
another pint off the shelf and handed it to her, enjoying the look on her
face; shock, embarrassment, and now overriding her emotions a swell of
recognition.

   "Oh, um, sorry, clumsy," she said. 

   "That's alright pretty lady, no harm done."

   "Oh, um, thanks, I, uh . . . Adam Parker??"

   "The same," he replied, picking up a pint to look at its label.  She was
trapped between him and the ice cream compartment door, open behind
her back, the cold air flowing out between them.

   "Oh, my, well, excuse me, I . . ."

   "It's alright, a pleasure to meet you.  You know me from my movies?"

   "Oh, well, sure, of course."

   "Great, any favorites?" he asked.

   "Well, your last picture, I liked, I . . ."

   "I meant ice cream," he said, giving her a grin.

   "Sorry?"

   "I don't know the brands up here in Seattle," he replied, "I'm from
L.A., and I don't do much shopping for myself anyway.  What should I
get?"

   "Oh, I don't know, um . . ."

   "I'll go with yours then, you better do something with that one."

   "Sorry?"

   "You better put it in your cart before your hand freezes."

   She was still holding the pint in her hand and gasped a little as he
spoke, feeling the cold.  He had to move back to let her get around the
glass door, and closed it behind her as she placed the pint in her cart. 
She turned away from him, standing with her hands gripping the handle
of the cart, paralyzed.  She jumped as he moved up beside her and spoke
again.

   "I'm just in town for a few weeks, shooting a movie, but we have a
few days off.  It's a nice town, I haven't been here before, you live
here?"

   "Yes I heard, live here, in, well, yes . . ." she trailed off, unable to put
together a sentence.

   Adam chuckled inside at her discomfort.  She was perfect, quite a cute
face really, maybe thirty five, and a huge chest, strapped up in a giant
white bra he could see traced beneath her blouse.  She was one of those
women who thought she was unattractive but actually could have made
money working as a model for the type of men's magazine that featured
the "bbw" -  big beautiful woman.  Indeed, she would have been a star,
depending on what happened to her breasts when they were free of
constraints.  He guessed they would hang very nicely.  Of course, she
would never consider doing such a thing.

   "It's alright," he said, and stuck out his hand, "I'm Adam.  And you
are . . . ?"

   "Angela," she replied, taking his hand.

   "You're frozen," and he rubbed her hand in both of his, smiling, piling
on the Adam Parker  charm.

   "Thanks, I . . . "

   "Well, I'll let you go, nice to meet you Angela."

   "Sure, um, thanks, I . . ."

   He turned to wave, and walked down the aisle, leaving her standing
where he left her, gripping the cart with one hand, the other suspended
in the air, still held out for his handshake.  He headed for checkout
quickly, wanting to get out the door first.  He had played this game in
many places over the years, but she was the best he had seen yet, and
was poised to fall into his hands.   

   The selections were made carefully.  It was necessary that word of his
odd dalliances not get into the press, that would have a devastating effect
on his career.  He knew he was crazy for doing this, but he was
compelled, a serial seducer of large women.  He didn't want their love
or their companionship, just their bodies.  And he wanted to be in a
position where he could play with them, do as he wished.  He had tried
hiring a professional full-figured escort once, and she had been more than
willing to submit to his games.  But it just wasn't as satisfying, the
element of conquest was missing.

   More important than anything, the target had to keep quiet about the
experience.  He had searched Angela's eyes for any trace of the tabloid
fever, the tendency to call all of her friends the second he left her
apartment, relating the story with all the steamy details.  It was a delicate
dance, having to get the woman into a position where he could treat her
like a sex toy, but not leaving her feeling used, looking for payback.  But
he was an expert after all, it was his profession, and he judged Angela to
be safe (his judgements were always correct), someone who would hold
onto the experience as her own, their secret, maybe even be willing to do
it again someday if he was back in town.

   Right now, if he was guessing correctly - and he always guessed
correctly - Angela was back in the store mortified at being caught buying
ice cream by a movie star, having to talk about it, and then not being
able to put together three coherent words in a row.  If he started up the
Porsche and drove away right now he would have ruined her weekend,
but he had no intention of letting that happen, not in that way.

   He lingered by the door outside, hidden behind a couple of Coke
machines while some ill-mannered, baggy pants teens fiddled with the
coin returns.  They didn't give fuck-all for Adam Parker, and wouldn't
have cared if they recognized him or not.  Their noise made an effective
screen from Angela's attention as she walked out carrying her plastic
bags, headed for her car.

   Adam fell in step behind her, playing a game of guessing which car
was hers.  The Honda Civic, he thought; dark blue, used, clean and neat. 
He made her as an office manager, someone who sat most of the day,
judging by her bottom, probably despised by the younger secretaries who
told jokes at her expense just out of earshot.

   She reached the Civic and fumbled for her keys.  I win again, he
thought.  Then he was beside her, the keys falling in slow motion to lie
scattered on the asphalt as she saw him.

   "I'm sorry, I startled you, let me help."

   "Oh, I um . . ."

   "Here you go," he said, handing her the keys.  "I'm Adam, we met in
the store?"

   "Yes, I, well . . . "

   "Oh please, don't be nervous," he said, placing a hand on her shoulder,
"I get that all the time, I'm just a normal person like you."

   "Sorry, I guess you did startle me a little."  She inhaled and blew out
a breath, relieved to be able to speak.

   "My fault," he said, "I just wanted . . . well, I . . . "

   "Sorry?"

   "Oh Christ, I just realized how forward I'm being, talking to you like
this.  You have no idea what I was about to say, I feel pretty stupid."  

   He was giving her the full Adam Parker treatment now, reaching up
to take off his sunglasses, looking into her eyes like a love-lost young
boy addressing his boner idol eighth grade teacher.

   "Look, I'm sorry," he said, "can I give you an autograph or something? 
Jesus, now I am being stupid."

   "No, it's alright, really, I'd love your autograph," she said, eyes
shining, "what were you going to say?"

   "No, I . . . well, I was going to ask what you were doing tonight."

   "Me?"

   "Yeah, well, I thought about you as I was checking out, and I guess I
thought . . . oh hell", he said, staring at his feet.  "Sorry, I'm attracted to
you, I guess it's okay to say that in this day and age."

   "Sure," she agreed, though she probably would have agreed it was
okay to commit genocide if that's what he said at this particular moment.

   "Well, I'm alone you see, have been for weeks working on this movie,
and I was wondering if, well, if you might be interested you see, you
know . . . oh hell, I can't . . ."

   "No, what, anything . . ."

   "I don't even know you, I'm being an ass, please forgive me."  He
made signs of leaving, backing off a pace; Angela took a step forward.

   "There's no need, what were you going to say?" she asked.

   "Believe me, you don't want to know."

   "No really, anything."

   "Well . . . I was going to ask if you could spend the night with me,
that kind of thing."

   "Me?"

   "Well sure, of course," he said, "but I'm being a jerk, really.  Look,
sorry, I don't normally go around parking lots propositioning strange
women, I don't know what got into me."

   "No, I uh . . . I understand."

   "You're very nice, but I should leave you alone."

   "No, really, I . . . well, I mean . . . you're welcome, really"

   "You're not being serious?  You sure you don't want to start throwing
things at me?  I wouldn't blame you."  He took her hand in his, and
placed the other on her shoulder, giving her his warmest smile, all capped
teeth, carefully practiced in a hundred mirrors.

   "No really, I can't believe you would . . . well, I . . ."

   "I'm not normally such an idiot," he said, "but I just couldn't help
myself, you're . . . well, you're very attractive to me, I like you."

   "Thank you, I . . . what do you . . . I mean . . . tonight?"

   "Oh," he paused.  "Well, I don't know, I thought I'd just spend some
time at your place, I've got a hotel, but it's all the way across town in
this damn traffic, and I've got my things with me.  We could order in
dinner, just spend some time together, but I . . ."

   "That would be fine, I live close to here, it's just a condo, but . . ."

   "I'm sure it's very nice if you had anything to do with it," he said. 
"Listen, are you sure you want to do this?  You don't even know me."

   "Well, you're . . . sure."

   "Absolutely positive, one hundred percent?" he laughed.

   "Sure."

   "Say it, absolutely positive, one hundred percent."

   "Absolutely one hundred positive." she stammered.

   "Close enough," he said, and they both laughed.  "Jeez, I don't . . .
well, listen - I guess I'll follow you home then, would that be okay?"

   "Sure."

   "You won't lose me?"

   "No, I'll watch for you."

   "Okay, well, I'm in the silver Porsche over there.  I'll wait until you
pull out and follow."

   "Alright," she replied.

   He smiled and turned to walk away, but snapped his fingers and
walked back to her.

   "I almost forgot," he said, bending over to kiss her on the lips. 
"Thanks Angela, you're very sweet."  And then he was off, striding tall
like a boy who just made his first prom date.  
.
.
   - 2 -
.
.   
   He followed her home with his eyes on the back of her head,
wondering if she was having second thoughts or if she was creaming her
panties.  She was a hot one so far, practically begging him to come home
with her.  Of course, he rarely failed at the parking lot stage, because he
could always predict what the women would do based on the encounter
he arranged in the store, and his predictions were never wrong.

   They drove down a series of suburban streets to a group of condo
buildings on a hillside, and he parked in a visitor's space near her.  He
pulled a bag from the back seat and locked up the Porsche, crossing the
lot to help her carry her groceries into her unit. 

   The inside of her condo was just like her clothes and her car; neat,
crisp and clean.  The rugs were white and crystal, obviously no dog or
cat, that was a relief.  He kicked off his shoes by the door out of respect
for the carpet, and walked with her into the kitchen, chatting about the
movie he was making or whatever; he wasn't even listening to himself
speak, a necessary facility for dealing with the press all day at the set.

   She had a taste for art, but no appreciation, and had selected prints and
bits of art glass and the like more for the color effect on the room than
the worth of the artist.  She didn't have anything to drink but diet Coke,
was that alright, yes it was.  Her kitchen was spotless, all the utensils
carefully arranged into nooks, the dish towel hanging perfectly from a
rack on the wall, exactly folded in half.  The women was so precise she
was spooky.  What kind of dinner did he have in mind, what was her
favorite, there was a good Chinese delivery, was that alright, yes it was
fine.  He noticed her nails as she called the restaurant, not professionally
done, he could tell, but an excellent job nevertheless, nicely polished. 

   They chatted at the kitchen nook table while they waited for the food,
and he entertained her with war stories of celebrity foibles; who was
sleeping with whom, who used drugs (who didn't?), who was up, who
was down.  She was eating it up, becoming more comfortable with him,
and by the time the delivery boy arrived she had relaxed noticeably,
smiling and meeting his gaze.  He paid for the food, relieved that the boy
didn't recognize him, and they ate at the table, spearing goodies from the
white boxes.

   "Let's check our fortunes," he said, handing her a cookie. 

   "Okay, who goes first?"

   "Ladies first."

   "Okay . . . Let the spirit of adventure set the tone."  

   "I guess that fits, let's see . . . Trust your intuition.  I always do."

   They laughed and crunched the cookies, the conversation petering out. 
Her eyes now looked down at the table, and she played with the fortune,
folding it up, flattening it out, and starting over again.  It was time for
him to guide her along a bit.

   "Tell you what, let's get comfortable and sit on the couch for awhile,
watch a little television, cuddle a little, would you like that?"

   "Okay," she said, looking up again.  "What should I wear?"

   "I've got a robe I can climb into, why don't you do the same,
whatever's comfortable, we have all night, let's just relax."

   "Okay, there's a bathroom in the guest bedroom if you like."

   "Ah, that would be nice."  

   He changed into a silk robe, after showering quickly, brushing his
teeth, and carefully arranging his hair so it didn't appear to be carefully
arranged.  His penis was already getting excited about the evening, and
it was never wrong.  He'd have his hands on her breasts within the hour,
and his cock would soon follow. 

   He was back on the couch with her TV remote for ten minutes before
she came out, dressed in a dark slip under a darker robe, a good choice
for a stout woman.  She had brushed her hair and probably taken a
shower as well, judging by the look of her skin.  He patted the couch
next to him and she sat down, her hands in her lap, stiff.  

   "Let's see what's on, do you watch the sit coms?" he asked.

   "No, I generally watch movies."

   "We could start one, but I hope we don't finish."  He placed an arm
around her shoulder and rubbed her back, and she leaned over a bit into
him.  

   "Oh Jesus . . ."

   "What? Oh . . . "

   "Yeah, let's not watch that one."  It was one of his recent movies, the
only one that bombed in the past several years.  "I don't know why HBO
plays bad movies, I guess it's because you don't have any choice, you
watch what they show and buy the whole package or none.  It's not very
capitalistic, if you ask me."

   "Maybe they show what people say they want, that would be
encouraging," she said.

   "The fewer people that see that turkey, the better.  I just did it for the
money, and it set me back more than it paid."

   "It's so odd, having you here, a movie star and all."

   "It's just a job really, and you pay for it, believe me."

   "I think you're very talented," she said.

   "Thanks, but I bet I'm no better at my job than you are at yours.  It's
a fickle profession, sometimes you're hot, and sometimes you can't get
work doing toilet cleanser commercials."

   Adam was great at this self-depreciating crap.  Of course he was
talented, he had talked his way into this women's sanctuary, hadn't he? 
He got the big bucks because he deserved it, and he had a nose for a
script.  He guessed which ones would be hits, and his guesses were never
wrong.  At least what he said about the dog was true; that one was
strictly for the money, to payoff his mortgage.

   They settled on "The Out of Towners" but it was a pale imitation of
the original classic, and neither of them were really engaged.  Adam had
laid back on the couch, supported by pillows, and Angela was lying in
his lap, her head on his chest, his hands rubbing her shoulders.  He
kissed her on top of the head and let his hands run down to the sides of
her breasts, stroking them lightly under the material of her robe and slip. 
He could feel that they were of excellent form, not pancaking on her
chest as she lay back, keeping their curved form like torpedoes.

   Angela started to breathe deeply and reached up a hand to caress his
cheek as both of his hands found the ends of her breasts at last, feeling
the large nipples underneath stiffen as he brushed over them.  He could
feel his penis stirring underneath her, and she must have noticed.

   "I'm not crushing you, am I?" she asked.

   "No, feels great."

   "It's not very good, the movie."

   "Yeah, I don't understand why they remake classics, it just embarrasses
everyone involved.  Look at poor Steve Martin trying to be Jack
Lemmon.  He must know it's terrible."

   "You want to watch something else?" she asked.

   "I'd rather watch you.  You know what I'd like to do?"

   "I'm getting the idea."

   "No seriously, I'd like to give you a bath."

   "I showered," she said, turning around to look at him.

   "I know, it's just something I enjoy.  Would you like it?"

   "Okay, I guess, sure, if you want."

   "Great, let's go."

   She shut off the television and they walked into her bathroom.  She
turned on the taps and then stood back to wait, still dressed.  He reached
out to her and turned her around, pulling her towards him.  He kissed her
and they embraced, her breasts crushed between them.  Adam was a
world class kisser, and Angela was butter in his arms when he broke off.

   "Hmm, that was nice," he said, and he reached for her robe, pulling it
off her shoulders, returning to take the straps of her slip in his fingers. 
She placed her hands on his arms.

   "I'm a little self conscious about, you know, my body.  Maybe we can
light a candle?"

   "There's no need, I think you're beautiful, but of course, candlelight
would be nice."

   Angela turned around to shut the bath taps off, adjusting the
temperature, then lit a couple of candles on the counter and shut off the
lights.  Adam waited for her to finish and then dropped her slip.  She
was stunning.

   Her breasts fell down a bit from their own weight, but the nipples were
almost parallel to the ground, pointed down just a bit.  Her tummy was
a smooth pad until it reached her pubic mound, curving to meet it in one
large fold.  Some big women had normal size pussies, buried underneath
them, lost between their legs, but Angela had large fleshy lips, well
separated, standing out on their own.  Her clitoris was hopelessly lost to
view, but he would find it.  

   He reached down and took a breast in each hand, running his thumbs
over the nipples, and kissed down her cleavage, working out to the ends
to kiss and suck her nipples.  He let her go and dropped his own robe,
exposing his very large cock, the Adam Parker penis in all its glory.  He
embraced her again, and it came to life, rubbing against her tummy.  

   He held her to him, as best he could given the size of her chest, and
looked down to her back and bottom.  Her back was large, white and
fleshy, swelling out to meet her bottom cheeks, which were delightful,
fully curved all the way from her back to her legs, which extended
underneath her like pilings.  She was the most spectacular plumper Adam
had ever seen, better than Karen Brown or Mary Waters, and that was
saying something indeed.

   "Go ahead, get in and lie down," he said.

   She piled her hair up into a bun and clipped it, and stepped into the
bath without a word, obviously taken back a bit by his request.  She
settled into the tub like a meat loaf in a pan, her breasts and belly
sticking above the water.  He grabbed a carefully folded washcloth from
the counter and began to wash her breasts, feeling the soapy skin with his
hand after he was done, rubbing her nipples between his finger and
thumb.

   Angela relaxed, lying back and closing her eyes as he worked down
her body, avoiding her pussy for the moment, rubbing the washcloth over
her thunderous thighs and calves.  Finally he took the soap and rubbed
it into her pussy as she lifted her hips a bit to accommodate his hand,
which ran underneath her to scrub her anal ring and then back up
between her pussy lips.  She moaned a little as he found her clitoris
buried in flesh, and stopped to rub around it with a finger slick with
soap.

   Her pussy and mound was not hirsute, but was covered with tight little
curls of dark hair.  He soaped up all the hairy areas and reached for her
leg razor, and started to shave her.  

   "What . . . what are you doing?" she asked.

   "Shaving you."

   "What for?"

   "Don't worry, you'll like it, I promise."

   If anyone but Adam Parker was denuding her pussy of hair she might
have complained, but he relied on the celebrity factor to get what he
wanted (and he always got what he wanted).  He soon had her mound
naked and white, and lifted her bottom up to get to the lower parts of her
lips, working carefully and expertly.

   "There, all done, God you look great," he said.  "Let's take a quick
shower, just to rinse off."

   He helped her stand up as the tub drained, stopping to embrace and
kiss her, running his hands over her slick skin.  Angela was glowing
from the attention, and when he dipped his finger between her pussy lips
he could feel her clitoris fully erect.  They had to embrace at a distance,
forced apart by the length of her breasts and now the stiff pole of his
cock, poking her lewdly in the tummy as they kissed.

   "Bend over for a second, while your breasts are still soapy," he
requested.

   He took one of the breasts in each hand as she complied, and pushed
his cock between the cleavage.  God she was huge, he thought.  Only the
head of his penis was sticking up out of her cleavage, and he buried it a
few times, pumping his hips.

   "Wow, that was great," he said, pulling her back up and kissing her
again.  "You're not offended I hope?  It feels so good."

   "No, not at all, you . . ." she trailed off.

   "Great, maybe we can do it again later?" he asked.

   "Sure, anything."

   "Let's get rinsed off."

   He pulled the curtain and started the shower and they rinsed each other
off, keeping their hair dry.  She lingered over his cock and he lay back
against the wall, closing his eyes and enjoying the feel of her chubby
little fingers.  He was sure she had never seen a cock this large or fine. 
It was magnificent he had to admit, a full ten inches and thick and meaty,
with a fine glossy circumcised head.

   He was equipped with the plumbing to match, and it was routine for
him to cum three or four times a night during sessions like this, spurting
madly over their breasts and bodies.  She was starting to get him off, and
he didn't want that yet.  He had plans for every drop of cum, and didn't
want to waste any on a mere hand job.

   "Ohhh," he said, "you've got a wonderful touch.  We better get out
before I lose control of myself."

   "Okay, I don't mind, I'll . . ."

   He silenced her with a kiss, turning off the shower.  They stepped out
and he grabbed a towel from the rack, noting again how each towel was
laid with precise attention to detail.  He dried her off, spreading her legs
and patting the towel into her pussy on his knees.  When he was done he
kissed her on her freshly-shaved mound and licked his way down
between the large, fleshy lips as she ran her hands through his hair.  

   When he found her clitoris she moaned and shivered, falling back
against the wall, breaking the moment.  It was a good thing, because he
couldn't have stayed in that position for very long, his nose and mouth
buried in pussy lips, unable to breathe.  

   "Let's go to bed," he said, "we should take a couple of towels, some
lotion, maybe something to drink?"

   "You want a diet Coke?"

   No, he didn't want a bitter colored water with chemicals, but he said
``sure'' and let her go to the kitchen, hastily pulling on her robe, while
he inventoried her lotions.  In a pinch he had lubricant in his bag, but he
didn't like to use it unless necessary, it might reveal what he had
intended all along, spoiling his careful setup work at the store. 
Fortunately she had Vaseline intensive care, the perfect breast fucking
lotion, slick but warm, melting into the skin.

   He picked up the towels and took them into her bedroom with the
lotion, pulling back the comforter.  Angela came in with the Coke, and
lit a candle on her dresser, shutting out the lights before shedding the
robe.  She lay next to him on the bed as he put his arms around her and
kissed her passionately.  He guessed he could pretty much have his way
with her no matter how he approached it, and while his guesses were
never wrong, he knew it would be easier if she was warmed up first.

   So he finished the kissing with a peck on the end of her nose, and laid
her back on the bed, reaching down to spread her legs and kissing down
her stomach to her mound and pussy lips, on his hands and knees with
his cock dangling down.  He didn't try to straddle her, which would have
allowed her to suck him as he worked, she was too large for that.  But
his hard bottom was available to her hands, and she quickly took up the
invitation, running both hands up his thighs to his buns, and then letting
one hand slip underneath to cup his balls and finally to grip his erection.

   He found her clitoris again buried in her flesh, but in this position he
could breathe through his nose, his tongue tracing down her clitoris hood
from above.  He wrapped his hands around her thighs and cupped her
bottom as he sucked and licked.  A large woman didn't mean a large
clitoris, and hers was tiny and hidden, a difficult target for a less
experience man.  Soon he had her pumping her hips and moaning,
pulling on his cock as he tongue-lashed her hood.  He noted her reactions
to the various parts he licked, and concentrated on circling her clitoris,
avoiding licking the tip, which had made her tense up.

   She came with a cry, and he quickened the pace, causing her to spasm
several times in a row over the course of a few minutes.  Finally it was
too much and she closed her legs to him, laying back, breathing deeply. 
He wasted no time and raised himself up and around to kneel between
her legs, slowly impaling himself inside her as she gripped the sheets and
squealed.

   "It's alright," he said, "I just want to be inside, we'll take it easy for
awhile."

   "Ohhh . . . you're so big, I . . . "

   "You okay?" he asked.

   "Um hmmm," she smiled in reply.

   He leaned down to kiss her lips and then turned to her breasts,
grabbing one in each hand and squeezing them to push the ends out,
licking and sucking her nipples as he slowly moved his cock inside her. 
She was warm and moist, but very tight, and he knew that lotion was
going to be needed after a few minutes. 

   She began to move underneath him a bit, and he started to stroke his
cock in and out in response, still gripping her breasts firmly.  He was an
expert cocksman, and soon had her moaning and groaning, rolling her
head on the bed as he worked in and out.  He let her cum a couple of
times, pausing to drizzle lotion on his shaft, lubricating her pussy as he
humped away.  Before he put the lotion down he spread some on the
insides of her thighs, getting them ready.

   The third time she came she went limp on the bed, breathing hard.  He
took advantage, driving himself into her with quick thrusts, then grabbing
her legs and lifting them together, pushing his cock between them and
emptying himself with the tip of his cock aimed up her torso.  He
delighted in the sight of his cum streaking up her body, splashing on her
breasts and stomach.  His lifted his aim a bit for the third shot and was
rewarded with a direct hit on her face.  He dropped her legs, exposing
her pussy, and ran the tip into the large lips, squirting out over her bare
mound and right into her clitoris.

   Angela lay still with her eyes squeezed shut, his cum running down her
cheek.  He picked up a towel and started to clean her off.

   "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to get your face, keep your eyes
closed until I get it all off.  You okay?"

   "Um hum," she replied, not willing to open her lips yet.

   He finished her face and toweled off the rest of her, then lay beside
her, kissing her cheek.  She experimentally opened an eye, and reached
up with her hands to rub her face.

   "That was wonderful, I was pretty pent up," he said.  "I'm afraid I got
you a little wet."

   "Oh, that's alright."

   "I don't like condoms and you had me so excited I didn't think to ask
about birth control.  Pulling out works, but it's a little messy."

   "It's alright, I don't mind."

   "You're sweet.  I'm so glad we met.  Give me a kiss."

   He embraced her some more and flattered her for awhile, how
beautiful she was, and most of it was true.  She did have just about the
most spectacular body he had ever seen, though her personality was a
near zero.  He needed time to recover before the next act, so he used it
productively, romancing the woman to keep her engaged, giving her the
full Adam Parker treatment, which always worked.

   In no time at all she had recovered from being bathed in cum, and was
listening wide-eyed to his stories again.  After awhile he started in on her
again, kissing her with passion and playing with her tits, keeping her
pussy hot by rubbing lotion slowly between her lips, causing her to moan
and spread her legs again.  He got her hood between two fingers and
rubbed her clit between them, getting her to cum one more time before
she closed her legs, quivering.

   As she lay back catching her breath he returned to her breasts, kissing
them all over, taking the ends into his mouth, as much as possible, and
kissing and sucking the nipples.

   "Angela?"

   "Yes?"

   "I love your breasts, do you think I could, well . . . put it between
them again like we did before?"

   "Anything," she replied, dreamy.

   She was lying on her back, but he didn't think he could comfortably
straddle her body to tit-fuck her that way.  He pulled her up to a sitting
position and propped pillows behind her to make her comfortable, forcing
her to lean forward a bit, her breasts nearly brushing the tops of her legs. 
He sat down in her lap, his cock poking up between her breasts as they
hung down.  He grabbed a breast in either hand, masturbating himself
with tit flesh, pouring some lotion into her cleavage, picking up a little
each time his cock head surfaced between them.

   He went fast at first, thrusting himself up to meet the breasts as he
brought them down with his hands, making slapping noises as his hips
made contact.  As he reached the point of no return he slacked off,
slowly running his erection between them, pulling the boobs down so that
his entire shaft was squeezed lengthwise between them.  Again he picked
up the pace until he was ready to cum, backing off for another run, this
time for keeps.

   Calling her name over and over for effect, he used her breasts
forcefully, pumping them furiously up and down his cock until the first
gout of cum spurted between them.  The next shot went straight up in the
air, and he watched it, fascinated, as it hovered right in front of his eyes
before falling to splash on her boobs.  He turned his cock into her
cleavage and shot several more streaks into her neck before falling off to
dribbles and drops.

   "Oh, Angela, that was heaven," he said, toweling her off again.  "Was
it okay for you?"

   "Sure, I like making you happy," she said, which was not quite an
answer.  He noticed he had gripped her breasts so hard there were red
marks left where his fingers had been, and he caressed lotion into the
marks as he laid her back down.

   It was late, but he still had one more shot left, and after romancing her
some more, he did her from behind on her hands and knees, doggy style,
slapping her bottom with his pelvis as he cradled her breasts with his
hands.  This time he pulled out between her big cheeks, shooting even
more cum from between them that splattered on her naked back.  When
he was done they both collapsed on the bed, and he could barely stay
awake to clean her off, curling up next to her and falling asleep,
completely spent.
.
.
   - 4 -
.
.
   Adam woke up, feeling muzzy and light headed.  He hated the
mornings after, waking up with some large woman in her apartment bed,
wanting to just get the hell out, but knowing first he had to put on the
performance of his life, keeping the woman he had used on his side, glad
to keep his secret, sure they had a special bond from the night of sex. 
It wasn't something he looked forward to, but he assumed it would be
easy with Angela - she was so pliant, so willing - and his assumptions
were never wrong.

   His mouth tasted bitter and dry.  He tried to think of what he had
drunk the previous night; nothing he could recall, just her cans of diet
Coke.  He stretched in bed and realized his arms were asleep, tingling. 
He wiggled to revive them, and found they were over his head, stretched
out.  That was an odd place for his arms, they normally rested by his side
when he slept.  He started to lower them back down, but the fabric on his
wrist was caught on something; which was strange, because they had
gone to sleep naked.

   He shook his head and opened his eyes to wake up, but his vision
doubled and then blurred back together.  He tugged on his arms and
couldn't figure out what was keeping them over his head.  He started to
swing his feet out of bed, but his legs wouldn't answer the call either. 
He started to speak, but his words were muffled; there was something in
his mouth, something made of cloth.  He tried to spit it out, but it was
tied in place.  

   Now he panicked and pulled hard on his hands, succeeding only in
tightening the grip of the bonds around his wrists, painfully cutting off
the circulation.  He lay back, panting, eyes darting around sluggishly. 
Realization came slowly, his thoughts thick.  She had tied him up; the
bitch had tied him up, tied Adam bloody Parker to the bed.  He guessed
he might be in some trouble, and his guesses were always right.

   He lay in bed for a few minutes looking around in the dim light.  He
was alone on the bed, and all the curtains had been shut tightly.  It was
nearly dark in the room, though the clock on the radio alarm said it was
past ten in the morning.  He never slept past six, had she drugged him? 
Was that the taste in his mouth?  The damn diet Coke, he thought.

   Suddenly he realized he wasn't alone, and turned to the doorway.  She
was standing there, still naked, her huge breasts lying on her stomach. 
He struggled to focus on what she held in her hand.   Something shiny. 
Something sharp.
.
.
.
The end
.
.
.
With sincere apologies to Ray Bradbury for the line I (almost) stole.
.
.
.
By request of Uther:

This story carries the codes: (MF cons)

The code, "MF", means that an adult man has sex with an adult female,
and "cons" means that the sex is consensual. 

For other codes, and how they can help you find the stories you 
want, see: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Uther_Pendragon/www/code/scfr.htm

The Story-Code FAQ for readers.


<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+