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Message-ID: <31833asstr$997053002@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Desdmona22@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} "Kama Sutra: Position Twenty-Two" by Desdmona {MF, anal, humor)
Date: Sun,  5 Aug 2001 19:10:02 -0400
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This is a work of fiction with sexual content. It involves consenting adults. 
If you're not suppose to be reading this, then don't!


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Kama Sutra: Position Twenty-Two
Journey Into Sexual Awareness I
By Desdmona



Three years ago I was a domesticated housewife, a mother of three, and a 
full-time nurse. I grew up in the midwestern culture that clearly defined my 
role as such. I did everything that was expected of me, even to a fault. But 
that was three years ago, before I reached the age that scientists tell us 
women achieve their peak. When Mother Nature took her course, my sexual organs 
began rumbling and petitioning my brain that they were being underused and 
not living up to their potential. 

I always had a healthy sex drive or at least healthy as described by Webster: 
a state of well being in body and mind. But I was limited by my midwestern 
defined role. You see, girls where I came from weren't supposed to know about 
the sex act until their husbands taught them. Sure, our mothers gave us the 
obligatory speech, but it was a rare mom who could get into specifics beyond 
the "birds and the bees." My own mother stumbled through her speech so badly 
that, until I took ninth grade biology, I thought I actually pollinated. 

My husband, John, God bless his soul, was worse off than me. He was so shy on 
our honeymoon that I feared my virginity would soon be an albatross around my 
neck. But somehow we fumbled through, him in his knee-high sports socks and 
me with my carefully chosen negligee barely removed. 

In the years since, we'd experimented a little, but when I say experimented, 
I mean in an old-fashioned Petri dish sort of way: let's put this on top of 
this and see what develops. We would kiss, he would tug on a breast, I would 
stroke his cock, he'd get on top of me, and we'd fuck. Frequency was never a 
problem, but by way of variety... well let's just say we had barely surpassed 
the missionaries. 

Then along came my prime. I had read about it in all the women's magazines, 
knew it was coming, but still underestimated the magnitude of its power. 
Somewhere along age thirty-two, sirens began whirling, horns started blowing, 
flags were waving, and I swear, a veritable welcoming parade marched through 
my genitals, announcing that I was now ready to test the boundaries of my 
sexual freedom. Never being one to miss a parade, especially one presented 
with such panache, I whole-heartedly agreed, I should test the boundaries.

The question now was how to do this, so I hiked myself over to the local 
Barnes & Noble. I bypassed my usual gardening, cooking, and fiction aisles, and 
went straight to the erotic and sexual awareness aisle. I half expected the 
seats to be covered in sensuous black velvet. Unfortunately, they were 
paisley like the seats in all the other aisles. I was mildly disappointed. 

I hesitated at first; another woman was sheepishly perusing a book. She could 
have been my clone. She held it in her hand, away from her body, and quickly 
looked from side to side before turning a page. I fancied we were Stepford 
Wives about to be discovered-somehow we were the only two who survived the 
transformation from human into robot. When she spotted me, she looked 
guiltily down at the book in her hand. I weakly smiled, trying to signal it 
was OK. Her face blanched. She either thought I was hitting on her, or I was 
there to show her the error of her ways, or both. She harrumphed and 
hurriedly stuffed the book back on the shelf. Then with her nose in the air, 
huffed by me. I giggled and thought, oh well, the ranks of the Stepford Wives 
gone amuck had just dropped to one.

My curiosity got the best of me so I reached for the book she had hastily 
returned. It was a book of one hundred sexual positions based on the Kama 
Sutra. I haphazardly flipped it open and began to fumble through the pages, 
gawking at the pictures. Many of them were arousing with their explicit 
portrayal, others would take the limberness of an Olympic gymnast to 
accomplish, and a few would require the willpower of a silent monk not to end 
up in full-blown belly laughs. But all in all, I decided it was a book to 
take home and share with John. I grabbed the latest _Redbook_ and _Women's 
Home Journal_ to camouflage my checkout, and was on my way.

That evening I managed to pawn the kids off onto individual friends and 
family. So with book in hand and enough leftover romantic flair from watching 
Rogers and Hammerstein's "Cinderella" religiously, I proceeded to set the 
trap for my unsuspecting husband. 

I washed the sheets, doused them with an extra bit of Downy, lit a few 
candles, and fixed John's favorite meal. John was excited, not only because 
he got to eat country fried steak and mashed potatoes, but he knew we had the 
evening alone, and would be adding another missionary strike on the bedpost 
tally. He was completely unaware of the book I'd purchased or my plan to lure 
him into sexual decadence.

After dinner, I bathed, shaved, shampooed, fluffed and powdered til I was a 
walking commercial for Lancome. When John came into the bedroom, he found me 
beneath the covers, attempting a seductive pose. He must have been pleased, 
because he was already sporting an erection. He slipped into bed and 
arduously kissed me. Juices were flowing but I wanted a little boost. So I 
pulled out the book and said, "Look what I bought!" 

He looked at the title in horror, as if the gates of hell had just opened up 
and Satan himself was yanking us in.

"What's wrong with the way we do things?" He whined at the end of his 
question so it sounded more like "thiiiiings." I rushed to reassure him.

"Nothing is wrong with it honey, but it's like this: if carrot cake were your 
favorite dessert and you ate it every day, eventually you might want to try 
the Dutch Apple pie, but it wouldn't mean that carrot cake wasn't still your 
favorite."

So he sighed, took the book, and began to thumb through it. His arousal, 
which had faltered for just a second, began to twitch. I thought I was home 
free until he came to a particularly involved picture with 
sixteen-directional-steps. He pointed at the twisted bodies and yelped. 

"You are not getting me to try that! No sex is worth a trip to the doctor!" 
My new-found, burgeoning libido wanted to argue the point, but I let it go.

Finally, I grabbed the book and randomly turned to position twenty-two, a 
mere five-step process. Of course I knew that 1. I could position myself in 
the doggy-style with 2. John on bended knee behind me and 3. John's cock 
would fit into my vagina, but this was showing 4. John lubricating his cock 
with my juice and 5. Slipping into my ass.

My cunt kind of liked the idea and drooled in its avid approval. I showed him 
the picture and waited. Long minutes ticked by as John studied position 
twenty-two. I listened to the burning synapses from my vagina to my brain, 
pleading for immediate attention and casually fingered myself.

Finally, John tossed the book to the side and, with puppy-dog eagerness, 
announced, "I think we can do that!"

He proceeded to place his hand over my flittering fingers, and lots of mutual 
groping with rabid touching commenced. The passion that was slightly kindled 
before burst into flames that would do a Fourth of July celebration proud. 
There was only minor fumbling as we placed our bodies into the illustrated 
position. 

I might have had a few reservations if my pre-orgasmic body hadn't already 
taken control, ousting the intellectual brain as leader, and ordering it to 
take a much-needed nap. As it turned out, my intellect was the only part of 
me sleeping. The rest of me was itchy and alive, hungry with the thought of 
breaking the taboo of anal sex. 

We took special care with pillows and positioning, and John must have asked 
me five times if I were sure. When he started to ask the sixth time, I said 
if I were any more sure I would do the "Bobbit" and proceed without him. He 
mustered up some resolve.

Following the directions like a couple of straight-A students, John first 
slipped his engorged cock into my gaping pussy. He plunged a couple of times 
before pulling out. I nearly went from stoic control to blathering idiot. I 
was thoroughly prepared to do anything the book had to offer. John sucked in 
his breath before proceeding, and I must admit his gentle nature came in 
handy at this point. 

He poked my smaller opening with tenderness and, when he successfully 
breached my virginal asshole, he hesitated. I assumed he was trying to 
control his desire to thrust. I could feel my sphincter tighten after his 
invasion, and I willed myself to relax. With relaxation came desire, and I 
eased my body back until John's cock inched its way inside completely. 

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, my libido cried out for more and I was 
lost completely to sensation. He began the rhythm of in and out and my entire 
body was fraught with nerve endings doing the "happy dance." Just the fact 
that I thought of the words, "happy dance" proved to me that I was in a 
delirium. Nothing had ever made me prickle to this degree. I didn't want the 
feeling to end, and yet I couldn't wait to climax.

John was completely caught up in the melee, and his groans and grunts went 
from barely audible to resounding. I recognized his signals-he wouldn't last 
much longer so I reached under and fiddled with my clit. The resulting orgasm 
was utterly consuming. The spasms started in my nether regions and scattered 
throughout my body, blazing trails that refused to die out until the point of 
exit, which seemed to be my toes (which actually curled.) John's was 
simultaneous and, if groans measuring on the Richter scale were any 
indication, just as powerful. 

The climax was intense and controlling and marvelous until...

The gates of hell really did open up to let damnation fire lick at my no 
longer virginal asshole. Pain seared through my ass like a scorched poker, 
and all I could think was I should have put the book back and been a good 
Stepford wife. John must have realized my howl had turned to pain, or it 
could have been my demonic, "Get out!"  Either way he pulled out. As soon as I 
was empty again the pain subsided and all that remained was the incredible 
aftershocks. I shivered and collapsed to the bed.

I decided right then and there that journeying into sexual awareness 
definitely had a couple of hitches. But as my body thrummed in euphoric bliss 
with a hint of sphincter paroxysms, I realized I'd just had one of the best 
orgasms of my life.   So maybe the rewards far outnumbered the drawbacks. 

Later it occurred to me, now that John and I had successfully tried position 
twenty-two, with any luck we could tackle the other ninety-nine. 

Eventually, I could even earn frequent user miles in that aisle at the 
bookstore.



The End
By Desdmona

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