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Message-ID: <32745asstr$1001916602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} The Ass Menagerie 2/4 (mast voy exhib MF+ MF mild db)  
Date: Mon,  1 Oct 2001 02:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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Tom scratched himself: balls, scalp, chin, in no particular
order. That little episode happened all the time, and it was his
mother's way of saying "Beautiful day! Why not join me for
breakfast?". He often used the same lemonade comment. It was such
a routine that the staff knew not to bring in the paper on sunny
mornings. 

With a sniffle or two to go along with his scratching, Tom donned
a robe and left his room. He stepped outside the house, made a
miserable attempt to stifle a yawn, and walked out to grab the
newspaper. Tom rubbed his eyes to prepare them for the news of
the world in 9 point font. When he reached the newspaper, though,
he found something besides the usual headlines and bylines. A
padded yellow envelope sat atop the bundle of newsprint. 

Instantly, Tom woke from his semi-slumber and realized what was
in the envelope. He should have been expecting it, really. A
quick glance at the envelope's contents was all he needed for
confirmation. He stuffed the envelope in his robe and gathered
the paper in his arms. He stared at the words on the way to the
kitchen, but read nothing. 

"There you are!" Amanda greeted him. "Here I thought you might
have left the house to seek your fame and fortune." 

Tom had no desire for the former, and no need for the latter. But
he chose not to comment. "Here's the paper, Mother," Tom said as
he dropped it on the table with a rude thump. He left and headed
back to his room. 

"Tom!" Amanda called. "Your oatmeal is getting cold!" 

"Fine," Tom said without looking back. "It's usually too damn
hot, anyway." 

Tom returned to his room and closed the door behind him. He
opened the envelope and dumped its contents on the bed. Tens of
pictures from an instant camera fluttered onto the sheets,
pictures of a woman's bare ass being spanked. A couple showed
close-ups of her grimacing face, others were full length shots
showing how she was held and bent over. Most were full frame
photos of her ass, however, going from milky white to highlight
marker pink. Some of them showed bare hands making contact. In
one he recognized Jyotsana's dark skin and her elaborate gold
finger rings. 

The girls did this to curry favor when he asked one of them to
leave. Tom should have told them it wasn't necessary the first
time he found an envelope stuffed with pictures like this. But he
had found the pictures so shocking and explicit that he could not
craft a suitable response. A day went by, two days, and before he
knew it, he had asked another girl to leave for some reason. The
remaining girls repeated the act, and a tradition solidified in
the culture of the ass menagerie. 

Tom looked at the photos again. He took a box from his
nightstand, and opened the lid. There were dozens of photos just
like these, in envelopes of different sizes. Sometimes he spread
them out to look at them all. He admired the imagery of the
tribe's sacrifice, and the form of the sacrifice the girls chose. 

"They know what I like," he said out loud. 

They were the only photos he had of the girls. Ironically, the
pictures detailed the women who had crossed the line of what Tom
thought was an agreeable arrangement, not those that brought him
so much contentment. Still, there were snippets of the other
girls in the photos. It chronicled who stayed, and for how long,
but never fully captured their images. 

Sometimes Tom did more than look at the photos passively, but not
today. From past experience, he knew the sacrifice wasn't over
yet. T time would be different today, and he wanted to be at full
strength for it. 

* * * 

After tossing Iris out on her sore behind, Sandra and the girls
had only a little bit of time before they were due to leave. The
suntans and workouts they enjoyed at Tom's were put to use at
strip joints and titty bars around the city. So there was no time
that night to discuss what to do next. They saved that important
conversation for the next morning. 

Tom was one hell of a meal ticket. Normally, all they did to get
that ticket punched was to prance around with buns exposed all
day, and to make those buns conspicuously noticeable at T time.
Whenever Tom asked someone to leave, though, the ladies felt the
need to do something extra. The conversation was to determine
what they were going to do this time. In some ways, their options
were constrained. 

Tom had rules. He never told anyone what they were, and the girls
never wrote them down. But the same oral tradition that had
passed down the rite of excommunication made sure that Tom's
commandments were known by the members of his bare-assed flock.
Good oral tradition demanded easy to remember rules, and that's
what Gina had repeated to Iris the night before. 

"No U.S. mail" was easy to understand. Tom did not want anyone
claiming they actually lived there, or using the address for any
purpose. Telephony was a little trickier. The phones were open
for use, but they couldn't give out the number. 

"No visiting males" was another easy concept to grasp. If men
were on the property at Tom's invitation, or for a legitimate
reason, Tom turned a blind eye to any incidental contact. No one
fucked a housepainter right in front of him, though. Discretion
was key. 

Once, a dynamite little blonde dancer, five foot three inches of
flexible sexuality, sabotaged a water heater to arrange for a
three way pipe laying session with the repair crew. Tom found out
when he heard the plumbers joking about it. She was gone the same
day. Tom asked the next girl who complained about a leaky faucet
to go, as well. For a short while, "no plumbing fails" was added
to the list of rules as a joke. 

"No outside sales" meant that the girls were not to do any
business of any kind out of the Wingate house. For a time, there
was a girl who was running an independent phone sex business out
of the home. She would talk on the phone constantly as she sat by
the pool. "Oh, yeah, give me that big fat cock!" she would say as
she lounged in the sun. She would go so far as to masturbate
while she chatted up the client. 

Tom ate it up. She would play up to him by getting on all fours
and rubbing herself through her bikini bottoms while she went on
and on over the phone. "Oh, yeah, fuck me with that thing!" For a
while, T time stood for telephone. 

Then he heard her chew out one guy for giving her a bad credit
card number. He sulked away without taking T time that day. The
others knew what she was doing from the beginning, and could not
believe Tom was so naive as to miss it. Tom left a "regrets" note
for her that night. After that, no one even tried to sell Avon to
each other. 

The easiest rule of all was "no covered tails". Almost every girl
that took part in Tom's shelter for hardbodies was in the sex
trade. They knew soon enough what customers liked - blondes, fake
tits, tattoos, whatever. Tom was as much of an ass man as it was
possible to be, and the girls picked up on it straight away. 

Which left but one rule that Gina did not mention the night
before, "no wedding veils". She left it out because they all did.
It was their forbidden fruit, the sure ticket out of Eden, and
the thing that tempted them the most. 

This might seem a harmless and understandable rule, interpreted
as "married girls not allowed." But that's not what it really
covered. What the rule meant was that Tom was not going to fall
in love and marry any of them. Tom's place was a nice gig, but
that's all it was. Tom was a customer. No matter how much you
liked the house in Clayton, no matter what you estimated Tom was
worth, no matter what you were willing to do for him, that wasn't
going to change. 

There was no point in trying to seduce Tom, and nothing to gain
by treating the other girls as rivals. Tom did not accept
advances, did not tolerate infighting, and offered "regrets"
letters for attempting either. They did not know what he was
waiting for, but clearly they weren't it. They were all
attractive. They came in all colors and the loveliest of shapes.
But Tom seemed set on something else. 

So the girls took what they could get, and did what was needed to
keep that much. Last night, they spanked Iris for that reason.
Today they were to do something else. They would bring T time to
Tom rather than letting it happen on its own, and they would make
it special. The question remained, how? 

Lawanna threw her hands up. "I say we just suck his dick." 

A collective groan emanated from the girls. 

"I wish it were that simple," Sandra said. "But y'all know Tom." 

"Tom's eccentric," Jyotsana agreed. "That's for sure." 

"So let's play on that," Noriko said as she brushed out her dark
silky hair. "Let's be eccentric." 

"It's so simple," Caitlin said. "Let's just use the 'Haulin' Ass'
bike!" 

That plan received a worse reception than Lawanna's dick sucking
suggestion. 

There were always a couple fitness freaks in residence since the
start of the ass menagerie, but at one point they made up almost
the entire cohort. One of them, a nationally competitive aerobics
pro named Shannon, came up with the idea for the Haulin' Ass
bike. It looked like a rickshaw, but with extra seats perched on
either side of the main carriage. Two bikes coupled together
propelled the load of three passengers. 

The carriage seat was for Tom, flanked by women on either side.
When he leaned back in that rickshaw seat, he had legs on either
side of him, and hard working thighs and buttocks pedaling away
right in front of him. He called it the tricycle, and for a
while, it made up the T in T time. 

Shannon and some other hardbody would pilot vehicle around the
neighborhood, giving Tom a leisurely ride and a fantastic view.
They pedaled and strained, until sweat poured down their back
glistened over their asses. Then they would take the tricycle
back to the Wingate house and circle the driveway in front of the
mansion until Tom tossed off to orgasm, surrounded by gams and
hams. 

"Caitlin," Jyotsana said. "You're the only one here in good
enough shape for that level of exertion." 

"I don't even think the tricycle is in good enough shape," Gina
added. "Has anyone even seen it lately?" 

"I've only heard stories," Noriko said. "Is it true the Clayton
police pulled them over once?" 

"Yes!" Caitlin said. "Apparently they offered to take one of the
officers for a ride. Then they stopped the tricycle in the middle
of the road and fucked his brains--" 

"Caitlin!" Sandra interrupted. "Can we please get back to the
subject at hand." 

"I think I want to hear this story," Lawanna said. "We could do
with a little more knockin' the boots around here." 

Sandra said "We could all do with a visiting gentleman--" 

"Or one that's not so gentle," Gina quipped. 

Sandra continued "-- but right now we need a plan for today. Can
we get back to ideas?" 

"How about that coffee table?" Desiree said, pointing to the
table in front of them. It was long and narrow, a planar glass
surface supported by black arches on all four sides that touched
glass at their highest point, and touched one of the other four
sides where the ends met the floor. 

"What about it?" Caitlin asked. 

"We know Tom is an ass freak," Desiree said. "Let's slide him
under that table while we dance on top of it." 

"Crotch shots galore!" Caitlin expressed her enthusiasm. 

"Isn't that dangerous?" Noriko asked. "We could fall through that
glass and hurt Tom." 

"Slicing our own legs to ribbons in the process," Jyotsana
observed. 

"Good thought," Gina said. "Except the table is Plexiglas. I've
dropped glasses there before, and they just bounce." 

So the girls tested it out, using spotters at Caitlin's
insistence. After they demonstrated that the table could hold two
of them with no problem, they decided to run with the idea.
Taking the table out to the pool took some effort, but they had
enough hands to manage. 

"Now let's get dressed," Noriko said. 

"Slingshots," Gina said. 

"Agreed," Jyotsana replied. 

* * * 

"Now they're redecorating, Tom," Amanda said. 

"Beg pardon, Mother," Tom replied. He had showered, shaved, and
was finishing his second cup of coffee while reading the paper. 

"The girls are moving furniture out by the pool." 

"Really?" Tom asked. He was wondering what they might do today.
If they were moving furniture out of the house, maybe they
planned to do the couch dancing again. 

Normally, Tom kept the relationship with the girls at arm's
length. But once in a while, on birthdays and such, they treated
him to a grind out lap dance. The last time they dragged
furniture out to the pool, Tom sat down and two of the women held
his arms out to the side with leather straps, their own belts
most likely. They stripped him down and drizzled tanning oil on
his crotch and torso. One by one they slid their g-string covered
bottoms across his lap. His cock had gone hard in no time, and it
glided between his own abs and their ass cheeks like it was on a
slip-and-slide. 

Lisa was still around for that. Her ass belonged in a museum. It
exploded out from her tiny waist like a muffin top. Just looking
at it, Tom wanted to burst. When she slid that glorious gluteus
maximus up and down his turgid prick, he almost forgot to
breathe. He positively erupted over himself with Lisa grinding
him that way. Sometimes Tom wished he had asked Lisa to leave,
just so he would have close up photos of her ass. 

"What do they have out there?" Tom asked his mother. 

"It looks like a coffee table," Amanda said. "Maybe you'll be
having tea service by the pool today." 

Tom almost choked when she said that. 

* * * 

Barefoot in swim trunks and a t-shirt, Tom wandered out back.
Sure enough, there was a table, the long glass table from the
guest house, on the walkway around the kidney shaped pool. No
sign of any of the girls though. Tom was wondering just what the
hell they were up to when hands reached around his back and
covered his eyes. 

"Guess who?" 

"From that accent, I'm guessing Sandra." 

"Tom, you are so perceptive," Sandra drawled. "Do you trust me,
Tom?" 

"Yes," he answered simply. 

"Then take off your shirt and wrap it around your eyes." 

Without complaint, Tom did as asked. When he had the shirt tied
around his head, he lowered his arms. Someone took hold of his
hands, maybe two people. His unseen escorts guided him forward. 

"You OK, Tom?" Sandra asked. 

"Yes." 

"Just a bit more," said a second voice, unmistakably Jyotsana's.
"Now turn around one hundred and eighty degrees." 

Tom turned halfway around. 

"Sit back, Tom," Sandra said. 

The ladies supported him as he bent his knees and brought his
butt to the floor. Surprisingly, his butt met soft padding rather
than concrete. 

"Lie back," Jyotsana told him. 

Tom reclined, and found the padding stretched out behind him. It
must have been the cushion from a poolside chaise longue. 

"Scoot up," said another voice. Desiree's, maybe. 

Tom squirmed along his back so that his legs rested on the
padding as well. 

"Put your arms out to the side, Tom." That was Gina. Tom swung
his arms out, and felt the rough hard surface of concrete against
his skin. 

"No," Gina corrected him. "Further. Above your shoulders." 

"OK," Tom said. He put his arms out, rotating them so that his
palms faced up. The next sensation was a clanging sound of metal
around his head, followed quickly by cold steel around his wrists
and two clicking sounds. Instinctively, Tom tried to move his
arms and found them held fast to a weight behind his head. 

Adrenaline rushed through Tom's blood stream. He had trusted
them, and now he regretted it. Supine, blindfolded, and now
bound, he was helpless. Since he opened his home to women he did
not know, Tom feared a moment like this, a coup d'etat. Now it
seemed his fears might come true. 

"What's going on?" Tom asked. His voice was calmer than he
expected, but it sounded muffled through the shirt in front of
his face. 

"Relax, Tom," Gina said. "One more second." 

There was another clang, but more muted than the first one. Then
Tom felt hands in his hair. Someone lifted his head and untied
his blindfold. The shirt was off, and Tom blinked as his eyes
adjusted to the flood of light. He was looking straight up into
the blue sky, but there was something in his near field of
vision. 

Metal stretched out over his chest, and over his arms as well. A
glass plate rested on top of the metal arches. Tom realized he
was under the table. He rolled his head around and saw high heels
all around him. The shoes were mostly transparent, or in neutral
taupe, what the girls usually wore around the pool to gain the
benefit of heels with the illusion of bare feet. 

He tilted his head back to see their legs. They seemed to rise up
like skyscrapers. He was a kid wandering through Manhattan for
the first time, only the wonder of glass and steel was replaced
by the sight of supple skin over tone muscle. 

Adrenaline made his heart pump faster, but nervousness gave way
to exhilaration. His trust was not misplaced. He brought his chin
to his chest, and saw Jyotsana and Sandra walking away from him.
They looked like photonegatives of one another. Dark hair hung
between Jyotsana's brown shoulders, blond hair fell on Sandra's
pale skin. Blue straps with white polka dots ran over her
shoulders and dove down to the crack of her ass to form a bright
blue against her fair skin. Jyotsana wore the same suit, in the
same kind of orange that she had on the day before, with black
polka dots. 

Tom looked up again at the towers of smooth, curvy flesh around
him. They all wore the same kinds of suits. Tom knew they were
called suspender thongs, or torpedoes. Imagine a thong that went
over the shoulders rather than the hips. Tension kept the
material pulled away from the concave curvature of the back. The
same tension kept the front straps tight against the nipples, the
furthest points sticking way from the chest. There was no support
for the breasts, though, so the girls' tits simply lay flat
against their skin. From below, they looked like ripe fruit
resting against the tall tree whose trunks moved around Tom's
head. 

"Oh, this is going to be good," Tom said aloud. 

Jyotsana and Sandra returned with a radio, belting out the Cars.
Tom got "Just What I Needed" and looked up to see Gina getting on
top of the table. She wore a black suspender thong with rather
wide straps that covered a good portion of her tits. A pattern of
red and yellow flames decorated the straps, and licked at out at
her flesh all the way up to her breasts. Sequins decorated the
hearts of the flames, and red points of light dazzled as Gina
turned. 

Unlike the V backs that Sandra and Jyotsana wore, Gina's suit had
a single rope in the back that ran straight down along her back,
a plumb line that ended between the cheeks of her ass. The sun
reflected off the gentle sheen of her suntan lotion, and
accentuated the curves of her thighs and ass. 

"Fuck," Tom mumbled. His prick twitched in his trunks. It
struggled to stretch out and swell, tangled against the liner.
Tom wanted to free it, but he could do nothing with wrists bound
to the table above him. 

Gina stepped off the transparent stage; Desiree and Noriko took
her place. Desiree wore a red and white striped torpedo suit. Its
straps were so thin that they simply rode along the inside of her
black licorice nipples. Noriko's was wider and a bright yellow.
Her small breasts did little to pull the suit away from her body,
and the fluorescent straps clung to her skin all the way up her
torso. It was as if someone took a highlighter to the front of
her body and painted strips from her arms down to her twat. 

"Nice," Tom remarked. The head of his cock swelled. It snapped
free of the tangled liner and nudged up against the waist band of
the swim trunks. 

Lawanna and Caitlin took the stage next, in zebra stripes and
snakeskin patterns respectively. The edges of Lawanna's zebra
print suit were actually pink, and the contrast against her ebony
skin made Tom think of how her bare pussy lips might look. 

Meanwhile, Caitlin brought her head down to around her knees. Red
hair tumbled down against the glass, and Tom thought he smelled
her shampoo. The auburn hair looked even brighter against the
mottled gray snakeskin pattern. She flipped the hair over one
side of her head, and now the snakeskin print lent her green eyes
a reptilian quality. Caitlin blew Tom a kiss, and his cock tried
to leap out of his shorts to catch it. 

Caitlin and Lawanna had the most athletic builds of the bunch,
but all of the girls had nice thighs and firm round asses.
Staring up through the glass at the cavalcade of cooze, Tom was
so happy that he invested in that pair of Stairmaster exercise
machines. 

Jyotsana and Sandra took their turns on the table now. The Cars
wanted to "Let The Good Times Roll", and Tom's mouth was growing
dry. Tom felt tugging around his waist. Noriko and Gina knelt on
either side of him, dark hair falling on his thighs. They worked
his pants down and exposed his stiff rod. Gina swept her hair
over the length of his erection and smiled at him. The side of
her breast peeked out behind the red flames and black strap. 

The brunettes stood and moved away. Tom was left lying naked in
the hot sun, arms bound above his head, women dancing atop a
platform inches from his face. 

Tom looked down at his manhood, emerging from his curly pubic
hair, resting straight and hard against his abs. It pushed itself
into the air yearning for attention. 

"Looking good, Tom," Caitlin said. She straddled his waist and
stood over him. Tom noticed that her heels matched her suit, but
they were probably genuine rattlesnake skin. Straps from the
heels circled her ankles like bracelets. "How about a little oil
with that sausage?" 

The auburn haired hardbody popped the lid off a bottle of baby
oil and upended it over his crotch. Ric Ocasek sang about his
best friend's girl, strippers applauded, and oil dripped onto
Tom's swollen cock from three feet above. 

"Ahhh!" Tom exclaimed as the warm oil spread over his prick and
dribbled down onto his balls and into the crack of his ass. His
hands felt heavy against the cuffs and his wrists ached. 

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