index


Message-ID: <32746asstr$1001916603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} The Ass Menagerie 3/4 (mast voy exhib MF+ MF mild db)  
Date: Mon,  1 Oct 2001 02:10:03 -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

Above him, the strutting women turned to actions calculated to
push him over the edge. Noriko in her day-glo yellow suit crawled
across the table on all fours. Desiree followed with the same
technique. Gina and Sandra climbed on top, and began to crouch
and squat, holding deep knee bends so that their crotches and
asses hovered a foot from his face. 

Caitlin and Noriko performed the same trick, but pulled their
suits aside to give Tom an eyeful of bald pussy. Caitlin had a
small tattoo of a shamrock next to the tuft of red hair above her
pink seam. The cavalcade of cooze became a polychromatic parade
of pussy. 

The head of Tom's cock blazed an angry shade of red. Sweat poured
from his forehead and trickled under his arms. The poor boy was
almost ready to pop on his own. 

Caitlin and Noriko got off the table. Jyotsana and Lawanna took
their place. The dark girls met each other in an embrace. Dark
black fingers slid along the orange fabric in the crotch of
Jyotsana's suit. Brown fingers covered with gold rings found
their way along Lawanna's zebra printed suit. The fingers
swirled, and pressed, and hiked the fabric up so that Tom could
see the cleft of their pussy lips. "Shake it Up," the Cars urged. 

"Ugh," Tom grunted. He ground his teeth. He wanted release. 

Jyotsana and Lawanna turned so they were back to back. They bent
their knees and hovered their pudenda above Tom's face. Tom heard
two clicks and felt his hands fall to the concrete. He was free!
Tom reached down and took hold of his engorged cock. His fist
spread the oil around to its other side. He shook it up, all
right. 

Above him, the girls pulled the material of their thongs aside.
Tom stared up at their lips. Jyotsana pulled her cinnamon stick
lips apart, and Tom saw a gold ring that went through her
clitoris. Simultaneously, Lawanna parted her dark lips and
flashed her pussy, glistening with wetness, and a far brighter
shade of pink than the trim on her zebra patterned suit. Then the
girls dipped a finger each inside those delicate holes. 

"Oh, fuck!" Tom cried as he came. The first spurt shot out like
cannon fire. It cleared Tom's chest and landed on the glass table
with a splash. The rest dribbled out in a thick pool near his
navel. Tom shuddered. 

He looked out beyond the table, and saw the girls surrounding
him, smiling. They were happy for him, they really were. Maybe he
should take some time to talk to them. What was he waiting for?
What was going to come along? They certainly knew what he liked. 

Tom looked back up at the table and saw that Jyotsana had dragged
her finger through the small puddle of his semen. She pulled away
her hand and Tom made out the figure. The outside curve formed a
heart, and inside was a capital letter T. 


FIVE 

Amanda went to the foyer to greet the visitors that the maid had
met at the door. They dressed formally, the man in a dark suit
with a gun-metal gray shirt and a silk necktie of the same hue,
the woman in a navy blue pinstriped pantsuit, simple sling back
shoes over white hose, with her brunette hair pinned atop head. 

"Good afternoon," She said extending her hand. "I'm Amanda
Wingate." 

"Special Agent Maytag," he said, producing his bona fides as he
took her hand. 

"Special Agent Stanton," the woman said, repeating the same
gesture. 

"Elena said people from the FBI were here, but I thought she
misunderstood. Is there something wrong?" 

"We're not certain of that, Miss Wingate," Maytag said. 

"Is there a good spot for us to sit and talk?" Stanton asked. 

"Of course," Amanda said, her instincts for hospitality taking
control. "Come inside to the kitchen and have some of my fresh
squeezed lemonade." 

Maytag and Stanton were not sure they were in the right place,
but their intelligence pointed to this house. They followed
Amanda in to the kitchen. They sat down at her invitation but
turned down the lemonade. 

"Are you quite sure?" she asked. "I make it myself." 

"No, thank you," Maytag said. 

Stanton almost kicked him under the table. "Actually I'd love to
try some," Stanton said. 

Amanda served the lemonade in a highball glass. Stanton
complimented her on it. 

"Thank you," Amanda said. She was impressed with this one: pretty
girl, lovely blue eyes; well mannered; and no wedding ring on her
finger. Being an FBI agent was not exactly feminine work, but it
was far more respectable than the women Tom fraternized with now.
"Fresh juice and pure water from the Ozarks makes all the
difference." 

"Miss Wingate," Maytag began. 

"It's Mrs. Wingate. My husband is dead some years now, but I'm
still happy to carry his name. This family has as long and
distinguished a family as my own Blue Mountain roots." 

"Of course," Maytag said. "Now, Mrs. Wingate, if I might ask who
else lives--" 

"Agent Stanton," Amanda said, "if you don't mind my asking a
personal question: it strikes me as odd that a cultured, mannered
woman such as yourself works for the Federal Bureau of
Investigation. Is there a history of civil service in your
family?" 

Maytag was unhappy to be interrupted, but he was damn surprised
to hear Stanton labeled "cultured" and "mannered". If that were
true, this woman must be exposed to some folks rather rough
around the edges. Maybe they were at the right place. Besides
that, he wanted to know how Stanton would respond. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Wingate," Stanton responded. "There is a
tradition of police work in my family. What about your family? Do
you live here alone since your husband's unfortunate passing?" 

Maytag had to admit that this sounded well mannered. Plus, she
had asked the question Maytag wanted answered from the start. 

"My son, Tom, lives here still. My daughter Laura has just
finished her MBA and is working for the company her father
founded. She keeps a condominium in the city." 

"Congratulations," Stanton said. "I'm sure you're very proud of
her." 

"Oh, yes, I certainly am." 

Maytag cut to the chase. "So it's only you and your son in the
house?" 

"Well, there is some domestic help, I guess" Amanda said. 

Maytag detected evasiveness and pounced. "How many exactly, Mrs.
Wingate?" 

"Oh, two or three. Others come and go as needed." 

"Anyone else?" Maytag asked. 

"Just a routine question, Mrs. Wingate," Stanton added. 

"Well, Tom does have some...associates staying with us in the
guest home." 

This was starting to gel into place, Maytag thought. This had to
be the house. 

"Would these happen to be female friends of Tom, Mrs. Wingate?"
Stanton pressed. 

The look on her face told the agents what they needed to know.
Amanda did not equivocate. "Oh, I knew these harlots would get
Tom in some sort of trouble. If they've committed some kind of
crime, I want you to know that Tom is an innocent party. A
wronged party!" 

"We agree, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag said. "He has been wronged. So
have these women, your opinion notwithstanding." 

"Oh, I don't mean to be prejudicial," Amanda recovered her
manners. "It's just that Tom may let his judgment falter
sometimes when it comes to his acquaintances. Yes. So you were
saying they've been wronged?" 

"Ma'am, we have evidence that your son and his friends have been
under illegal surveillance," Maytag said. 

"Illegal surveillance?" Amanda repeated quizzically. "I don't
understand." 

Stanton put it plainly. "Someone has videotaped their activities
and distributed the recordings." 

"Someone is watching my son? And telling other people?" Amanda
was horrified. Did the DAR know what was going on under her roof? 

"It seems that way," Stanton said. 

"With your permission, Mrs. Wingate," Maytag stood. "I'd like to
search the grounds." 

* * * 

If there was remaining doubt that this was the right place, it
vanished when Maytag entered the backyard. The pool and
surrounding area looked just like what he and Stanton had seen
before. All he had to do now was find the devices. 

The cameras were easy. By examining photos, some FBI intelligence
cartographers had put together approximate maps of the yard and
where cameras should be. Maytag found all three quickly. The
tricky part remained: find the transmitter that would provide the
final link to the perpetrators. 

The transmitter might run off battery power, but that was
improbable considering that the suspects were hundreds of miles
away, and that their operation had been running for many
continuous hours. More likely, they had connected it to electric
lines and concealed their work. Maytag thought the guest house
would be the right place to look. 

The guest house for the Wingate estate would be larger than an
average home in most places in America. Maytag moved around to
the back of the two story brick structure, looking up for
antennae or anything like power cables. Hedges impeded his
progress. Maytag ducked through the branches, careful not to rip
his suit, and made his way through the vegetation. 

When he left the hedges, he found himself staring at a series of
clotheslines, stretched taut between two sets of poles and
crossbeams. Hanging from the lines were bright ribbons of some
kind. Maytag took a step closer. 

"Oh, my," Maytag gulped. He realized that they weren't ribbons at
all. Those thin strips of color were clothes: thongs, bikini
tops, baby doll tank tops. Mostly thongs. Maytag even thought he
recognized one, a reversible piece, leopard print on one side,
gold lame on the other. He pictured the women that wore these
clothes and it quickened his breathing. "This is the place, all
right," he murmured to himself. 

Maytag snapped out of staring at the skimpy clothes on the lines,
and looked up at the building. There was still no sign of the
transmitter, but there was a ladder. 

"Why not?" he thought. Maytag extended it and climbed to the
roof. There, plain as day, was a pole sticking out of a chimney
stack. Later, the lab boys would tell Maytag what it was exactly.
At that moment, Maytag only cared to find out how it was powered,
then to come back with an evidence team and bag it. 

Maytag made his way back down and found a back door to the guest
house. It led to a kitchen, littered with cereal bowls and coffee
mugs and notes exhorting the virtue of cleaning what one used in
rather colorful terms. Maytag ignored that and looked for the
center of the house, where the hearth might be. 

The kitchen gave way to a small hall with doors to the basement
and the pantry. The hall led to a living room, dominated by
bookshelves, upholstered furniture and a long glass-top table. To
his right, he saw the fireplace. Just as Maytag bent to examine
the fireplace, he heard a scream behind him. 

Following the shriek came a nervous "Who the hell are you?" 

"It's OK," Maytag said, facing the Asian girl in the coveralls.
He pulled his badge. "My name is Gerald Maytag. I'm with the
FBI." 

"FBI?" she asked, puzzled. 

"Yes," Maytag said. "No one is in danger, and if all goes well,
I'll be out of here in no time. Do you know if this fireplace
works?" 

"What?" she was still confused. "Uh, yes. Well, no. I mean, it
just lights up, y'know? Electric lights. It's not real." 

"I see," Maytag said. He turned back to the fireplace and stuck
his head and shoulders inside. Sure enough, the sidewalls were
smooth and clean. He found the power line for the log lights, and
then he found a second line that snaked up through the chimney.
"Beautiful!" Maytag said. 

"I certainly am," a second voice said. "Now, who the hell are
you?" 

Maytag looked up to see a black girl next to the Asian. "Sorry.
I'm Agent Maytag, FBI." 

"I saw his badge, Lawanna," the Asian girl said. "I think it's
the truth." 

"OK, Noriko," Lawanna said. "But what the hell is he doing here?" 

The room started to fill with women who had heard Noriko scream.
Maytag recognized the redhead in the track suit and the Indian
girl in the red sari. This was definitely the right place.
"Sorry, ladies. Small misunderstanding, I guess I should have
knocked." Then two more women stumbled in, one white girl, one
black, both wrapped in terry cloth towels. 

"What's going on?" the white one asked. "Desiree and I heard
screaming." 

"It's all right, Gina," Lawanna said. "We just have an FBI guy in
our living room." 

"Technically, it's not our living room," Noriko said. 

"Which reminds me," Gina said, looking at Maytag. "Does Tom know
you're here?" 

"Tom? No," Maytag said. "But Mrs. Wingate gave me permission to
look around." 

Another woman found her way into the room, this one a blonde in a
bathrobe. "Excuse me ladies, but what in the name of--oh, my,"
she said, as she caught sight of Maytag in his suit and tie. "We
have a visitor." 

"Yeah, Sandra," Gina said. "He was on his way out. He's an FBI
agent, and he's here on Mrs. Wingate's authority." Gina
emphasized Maytag's authority to be there. 

"FBI?" Sandra drawled. "Well, he must be such a strong, upright
individual." 

"Yes," Maytag said. "And now I have what I came here for. So if
you ladies will excuse me." 

"Oh, but you just got here," Gina said, taking a step to him. 

Sandra joined her. "Gina is so right. We don't often receive
gentlemen callers. Isn't that so, girls?" 

"No gentlemen callers at all," the Indian girl said. 

Seven sets of eyes stared at Maytag. There was a look in those
eyes, a devious look. Almost hungry. Maytag knew he was in
trouble, he just didn't know what their game was yet. His back
was to the fireplace, and the women spread out around him in a
solid arch. 

"Just what's this about, officer?" Lawanna asked. 

"I'm not a police officer," Maytag said. "I'm a Special Agent.
And you're in no trouble at all. I'm just here because someone's
been watching you." 

"We're all here because someone has been watching us," the
redhead said, to which everyone laughed. "The problem is we're
getting tired of just being watched." 

"Now that we have a gentlemen caller," Gina said, "Maybe we can
take care of that." The brunette dropped her towel. The black
girl who wore a towel did the same. 

No deception in that, Maytag thought. Or if it was, it qualified
as a rather gay deception. At least he could see those two
weren't armed. 

"What's the matter, Agent Maytag," Noriko asked, slipping out of
her coveralls. "Cat got your tongue?" 

The blonde opened her robe and let it fall to the floor. A sari
came away. Zippers made sounds like leering whistles as they were
pulled down. It was becoming clearer to Maytag that none of them
were armed. 

Maytag found himself face to face with the blonde, Sandra. "It
has been so long since we had a gentleman caller," she said in
her Alabama accent, tracing a finger from Maytag's temple down to
his chin. Then she planted a full wet kiss on his lips. 

Arms and hands took hold of him from all directions. They led him
to the couch, and at times he thought his feet actually lost
contact with the ground. They pinned him to the couch and covered
him with kisses, even as they peeled off his clothes. Maytag felt
like a diminutive Gulliver in the land of lascivious
Lilliputians. 

Maytag's mind reeled. He smelled soap, and perfume, and shampoo.
He tasted peppermint kisses and salty nipples, It was all a blur.
He groped a tit with each hand, and they did not match. 

What was unmistakable was the sucking on his cock. It was
relentless. He looked off to the side and thought he saw one of
the black girls kneeling next to him on the floor. It could have
been her, but he couldn't tell. Soon, his field of view was
dominated by a dark thatch of pubic hair and a bare set of pussy
lips. He looked up and saw the brunette, Gina. 

"Dinner is served, G-man," she said, taking him by the head and
stuffing her crotch in his face. The cowgirl strapped herself in
and rode his chin saddle with a hand in the air. 

The sucking sensation left his prick, to be replaced by tight hot
muscles that could only be a cunt. The woman riding him did it
with such an intensity that she hurt his balls with every down
stroke. He would have cried out, but Gina's pussy pressed firmly
against his mouth. 

Maytag fought for air and relief. He tried to move one hand to
lift Gina away from him, but soon found it snared in a sopping
wet hole. He could not tell if it was someone's mouth or not. He
wiggled a finger around and felt no teeth, but his ears were
treated to a warm round of encouraging comments for his trouble. 

The cunt gripping his cock stopped slapping up and down and
trembled as the owner found release. That triggered Gina, who
squeezed her thighs on Maytag's face. He might have popped off as
well if he wasn't in so much pain. 

"Good, he's still hard," he heard someone say, just before he
felt another warm pussy, a looser love tunnel this time, slide
over his rod. 

Gina dismounted from his head, and gave him a kiss for his
trouble. "Thanks so much, dear. Now get back to work!" She no
sooner said that than another woman lowered herself onto his
mouth. This one faced the opposite way, and treated Maytag to a
view of her trim little ass. He guessed it was Noriko, the Asian
girl. At one point she looked back and proved him right. 

The two riding Maytag were a much gentler than the previous duo.
He started to get into the flow of the fucking. He reached up to
feel Noriko's small breasts. He also felt someone sucking his
toes. Hands ran through his short hair. 

Whoever was riding his cock was using a free hand to jill herself
off. Maytag could feel her fingers through the small span of
flesh that separated his cock from her pearl. He felt the fingers
speed up, then slow down. She grew erratic, and he knew she was
about to go off. Noriko was coming already. He squeezed a nipple
with one hand, and used the other to pry apart her ass cheeks so
he could delve his tongue inside further. Then the girl on his
cock went off, filling the air with a stream of obscenities. That
pushed Maytag over, too, and he spurted up inside her with
delight. 

"I think he just came," someone said. 

"Shit!" 

"Don't worry," a southern accent said. "Our gentleman caller
isn't going anywhere." 

"I can get him hard again," Lawanna said. 

He didn't go anywhere, and Lawanna most definitely did get him
hard again. She practically sucked his balls back into his body
cavity. When he was stiff again, Lawanna called Sandra over to
"have a go at it, girl." 

The blonde mounted him, and rode him with the same abandon that
the first girl had. His loins bore the brunt of the rough
treatment, as Sandra cried out "I do love a gentlemen caller!"
The girl seemed capable of an unending line of multiple orgasms.
She was loud through every one of them. 

"Damn!" Gina said. "Maybe we should add a 'no Sandra wails' to
the list of rules." 

"Maybe we should make her suck his dick to shut her up," 

"How about that, Maytag? Want to stuff her face with your big fat
cock?" 

That triggered another orgasm for Maytag. The ladies did not
relent, however. True to their words, the girls made Sandra suck
him off again. True to her form, she was the first to mount him
again. 

Throughout Sandra's wild ride, Maytag was treated to a line of
pussy eating that included fine curls, kinky black hairs, a
tangle of red hair, a shamrock tattoo, and a pierced clitoris. 

By the time it was all over, he had cum three times, his jaw
ached, and his nuts were sore. At least he knew where the damn
transmitter was. Now if only he could walk back to the main
house. 


SIX 

Stanton continued the interview, learning as much from Amanda
Wingate as she could. The woman did not necessarily know much
about the women staying at the house, but she knew the dates when
they arrived, which was helpful. 

Alone with the pretty FBI agent, Amanda saw an opportunity. "I
think you should probably speak with Tom about this. He'll know
what to do about this." 

"Fine idea," Stanton said. "Is he around?" 

"Yes, I'll go fetch him right now. May I ask your Christian name,
Agent Stanton? I do like to announce people properly." 

"It's Heather," Stanton said. 

-- 
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.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+