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Message-ID: <33137asstr$1004242202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Angeline" <angeline_dc@yahoo.com>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2001 18:27:53 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} Be A Good Girl (D/s, mm/f, hmil
Date: Sun, 28 Oct 2001 00:10:02 -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

"Be a good girl, Angeline, and turn around for me?"

            Not entirely a question, not entirely a request, not entirely a
demand.  I turn around obediently and feel your hand press into my back.

            "Bend over Angeline."

            I tip forward and catch myself on the hood of your car.  Looking
back, I catch you admiring me, and I smile at you.

            "Eyes forward," you tell me with just a hint of menace.

            I murmur an apology, and turn back to look over your hood at the
Atlantic Ocean and the few remaining sunbathers that dot the beach.  I feel
your foot between my feet, prodding them apart; I feel like I'm being
arrested.  You walk around me, talking under your breath, but I can't hear
what you are saying.  Finally you come back and put your hands on my sides;
I love the strength of them.  I feel you lean into me until your mouth is by
my ear, and you whisper.

            "Have you done your homework?"

            I nod breathlessly that I have.

            "I won't be disappointed?  I'd hate to be disappointed."

            I shake my head that you won't.

            "Tell me."

            "You won't be disappointed."

            "Good girl."

            I feel my skirt rise up my thighs until it rests on my back.
The ocean air is cool on my bottom and on my legs.  Your fingers hook into
the elastic of my panties, and pull them down till they are halfway down my
thighs.  I feel so vulnerable and foolish bent over like this, and I have to
fight my instinct to stand and cover myself.  But I want you to see, so I
stay where I am.

            "Oh good girl," you murmur.

            Your hand goes to my bottom and tests the pink plastic handle
protruding from my bottom.  Gently, you pull on it but it doesn't budge.  I
rest my forehead on the cool hood of your car and command myself not to
hyperventilate.  I want you to ask me about shopping for it.  I want you to
ask me about how hard it was to get in.  About it's size and shape and the a
wful way it opened me up.  I think I've earned that much, but you don't ask,
you take it for granted that I'll do whatever you suggest.  It hits me that
I prefer it that way, and the thought reddens my face.

            You leave me standing bent over your hood, and sit down on the
car beside me.  I dare a glance upwards.  You are surveying the parking lot.
You spot something and hop up and trot away from me.  I want to look back
and see what it is, but I remember the last time, and the way you tricked me
and caught me disobeying you.  I'm not prepared for that again.

            I wait, trying to forget how silly I must look, and watch a man
running with his dog down by the water.

            You return, but you aren't alone.

            "Angie, this is Davy.  Davy, Angie."

            "Jesus Christ dude."

            The voice is so young.  What are you up to?

            "Dude are you sure this is cool?"

            "Angie, tell Davy, it's cool."

            You're really working me over; you know what this is doing to
me - to have to submit to this boy.

            "Davy, it's cool."

            "So Davy, are you still interested in what I mentioned?"

            "Ah, yeah, that would be really cool.  Man I wish Tim was here,
he's never going to believe this shit."

            "Well why don't you go ahead and tell her what to do."

            "Me?  Okay, sure man, but you're sure I can't touch her?"

            "No touching, Davy."

            "And I have to stand here?"

            "That's the deal.  If you move, Angie will stop, we'll get in
our car and leave."

            "Okay, that's cool, man.  Whatever.  So can I just tell her to?"

            "She's all yours, Davy."

            I haven't been this tense since the time I thought I was
pregnant.  I just want to know what is coming, or even to see the face of
this boy behind me.

            "Angie?"  Trying to sound sure of himself.  How sweet.

            "Yes Davy?"  Trying to sound sure of myself.  It's a battle of
wills, even if I know I'm going to lose.

            "I want to watch you masturbate."

            You don't say anything; so I know this was your idea.  That this
is what I'm supposed to do.

            "Will you?"

            "Yes, Davy."

            "Cool."

            I can't believe you've got me doing this for some kid that says
cool.  I think of ways I'd like to punish you, but I know I've brought this
on myself.  Anyway, whom am I fooling?  I want this more than the kid.

            I let my hand drop down between my legs, dragging a fingernail
the length of my pussy.  I feel shots of warmth run up my spine.  I am
insanely turned on.  I wonder how it must look from where the boy is
standing.  I am surprised how comfortable I am bent over a car; maybe I was
Henry Ford in a previous existence.

            I try to slow my breathing, make this last for the boy, but I'm
close almost immediately.  I slip a finger inside myself, leaving my clit
alone for a minute, hoping that slows this freight train down.

            "Dude, is it cool if I jerk off?"

            I know I'm lost.

            "Davy as long as you don't move, you can strip naked and bay at
the moon, for all I care."

            "Cool."

            Davy is closer to me than I thought, because I can hear him
unzip and begin to jerk off.  The sound he makes just begins to torment my
mind, and almost every little movement I make feels like the beginning of an
orgasm, I'm determined not to come before him.  It's a matter of pride.

            "Davy, do me a favor and jerk off into this cup for me."  You
say.

            "Sure man, whatever.  How come?"

            "Don't worry about it."

            "Okay, man."

            I hate when you have your little inspirations.  I shudder to
think what you may want this boy's semen for.  I start to think of reasons
and that little shove pushes me over my edge.  I can feel the familiar
panicked tremors in my midriff as they spread out through my body.  I hold
the car for dear life because my knees begin to shake and I'm afraid I'm
going to collapse onto the concrete.  It feels so wonderful, so dirty and so
primal all at the same time.  I hear the boy grunting, and I know he is
coming too.  I let my hand slide from my pussy and use it to help support
myself against the car.

            "Dude that was awesome.  Tim is never going to believe this
shit."

            "And that would be bad?"

            "Well it would be cool if he thought it was true."

            "I see you point.  How about a trade?"

            "What kind of trade?"

            You're up to something again.  I can feel it.

            "Angie will trade her underwear for that cup."

            "Dude that's fucked up."

            "Is that a no?"

            "Ah, no dude, whatever, yeah I'll trade."

            "Angie?  Would you take your underwear off for Davy, here?"

            By way of an answer I bring my legs together and let them fall
down to my ankles.  Stepping out of them, I pick them off my toe and hold
them out to you.  Never looking back.

            "Good girl."

            You take them and you exchange them with the boy.

            "Dude how do you get a girl to do shit like this?"

            "You make it worth their while."

            That cracks the boy up.  I hear him break out into a run and in
a moment we are alone again.  You come up behind me and lower my skirt over
my bottom, giving it a little pat.

            "Get in the car."

            I stand up and try to regain some of my lost composure.  I'd
kill for hairbrush.  I want to try and catch a glimpse of the boy, but I
dare not.  I get in beside you.  There is a paper cup in the beverage
holder; I know what is in it.

            "What is that for?" I ask as you start the car.

            You think it over for a minute.   "Insurance," you offer.

            "Insurance for what?"

            "Let's just say, I wouldn't recommend getting out of line."

            I nod, understanding, as you pull the car out into traffic.  I
wonder about where we are off to next.  I know this is only the beginning.

            "So," you say.  "Tell me everything you were thinking.  It'll
make the drive go by faster."

            I smile, and put on my seatbelt.

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