index


Message-ID: <36125asstr$1018955401@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sam Cornell" <cornell525@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Dazed and Confused (Soundtrack Included) by Sam Cornell (MF, Fff, Oral, Anal)
Date: Tue, 16 Apr 2002 07:10:01 -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

{Author's note: Hi. Thanks for taking the time to read my story. As a 
warning, or maybe encouragement, it contains scenes of heterosexual and 
lesbian sex, and in particular anal sex in all its reality.

One other thing. The only inspiration for posting stories is to hear from 
readers. I always reply to mails. Also this story includes direct 
suggestions from correspondents and also themes I feel people who write me 
will like. So if you like my writing, and something appeals, let me know. No 
promises, mind. Lecture over, Sam.}

Dazed and Confused (Soundtrack Included)

by Sam Cornell

Performing on a stage. There was nothing like it. For fifteen months when I 
was twenty I felt like a goddess. Scratch that, to some of our fans I was a 
real life deity, stepped down to bestow her bounties on undeserving mortals.

So what did I do? Catwalk model? Lap dancer? All-round erotic entertainer?

No. I played lead guitar in a rock'n'roll band.

If you're not getting any, can't figure out how, then go learn a musical 
instrument (I suggest bass or drums if you have no talent or ability), 
acquaint yourself with like-minded under-achievers, and I promise you, a 
racing certainty, within a couple of gigs you'll find it being offered to 
you on a plate. They may not always be the choicest cuts of meat, but 
they'll be hot and they'll want you soooo badly.

Don't get me wrong. I'd always done fine on the fuck-me stakes. There was no 
need for me to work on my desirability. This chick was in it for the music. 
But it was an inescapable fact that the guys (and gals) on offer to Samantha 
jigging on stage with a Telecaster round her neck were invariably way better 
looking than those on offer to Samantha standing at a bar with a glass in 
her hand. And like I say, they want you so much. They're willing. Yeah, put 
your tongue there, that's nasty. Bend over for me, honey. They want you, and 
they're yours.

We weren't even that good. (We didn't think that at the time, of course, but 
time is a great eye-opener). We were a college band in a college town 
playing the kind of tunes that college bands play. REM meets The Cranberries 
via early Who sort of thing. We had a good looking (male) singer who I never 
screwed because he loved himself too much, a pretty (female) guitar player 
(me), a slightly androgynous but attractive (female) drummer who flayed the 
skins like they'd done her wrong and a (male) bass player who was, well, a 
bass player. We were tight, bouncy, energetic, and no different from a 
thousand other bands. They fucking loved us. I guess they hoped they were in 
at the birth of the new Beatles but actually they were in at the birth life 
and death of the VeeVees.

Just to pause, do you know Microsoft Word recognizes both Beatles and 
Telecaster. Who says Bill Gates ain't cool?

It was the right time for me to be doing the sex and drugs and rock'n'roll 
thing. After a slow start at high school, on coming to college I decided to 
Have It All. It began with guys but by the second semester I was fucking 
girls too. I remember the first time. She was a tomboy, almost pretty, but 
with intense eyes that lingered over my tits and ass. It was the most 
obvious come-on I'd had from another woman. And I thought "I wonder what she 
looks like naked. Would she let me look at her cunt?" And later, in her 
room, I loved the feeling of squeezing her tits, chewing on her nipples, 
tasting her honey. There was no going back after that.

I still fucked guys, but my tastes, my demands, were becoming more defined, 
more definite. I loved sucking them off. (No problem there for most men). It 
was the feeling of complete, total, utter control as I worked on their cock 
with my lips and tongue. Putty (hard, throbbing putty) in my hands and 
mouth. So I used to heighten it for them, when I knew they were pretty close 
to coming, by slipping a finger up their butt. That was interesting. To a 
man (boy?) they jumped a mile. Like I was suggesting they were gay or 
something. Thing was, most of them were too far gone to resist. And of 
course my delicate poking took their orgasm to new heights. Coming down 
after, while I digested my treat, their reaction was something else. For 
some, it was like reaching the promised land. Sex would never be the same 
again. But I'd say most had a hangdog look of guilt and regret. I loved it. 
I guess it was the first time I mixed sex with humiliation, and it was good.

The other thing I loved, but only as a treat on special occasions, was 
getting fucked in the ass. I remember the first time I did that, too. I was 
with a quiet guy, quite nervous, but nice looking in an innocent sort of 
way. I was on all fours with him fucking me somewhat gingerly from behind. 
It wasn't doing it for me. I think I'd recently seen a porn video where a 
girl got fucked in the ass. Normally the women just looked uncomfortable, 
but this girl, who had a really sweet angelic face, was really getting off 
on it. I mean you could see. The guy (who was pretty big) was pounding the 
fuck out of her, and she just loved it. You could tell the harder he went, 
the more she smiled. Truth be told, I was a little amazed.

So I figured it was nervous guy's lucky night. Maybe it helped he wasn't too 
well endowed. (There you go, small dicks of the world, maybe your 
compensation is an increased suitability for ass fucking). In fact his first 
reaction was a little uncertain, which seemed a bit rich. Some people have a 
hygiene thing, but if you knew the kind of crap you exchange each time you 
stick your tongue in someone's mouth you wouldn't get so worked up about 
your behind. Whatever, after I literally begged him, ("Please, I need you to 
fuck my ass." Would you believe it?) he agreed.

Well to start off with it hurt like hell. Truly shocking, painful, unerotic, 
baaad. Despite the fact the assault was on my ass, I felt like I was going 
to choke. I was still on all fours, and I looked round at the guy, and he 
saw how much discomfort I was in, and he fucking went at it even harder! 
Something somewhere clicked. Right, now I got it. This wasn't fucking or 
blow jobs, all soft and accommodating. No, this was an invasion, violation, 
use of your nastiest dirtiest hole for a job it was not suited or designed 
for. And the sensations started to feel good. Painful good, but better good 
than any pussy-fuck I'd ever had. Intense. Every nerve in my body was 
feeling the effects, and like on some drugs, I felt a curious clarity. And 
when I started enjoying it, well, he really went for it. It was a satisfying 
symmetry, his excitement at what he was doing to me, my excitement at his 
stimulation. With just a couple of strokes on my clit I started to come, 
jabbing my ass back on his cock. Not surprisingly that brought him off with 
three or four final searing thrusts in my butt. After a minute or two 
recovering I gave him his final treat by going down on him, cleaning myself 
from his wilting cock. Like I say, that kind of shit never bothered me.

So you get the picture. Samantha Cornell's sex life had no need of the boost 
offered by local celebrity. Maybe my fellow students whispered, gossiped, 
Sam's a bisexual slut, but I didn't care. I whipped their asses in class, 
and what more perfect, heartbreaking creature is there than a pretty, 
bisexual woman who fucks like a beast and also scores top grades all the 
time? I'd like to think I was the ultimate fantasy for a lot of the men and 
women that knew me. More than a fantasy for quite a few.

Anyway, the band.

It became my way of coming down after a gig. Half an hour in whatever closet 
the venue called a dressing room, deconstructing our performance, then into 
the bar, and wait for them to come flocking. I never bought myself more than 
one drink after a gig. They were pathetically grateful I'd even made an 
appearance. (Si, the singer, used to sneak off straight after the post 
mortem, I guess to learn some more Elizabethan poetry to impress his 
upper-class girlfriends).

Once they saw you were approachable, well, they all approached. Then it was 
literally a case of take your pick. Even if she was a pretty, straight, 
girl, chances were she'd be sufficiently flattered (for fuck's sake) to let 
me feel around, and usually bring each other to a mutually satisfying (if, 
for her, later bitterly regretted) orgasm. I reckon that out of the seventy 
or eighty gigs we probably played, I got knocked back less than ten times.

Believe it or not (and I suspect you're not going to like me for saying 
this) I ended up taking it for granted. I knew, after a gig, I'd get laid. 
There were challenges, nuances, but slowly the buzz lessened.

Until a gig in a sports bar downtown. It was just an ordinary gig, I 
remember we were playing Heart House and I was riffing from D to B on a D 
chord. (Play along at home if you want a soundtrack). My first reaction was 
simply "they look kinda young". Most of the bars were pretty hot on ID, and 
for whatever reason our fan base tended to be in their early twenties. These 
two girls, well whatever the guys on the door thought I had them down as 
being mid-teens.

`Course it's not easy, there's a few shitty lights in your face and you 
should be concentrating on not whacking the E string too hard, but after a 
few long looks I found myself curious. What the fuck were those two girls 
doing at our gig?

They looked good together. Most striking was Blondie. Fine features, pretty 
bordering on beautiful, long blonde hair but for all I knew it came out of a 
bottle. Noticeable, and not just because of her age. Next to her, evidently 
a friend, was Darkie. Black or brown hair (from fifteen feet and in poor 
light it was impossible to tell), cut short, pretty in a way that would be 
lost on boys her age. Unusual but hot.

I spent a couple of minutes wondering how the fuck they got in, before 
moving onto more obvious ideas. Right, you guessed it.

It wasn't a great gig, probably because the singer kept cussing the 
guitarist and the guitarist kept missing the backbeat because she was giving 
a couple of high school girls the eye. Given our reputation and fans, I 
wasn't surprised we got the same cheering reaction to everything we did. You 
wonder why I got bored?

After we'd done the obligatory two encores, I was keen to polish off the 
post mortem asap. I knew I'd fucked up, I didn't need Si telling me. Far 
more important was the risk that someone had pulled the two chicks. Or 
security had noticed their way-too-young faces and kicked them out.

Walking out into the bar, I tried not to appear too hungry as I looked 
around. I couldn't see them. I felt my anger rise - if Si's self-righteous 
whine had cost me the most interesting lay(s) in months, then the band was 
going to know about it. In edited, sanitized form, of course. They knew 
about my form, but even so teen girls were a new departure I wasn't yet 
ready to advertise.

As soon as I reached the bar, long before I had a chance to order, I was 
surrounded. Two thirds were the usual faces. It was increasingly difficult 
to meet the expected "great gig!"s and "you were great tonight!"s with 
anything less than a faintly polite grunt. I'd even fucked a couple of them, 
(one ginger slut who'd shown herself to be particularly dirty in the sack), 
but they all got the same response. "Hi. Alright. Thanks."

No sign of the girls. My mood changed from tolerance to boredom, At some 
point while I'd thrashed thru G C D to G C7 I'd decided it was Blondie and 
Darkie or it was home alone tonight, unexpected appearances by Sam Brown and 
Nick Cave excepted.

I was on the point of leaving when, in a dark corner, I saw them lurking. 
Well they were illegal, I could hardly expect them to front up at the bar.

I barely went through the motions with the usual crowd (they were becoming 
The Usual Crowd) before grabbing my whiskey and ginger and heading towards 
the girls' corner.

Frankly, the look on their face was fear. I guess they thought they were 
about to get busted. In a sense they were.

Yeah, it was a break from my style. Let the people come unto Caesar. Well 
this time Caesar was looking for special company.

"Hey girls, enjoy the gig?"

I wasn't too surprised to hear Blondie answering "You guys are so cool." 
Well ten out of ten for incisive musical analysis. Fuck it, it wasn't their 
minds I was after. "You need a drink?"

The barman got a big shock that night too. Sam the slutty guitarist buying 
not just her own drink, a couple of extra whiskey gingers too. Maybe he'd 
seen me talking to the little bitches too, but the VeeVees were too big 
business for his crappy little bar for him to raise a fuss.

Do you want me to describe my chat with the misses? Shit you do. Suffice it, 
I ended up asking "D'you want to go smoke a little pot?" and we were off.

Funnily, it was Darkie, who I had down as the more "progressive" of the two, 
who murmured a little dissent. Blondie, at close quarters a full blown 
cheerleading beauty, just nodded.

Whatever, just twenty minutes later (okay it was a small college town) we 
were in my room, me crossed legged at the head of my bed, Blondie and Darkie 
sat awkwardly at the foot. (The lack of alternative furniture, you're right, 
was no mistake).

On my tape player (this was post-CD, but you still had to use tapes to put 
together the right compilation) was Dazed and Confused. What? You've never 
heard it? You're into erotica and you've never listened to Led Zep I? Fuck 
you, two months ago I had the privilege, and I use that term advisedly, of 
hearing Mr. Jimmy Page playing Dazed and Confused live. The guy's pushing on 
sixty and I can promise you it was the horniest musical experience I've ever 
had. There must have been housewives (it wasn't the youngest audience you 
could imagine, more's the pity) hammering on his dressing room door. No 
wonder I always felt the VeeVees were pretty close to shit.

We were smoking a joint, also clutching tumblers over-full with genuine 
scotch. (Genuine European relatives have their advantage, even if Aunt 
Pascal would have been horrified to hear how her gifts helped me seduce 
vulnerable boys and girls). Our conversation remained boring, the girls keen 
to show their interest in music and me keen to ensure they were 
drunk-but-not-too-drunk.

We must have been there two hours, the tape looping through other horny 
numbers (work them out for yourself, I'm not doing everything for you) 
before I summoned up the courage to say "D'you know what would be really 
hot? To see you two making out."

It was my first attempt at true rock'n'roll arrogance. Think what you want, 
do what you want, ask for it and it will happen. If it doesn't, fuck it, 
there's always another gig.

Despite their earlier reactions, it was still a surprise to see Blondie's 
eyes brighten and to hear Darkie mutter something about not being too sure.

I wanted it badly, but figured it was better to show the opposite. So I 
murmured some vague line about it being cool and was half expecting them to 
be reaching for their coats when Blondie grabbed Darkie and they were 
kissing in what I can only describe as a sloppy confused adolescent way. I 
got hot watching Darkie, resisting initially, then really digging Blondie's 
tongue. I liked the idea that lurking beneath she'd always fancied her more 
glamorous friend's attention.

It did feel odd, sitting at the end of my bed, watching them make out, not 
taking part myself. What was I meant to do? Sit back and enjoy the show? Or 
slip my hand inside my jeans and appreciate their efforts in the only way 
appropriate? I opted for discretion.

Blondie, being the hot little type she was, had the bigger tits, but that 
didn't stop her mauling Darkie's smaller boobs through the thin material of 
her halter top. It was kind of interesting to see that Blondie was as rough 
and ready as your average adolescent boy. I guess all she knew was the 
squeezing and tugging that had been inflicted on her own, more substantial, 
assets.

Darkie didn't seem to mind. I wondered if she was just going to kneel there 
and take it, but oh so slowly she moved her own hands up to just below 
Blondie's breasts. Then she was lifting them, stroking them, rubbing her 
hands over Blondie's nipples until the tight white material of Blondie's 
t-shirt was almost punctured by her stimulation. There was reverence in 
Darkie's caresses as well as skill, and I wondered how many times in the 
locker room she had stolen furtive glimpses at her friend's nakedness, 
before torturing herself later, frigging herself repeatedly over the memory 
of her best friend's body.

It was still pretty tame first date level stuff, even if my pussy was so wet 
I was wondering if there might be a damp patch on my jeans. How far could I 
expect these two to go with an audience watching?

Fortunately Blondie, who I was coming to figure as a hot little bitch, 
decided to move things to next base by yanking up Darkie's halter top. 
Darkie was wearing a simple blue bra but that didn't stay in place long as 
Blondie lifted it roughly over Darkie's breasts. The girl had no manners.

I like small breasts. Well, I like all breasts, but small ones have their 
own unique charm. (I'll admit I may be biased from not being too 
well-endowed myself). They're discrete, innocent, truly cute. I bet Darkie 
looked at hers morning and night and wished they were as big as her 
friend's, but the truth was, and I hoped one day she'd discover it, they 
were little gems. The way her nipples poked out, almost demanding a good 
chewing, was the perfect garnish.

Unfortunately Blondie missed the cue and concentrated on pulling Darkie's 
boobs, shifting them from one side to the other. The girl must have had some 
pretty horrendous experiences, but it was a shame her friend was ending up 
bearing the consequences. I was tempted to lean in and offer some expert 
guidance, but the girls seemed to be concentrated solely on each other and I 
didn't want to remind them of my presence. I was looking for a lot more from 
my evening than just a flash of boobs.

Eventually Blondie did move in with her mouth, but she was biting too hard 
and I could see Darkie wince at every nip. In some ways that turned me on, 
but the other part of me was dying to put the girl out of her misery and 
give her pretty little chest the kind of gentle attention it deserved.

In fact things seemed to have got pretty stalled, Blondie torturing her 
friend's breasts, Darkie presumably getting less and less turned on as her 
discomfort increased. I mean, there's hot sexy discomfort, and there's just 
plain "Please stop and leave me alone" discomfort. I could see what side of 
the line Darkie was heading.

Sexually I was more interested in Darkie, but she was on the wall side of 
the bed and I also suspected she was more likely to run a mile if I came 
closer to her. On the pretence of changing the tape (I like to have a 
pretence for everything) I moved off the bed, and on coming back I had a 
chance to take in the scene. It was pretty odd. Darkie and Blondie were 
still making out, Blondie's mouth still locked to her friend's boobs, but I 
did briefly pause to wonder what they thought they were doing on my bed. 
Everything suggested they'd never been intimate with each other before, yet 
here they were on my suggestion exploring the early stages of Sapphic sex. 
What gave me the power? I guess they were young and horny, watched a band 
and one of the two front people, older, sort of glamorous, focused all her 
attention on them, and anyway lingering somewhere in their relationship, as 
with so many teenagers, was an unspoken possibility of attraction. Whatever, 
fucking weird.

They still looked fucking hot. Blondie was leaning in to her friend, so her 
ass was slightly presented to me. She was wearing one of the short skirts 
that were popular in the malls at the time, and it was just about possible 
to see her knickers. I often find a glimpse is sexier than a full-on 
display. I gave up the analyzing and decided to enjoy the opportunities 
offered.

Kneeling on the floor behind Blondie, her knickers were more visible, black 
with a white edging, kind of sporty. I was actually trembling as I reached 
out to touch her - they wanted to make out with each other, but did they 
want to get it on with me too?

I gently brushed Blondie's ass through the material of her skirt, and she 
didn't jump and she didn't pull away. It was difficult to detect any 
reaction. I teased my fingers around in circles, putting the lightest of 
pressure on her cheeks. I thought I could feel her push back slightly, 
encouraging me to feel her backside.

I carried on like this for a while, circling, bringing my fingers in to run 
down the slight indentation of her crack. Knowing I was so close to intimacy 
with this young woman was heady stuff, and before long my heart took over 
and I slipped my hands under her skirt, lightly gripping the cotton of her 
knickers.

She froze. Fuck. I tried to tease her further, repeating my delicate 
massage, but she pulled herself away from her friend's tits, straightening 
up and in the process pulling her behind away from my grip.

I decided to play the rock star - it had got me this far. "Come on girls," 
(as you've probably gathered I didn't know their names), "I thought we were 
going to have some fun."

Darkie actually looked a little relieved that her friend had finally left 
her sore nipples alone, but Blondie had a look on her face that I guess 
would have been familiar to the parents of any teenaged daughter. "No 
fucking way."

I tried again. "This is so hot. Come on, we can feel so good."

But I could see Blondie was defiant. Her voice trembled as she said. 
"I'm...No. No way." And she started to climb off the bed. Darkie, looking 
dazed and confused (well I had to get that in somewhere), was still sprawled 
against the wall, her breasts exposed, her nipples still erect and also 
slick with her friend's saliva. "Come on," Blondie said to her friend, 
making it quite clear it was time to leave.

As she re-arranged her clothing Darkie gave me a little shrug, almost sad. 
I'd been tempted to come up with a suitable rock star comment, along the 
lines of "Well fuck you you silly little bitches" but Darkie's gesture made 
me moderate my response, and instead I offered to help them get a cab. By 
now it was evident Blondie wasn't talking to me, but Darkie said quietly 
that they'd be okay getting home. For the first time I noticed she had a 
slight lisp.

Blondie was almost out the door, but as Darkie passed me I rested my hand 
briefly on her shoulder. She gave me half a smile and then she too was out 
into the cold night air.

For the next few weeks the VeeVees lanky female guitarist hammered out the 
band's tunes with a new, furious intensity. Common opinion suggested they 
were some of our best gigs, but I hated them. It was a strange time for me, 
a combination of sexual frustration and, a first for me, guilt. Blondie and 
Darkie featured heavily in my masturbation fantasies, but in the sweaty 
post-climactic moments I would wonder what I had done wrong, and also if I 
had done wrong.

I looked out for the girls at gigs, of course, although it seemed pretty 
unlikely they would show. But there was no sign, and the other delicacies on 
offer somehow failed to appeal. It was my longest time without sex since 
high school.

Eventually I started to get over it, and I even began to think about pulling 
again. One evening some guy just appealed. Very good looking, if in a 
jockish kind of way, and not a bad sense of humor too. Any way you looked at 
it, a plum.

We were all leaving the bar at about 2 in the morning, I remember it was 
freezing, and as I adjusted to the light outside I saw Darkie standing by 
the wall. That gave me a real jolt.

I turned to look at Jock-type and smiled. "I'm sorry, something just came 
up." He looked utterly bewildered (fair enough), and then I think he 
realized I was waiting for the teenager in the shadows. I bet that got his 
mind racing. Whatever his frustration, he was a gent, and simply smiled and 
said "maybe some other time". Damn I really missed out on that one.

Once on my own I walked over to Darkie. She was shivering. She raised her 
eyebrows at me, her tentative way of saying Hi. I smiled. "Hey."

"I'm sorry," she said. "They wouldn't let me in." She was apologizing to me 
for not making it to the gig?

"How long have you been here?"

She looked at her watch. "Four, four and a half hours."

"You okay to still be out?" The last thing I needed was a neurotic parent 
turning up.

"They think I'm sleeping over at Denny's." Denny - a lurking memory 
somewhere told me that was Blondie.

"And Denny?"

"She's with her new boyfriend." Given how cold the poor girl was, it seemed 
a little cruel to continue the conversation there, but surprise surprise 
tough old Samantha didn't yet feel it was appropriate to offer hospitality 
after last time.

"Right. I'm sorry you missed the gig. It was a good one. We tried out some 
new songs."

"I'd like to hear them." There was something impressive about this girl's 
determination.

"Listen," I said, choosing my words with care, "it's cold and I don't live 
far away. It's kind of you to wait, and I'd like to talk if you would." This 
was a new, thoughtful, Samantha, definitely not seen before.

"Sure. I'd like that."

I still couldn't remember her name, and given the fragility of our 
relationship I could see that blowing up at an inappropriate moment. I used 
my old stand-by, not brilliant and they can usually spot your real reason 
for asking, but it does the business. "So, got any nicknames you love or 
hate?"

"At school they call me Jules." As she spoke I noticed her lisp again, her 
S's tending to come out as Scchh's, and silently cussed myself. Chances were 
any school nickname focused on that vulnerability.

"Jules?" I was pretty sure that wasn't related to her real name.

"From Julius Caesar. Because I have a big nose." Ah, the infinite cruelty of 
youth. Even in the poor light I could see her nose was only slightly larger 
than average, and not in any sense ugly. A touch Roman, perhaps, but that 
only made her face interesting, giving it strength and definition. I was 
slightly impressed you could get such a classical reference in modern 
American high schools.

I took a bit of a gamble, and playfully ran my forefinger down the bridge of 
her nose. "If I may say, you have a very fine nose. It actually makes you 
look more beautiful." It was laying it on a bit thick, but it seemed the 
girl didn't get many compliments. She smiled, I suspect more than a trifle 
unconvinced. "I can't call you Jules, can I?"

"Why not? she replied. "Everyone else does." So Jules it was then.

Back in my room I passed over the bottle of Glenfiddich and made us both 
some lemon tea. After her long wait she needed it, and I was worried whiskey 
would bring back uncomfortable memories. While I was fussing with the kettle 
Jules checked out the untidy piles of my CD collection. "Pick something," I 
offered.

"Have you got any more Led Zeppelin?" So she had been paying attention to my 
pre-seduction conversation the last time. Led Zep I would have been too full 
on, so I picked out III. Something rural and acoustic would keep the 
atmosphere nicely low key.

When her tea was made Jules settled herself at the head of my bed, and 
although sitting on the floor was an option for me I planted myself on the 
foot, roughly where she had been the last time she was in my room. Where was 
all this leading?

She was dressed differently from before, more casual, a navy vest type 
t-shirt (no wonder she was freezing, even under a jacket) and black jeans. 
They suited her.

I was still wondering what we were doing, and how I was going to find out, 
when Jules moved straight into the difficult territory. "Last time was 
really weird, I mean I think I was pretty out of it, but I did feel bad 
about the way we left and Denny's attitude. I mean, it's not like you were 
raping us or anything. She's like that with boys too. All hot and then it's 
`No way - you've gone too far.' And she's the one that's encouraged them. 
She pisses me off - I mean I really like your band."

In the circumstances it wasn't surprising her thoughts were so jumbled. "I'm 
glad you like us," I said, a little blandly. "And I'm sorry you missed the 
gig. I'll see what I can do, maybe if we said you were a roadie or 
something."

Jules smiled, not the over-eager "thank-you thank-you" smile I'd been 
expecting, just an appreciative acceptance that I'd offered something kind. 
"Thank you. I'm not sure how much good I'd be, but..."

"We'll sort something out."

She paused, suggesting she was about to say something difficult and deeply 
personal. She loved me? She wanted me? "I..." She stopped again. My curiosity 
was really aroused. "This sounds really lame, but I really liked your band, 
and now I really want to learn to play guitar."

It was a pretty standard chat-up line to me after gigs, but I'd never heard 
someone so obviously mean it. "You should. I've never regretted it. Even at 
home, on your own, when you're pissed at something, just hammering out a few 
power chords for half an hour, it's the best therapy. Yeah, you really 
should."

She looked at my guitar, resting once again in the corner of my room. "You 
play a Telecaster, right?" I nodded. "Is that a good one to choose?"

"To start off with, it probably doesn't matter. Why don't you try it?"

This time she did have that wide-eyed "I can't believe my ears" look. "No 
way!" Last time those words were uttered in my room they had a whole 
different meaning.

"Sure, go for it." I went over and handed her the guitar.

"It's heavy."

"Solid body. Do you know any chords?" She shook her head. "Okay, how about I 
teach you the beginning of a song?" She looked at me, and the enthusiasm in 
her eyes made me melt. I'd used and abused plenty of people, but I was going 
to play it straight down the line with Jules. "You're right handed, right?" 
She nodded. "Okay, put your left hand here." I took hold of her wrist, the 
contact feeling wonderful however much I wanted to keep things under 
control, and held it in the air about a foot over the neck of the guitar. 
She looked confused. "Hold the pick in your right hand, between your thumb 
and forefinger," and that took a bit of getting right, so we were pretty 
much holding hands for a minute or two, and I thought I'm sure she's getting 
the same buzz I am, "and when you're ready bring the pick down hard across 
all six strings."

She looked unconvinced, like I was taking the piss. "But I'm not doing 
anything with my left hand."

"Trust me," I said. It was the first time in a very long time that I 
actually meant it. She brought her hand down sharp, and although it wasn't a 
perfect strum, the chord rang out. (The guitar wasn't plugged in to the amp. 
It was the middle of the night, for fuck's sake).

"You recognize it?" She shook her head. "The Beatles." She smiled - she 
hadn't a clue. "It would sound more familiar on a Rickenbacker," (not on 
Microsoft Word spell check), "played on a Vox AC30. It's the opening chord 
of A Hard Day's Night."

Jules nodded her head. "I'm impressed," she said. "Jules plays The Beatles." 
I got the feeling that, whatever the motivation for calling her the name, 
she'd decided she liked the sound of it, and with impressive practicality 
adopted it. That probably took the sting out of their taunts too. Clever 
girl.

I showed her some proper chords, the start of House of the Rising Sun, and 
as my fingers held hers, stretching them across the frets of my Telecaster, 
and as I reached around her back, adjusting the position of her wrist under 
the guitar neck, I thought I couldn't be seducing her more effectively if I 
was trying. And I realized, as I teased the third finger of her left hand 
onto the A string to form the bass note of a C chord, that, as I'd asked, 
she trusted me.

We spent about twenty minutes learning the opening chord sequence, our 
bodies in constant contact. It was exquisite. By the end, she just about had 
it, and although it wouldn't have been anything Bobby Dylan or The Animals 
would have recognized, she was playing a tune on the guitar. Jules' pleasure 
at her achievement was pure, unaffected. After running through the chords 
four or five times she turned to me, and she looked quite serious as she 
said "This is great. Thank you."

I rested my hand on her wrist again, but this time left it there. "Truly - a 
pleasure."

She looked at me intently. "Last time..." Once more, she faltered. It would 
have been difficult for her to talk about anyway, without her pronunciation 
problems - it came out "Lasstht time." "I felt really weird after." We were 
still touching.

"I'm sorry," I said. "What I did was wrong. I guess I got a little into the 
rock'n'roll thing. I hope I didn't hurt you."

"No, not like that." Jules paused. "Denny hurt me!" She laughed.

"Yeah, I noticed. She's a tiger. You must have been sore for days."

"I guess. What she did - I mean, it hurt, and I didn't like it. But...I liked 
having you there." I was stroking her wrist now. I felt sure she wanted me 
to.

"I liked watching." I wanted to be honest, truthful, fair. "You're a 
beautiful young woman, Jules, I'm not sure you believe that right now, but 
you are. It was breathtaking seeing you half-naked. I'm not saying that to 
seduce you, or to make you feel better, I don't want you ever to think `the 
disingenuous bitch', because I know that pretty soon all sorts of people 
will be paying you the same compliment, and hopefully then you won't have 
any doubts." That seemed a little serious. "Plus we already know you're 
going to be a great guitar player."

Jules laughed, and that was when I kissed her. I had to.

She responded immediately, it wasn't passionate, it was careful, searching, 
exploring, even gentle. It was a nice way to kiss.

I was happy to stay like that for a long time, almost pecking at each other 
like a couple of love birds, my hand stroking her forearm, but still I 
wanted to do the right thing. I pulled away, and Jules looked puzzled, 
disappointed. "I can't believe we're doing this," I ventured. "I...I want to, 
don't get me wrong, I want it more badly than anything. But...well, I feel 
kind of responsible."

She smiled, the young girl reassuring her "seductress". "This hasn't just 
happened, Samantha. I mean, not tonight, not even since the last gig. I 
mean, it's never actually happened to me before, but I've thought about it. 
So much. And I truly can't think of a better woman to have me for the first 
time than Samantha Cornell, hot guitar maestro with the VeeVees."

Wow. Then we kissed again, urgently, and we embraced, and I could feel 
Jules' breasts rubbing against my own, and then my hands were under her 
t-shirt, caressing them through her bra, before I lifted her top off and 
unhooked her bra and she was bare, exposed, for me.

Mindful of Denny's brutality I planted kisses around Jules' breasts, making 
her want for me to concentrate on the areas of greatest need. Then I was 
passing my tongue over her nipples, feeling them spring against my touch, 
recognizing her excitement as they filled with her blood. Then, finally, I 
was kissing them, careful to keep my teeth away, my tongue tracing circles 
around them while my hand gently squeezed Jules' other breast.

Jules was making her own investigations, her hands feeling the shape of my 
tits through my shirt. My nipples responded to her touch, pointing at Jules 
with desire, and I lifted off my shirt and bra, revealing myself to her. The 
hunger in Jules' eyes showed how much she wanted to see me like this.

Then we were embracing again, kissing, and I shivered as our breasts 
collided, the stiffness of Jules' nipples matched by my own. It was 
wonderful, but I needed something else. Once again, I pulled away, my eyes 
lingering over Jules' beautiful young breasts.

I went straight to the CD, and as the soft thud of John Paul Jones' bass 
line filled the room, footsteps down to hell, followed by the echoing ring 
of Jimmy Page's harmonics, Jules grinned from ear to ear. "Fucking A!" Dazed 
and Confused did it for her too.

Returning to the bed, I reached for the button of her jeans. I didn't even 
ask. I gently drew the zip down, then slid my hand inside, feeling the 
cotton of her panties, the spring of her fuzz beneath the material. Taking 
my eyes briefly away from my young lover's crotch I saw the look of excited 
anticipation on her face - she so wanted me to see her sex.

As I tugged down her jeans she lifted her ass off the bed to help me, then I 
was tugging them down her long slim legs, my eyes focused on her plain blue 
knickers and the delicate swell of her mons. Before I even had a chance to 
encourage her she parted her knees before me, her legs wide, her 
pantie-covered cunt so close to my face. There was a large dark stain on the 
front of her knickers where her honey had soaked through the material. No 
doubt her desire was as great as mine.

I brought my tongue against the crotch, feeling the contrasting textures of 
the dry material and Jules' hot sticky cunt. She rested her hands on my 
head, the sort of encouragement I like from a lover as I go down on her, and 
urged me in.

I couldn't bear playing any more, so I roughly yanked Jules' knickers down 
and off. There was my prize - the dark V of her fuzz, and the pink slash of 
her cunt. I always like to inspect so I gently parted her labia with my 
fingers, opening her, revealing her sex. Her juices were almost bubbling her 
desire and need was so great.

Again she urged me in, and I couldn't have refused her if I'd wanted. Jules 
tasted sensational, like I could taste innocence alongside the usual flavors 
of piss and sweat and cuntal honey. I was careful not to focus on her clit, 
she was too close to coming and there were things that yet had to be done, 
so concentrated on long licks from the bottom of her opening, up over her 
piss hole, the merest flick over her clit before diving down again. She was 
moaning, quite un-self-conscious, as I frustrated and excited her.

As soon as I reached under her knees and began pushing her legs up to her 
tits I think she knew what I was doing, where I was going. So far she'd 
enthusiastically acquiesced, but as I lifted her legs up she half-moaned 
"Please..." I paused, my fingers caressing the backs of her knees. With any 
other woman I'd have ignored her request, but this was Jules. She looked at 
me, the stiffness of her nipples direct evidence of the fact her whole body 
was pretty much possessed by desire. "I mean...I'm...I may be..."

"I know." I pushed her knees up, back, so they were pressed against her 
chest. "I want you, Jules, all of you." Whatever uncomfortable thoughts were 
passing through her mind I felt sure that in a few moments they would 
combine to produce a new intensity and thrill.

Jules' beautiful, innocent, dirty little teenaged asshole. Dark, inviting, 
forbidden, so simple, a brown crater drilling into the creamy flesh of her 
butt. I held her there for some time, wanting and needing her to know that I 
was looking at, inspecting, maybe smelling, her behind. A little trickle of 
honey ran down from my lover's cunt. It seemed Jules' shame and 
embarrassment was, as it should be, exquisitely erotic for her.

Then I kissed Jules' butthole, tasting her darkness, and she let out a long 
sigh. I remember the first time my asshole was licked, funnily enough by an 
older woman, the surprise, the shock, the nastiness, the way it damn 
tickles! The way it meets a need, but also encourages it. Within seconds 
Jules had made up her mind, and her hands were back on my head, urging me 
in, encouraging me, wanting me and wanting it, wanting my tongue on her anus 
as I explored and cleaned her bottom.

I could have eaten her for ages, but it might have been two much of a good 
thing for both of us. I moved up to her clit, almost palpably throbbing, and 
gave it the most delicate of caresses with my tongue as I probed Jules' cunt 
and the opening of her bottom with my fingers. It was all enough to bring 
her over the edge, and as she came she let out loud cries, repeated, "aagh, 
aagh, aagh," as if she was in pain, but I was pretty sure she was anything 
but.

There is something beautiful about a post-orgasmic woman (a gooey wilting 
cock doesn't do quite the same thing for me), and certainly Jules looked 
stunning, her body flushed, her eyes fluttering as she came to terms with 
the forces that had pretty much literally flooded through her. I climbed 
onto the bed next to her, still fully clothed from the waist down. The 
sacrifices I make for some people...

Eventually she pulled herself out of her state, looked at me lying on the 
bed inches from her face, and smiled.

"How you feeling?" I asked, my eyes appreciating every curve and nuance of 
her face from this close distance.

"Dazed and confused," she replied, smiling again. Nice one.

"Not too confused I hope?" I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

She shook her head. "Not about that, no. That was...the most incredible moment 
in my life. Ever. Nothing comes close. It's like..." again she struggled for 
the right words "...fuck, just something I want to do over and over again."

I cupped a breast in my hand, feeling Jules' nipple between my fingers. 
"That can easily be arranged."

Her face clouded. "You haven't..." Tongue-tied again.

"No. I can wait. A short time." Jules' nipple, still stiff from her orgasm, 
hardened under my touch. "You didn't mind?"

"What? Oh. No. Sort of. I mean it wasn't me down there. If that's your 
thing."

"Sometimes. When I know the butt in question may be the future of 
rock'n'roll."

Jules frowned. "You're teasing me."

I brushed her cheek. "No I'm not. I've met a lot of people, Jules, and none 
of them are like you. No bullshit. Be what you want to be. Fuck, I sound 
like a teacher."

It was Jules' turn to reassure me. "I like you being nice. Right now, I want 
to be the person who..." Yet again she got embarrassed.

"...makes me come?" She nodded. "Use your fingers for me, Jules, please?" I 
lay back, and Jules moved onto her side next to me. I was going to drop my 
jeans myself, but she got to the button first, fumbling awkwardly with it 
before finally it gave way. Together we slipped the jeans down my legs. For 
a while Jules traced patterns around my belly, either teasing me or building 
up her courage. Whatever, it was doing the right thing.

Then, she slipped her fingers inside the waistband of my knickers, brushing 
her way though my bush until she encountered my slick slit. I moaned at the 
contact.

Like a lot of "initiates" she was surprisingly expert in her frigging, I 
guess because she'd practiced so often on her own cunt. She teased around my 
labia, stroking up and down, dipping into the folds of my sex. Every now and 
then she'd pass around my clit, notching up my stimulation before 
disappearing down again.

I'd expected us to lie like that, me on my back, Jules on her side next to 
me, until she frigged me to my climax. So it was a surprise when she moved 
down my body, bringing her face close to my knickers. Simultaneously her own 
groin came closer to my face. I guess it was a combination of needs, to see 
my pussy and to offer me her own again. "Please," she said, and I wondered 
what she was going to ask for, "I'd...I'd like to see your cunt." It was 
delicious hearing her use that word, shy lisping Jules driven to obscenity 
by her horniness.

Sometimes talking can stoke a fire, and the only way to keep it burning is 
to continue to search for words that match your need. As I pulled my 
knickers down, revealing my bush and my aroused sex, I told Jules "I want to 
show you my cunt. Look at my cunt." I reached down with my hand and used two 
fingers to spread my lips, opening myself up to her intent gaze. "Show me 
yours." It was like the childhood game, made so much more delicious by 
Jules' youth. "Show me your cunt, Jules." She reached down and repeated my 
movement, spreading the petals of her flower.

We lay there, examining each other's cunts, for some while, before I felt 
the brush of Jules' tongue across my clit. Immediately she'd tasted a women 
for the first time her contact became more definite, more eager, as she 
lapped my honey from my cunt. I brought my mouth against her clit, gently 
moving my lips around it, while teasing her two holes with my fingers. 
Surprisingly she responded by pushing a finger between my butt cheeks, 
searching, inquisitive, until she reached my anus, building into a firm 
rubbing motion as Jules pressed her finger over and across my nasty sticky 
hole.

It was enough to have me coming quickly, shuddering, jerking, almost 
throwing Jules' face away from my cunt where she was still licking and 
teasing. Despite my climax I managed to maintain contact between my mouth 
and Jules' clit, and she came, moaning painfully as she had before. As we 
flopped exhausted back onto the bed I saw Jules lift her finger to her nose. 
Morbid curiosity or the beginnings of a nasty habit?

We slept in each other's arms. It was the first time I'd even let someone 
stay the night.

It was odd, almost alarming, waking up to find someone in my bed. But then I 
turned and saw Jules' sleeping face, different in the morning light but 
still fine, still beautiful, and my anxiety slipped away. I lay there for 
some ten or fifteen minutes while she slept, enjoying this new experience. 
But there seems to be something that tells a sleeping woman she is being 
watched, and soon Jules was coming to. If it was a shock for me to find her 
in my bed, how was she going to react?

She smiled. "Hey," she said, her voice still croaky from sleep. Her simple, 
calm reaction made me think. Just why did I find her so attractive? 
Initially, of course, it had been the "almost-a-girl" thing, and I was aware 
that people, particularly women, on the cusp between childhood and the adult 
world, exert a powerful influence on the erotic imagination. But I was 
increasingly thinking it was the adult elements in Jules' personality that I 
was drawn to. Her calmness, her resolution, her easy sense of humor. That 
and the fact she sniffed her finger after rubbing my butthole. Of course 
there was plenty of evidence she was still a teenager, and a relatively 
young one at that, but overall I was getting the impression of a blossoming 
young woman.

"Let's go take a shower," I said. Last night was last night, and it was time 
to move on to different games. I was lucky enough to have my own en-suite 
(don't ask why), so there were no awkward faces wondering where or how I'd 
ended up with the pretty teenager.

There was a curious intimacy about being in the bathroom with a virtual 
stranger. Despite my slightly unusual obsessions it wasn't a place I'd ever 
shared with another person. It felt good, two young naked women doing their 
morning toilet. When I sat down to pee Jules gave a double-take, but she 
quickly seemed comfortable with the idea, so much so that a couple of 
minutes later I could hear the hiss of her pee splashing onto the toilet 
bowl. It wasn't sexy but it was private and somehow special.

When I climbed into the shower cubicle she quickly followed.  I guess it was 
always unspoken that we'd shower together, but even so it was a surprise and 
a thrill that Jules was so eager to join me. As the hot water splashed down 
we soaped each other's bodies, inevitably lingering on the sensitive parts, 
until we were tingling like the night before.

Jules turned and I soaped her back, making my way down, my excitement 
building as I once again headed for her ass. It was easy with the lather to 
poke a finger inside her hole, and she wriggled with pleasure. Then it was 
my turn. Surely she wouldn't do the same for me?

The anticipation I'd felt doing Jules' back was nothing compared to what I 
felt as her hands rubbed smoothly across my body. She lingered on the small 
of my back, which felt good because of the aches I got there, and then she 
spent a long time cupping and squeezing my butt cheeks, lifting them, 
separating them, as if trying to feel every aspect of their weight and 
contour. Then, blissfully, her fingers were snaking down my ass crack, 
rubbing and scraping my anus, before teasingly poking inside.

We came standing up, embracing, each frigging the other, soapy fingers 
sliding in and out of each other's tight assholes.

There were many things I wanted to do with Jules, pretty much everything in 
fact, but one idea seemed more urgent. It was something I'd never tried with 
a woman before, and to me it connoted the most complete possession possible. 
That was worth sharing with her, I thought.

Dried, peachy clean, we rested back on my bed, the morning light now 
flooding through my window allowing me to appreciate every inch of Jules' 
body. It was becoming familiar, yes, but still desperately exciting. And her 
interest in me showed no signs of abating. We were automatically top to toe, 
nuzzling each other's slits, no sense of time or need even, just a desire to 
kiss and caress cunts.

As before I stirred Jules' honey pot with my fingers, before slipping them 
into her ass and cunt. She pushed against them, encouraging me in, so I 
urged her, murmuring "Do my holes, too."

We could so easily have come like that, but when we were beginning to build 
I pulled away, still keeping my fingers in place. They were going to do some 
of my talking. "You know," I said, "there's one thing that would be really 
hot."

"Sounds like you want to invite Denny over," said Jules, amused.

"Hmm. If these feel good," I moved the fingers filling her two holes to 
emphasize the point, "imagine what it would be like with something bigger."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not a huge fan of sex toys, but I've got some candles that might 
do the job perfectly."

"Can I see them?" With my free hand I reached to my drawer and pulled out a 
couple of boxes of candles. I did sometimes light them when I was getting 
stoned, but they were very much bought with penetration in mind. All the 
candles were about twelve inches long, but in one box they were three inches 
wide, the other thinner, maybe an inch and a half. I held one of each in 
front of Jules' face, and her eyes opened wide. "One for your pussy, one for 
your asshole. You can take your pick which way round you want them."

She couldn't take her eyes off them. "Fuck."

"Of course I'd very much appreciate it if at the same time you'd return the 
compliment. Except, feeling your tight little asshole around my finger makes 
me feel greedy. I want you to fuck me with two large ones."

"Will it hurt?" she asked. "In my ass?" I guessed her pussy was no stranger 
to foreign objects.

"It'll hurt, but it'll hurt good. Do me first, and see how you like it." I 
handed her a tube of lube and together we coated the two fat candles 
liberally. She slid the first one into my cunt, and my arousal at what my 
young lover was doing to me meant it was an easy passage. It felt good, but 
I needed more, much more.

"Can I take a liberty?" I asked. "It's a lot easier on your ass if you 
loosen it up first."

"The candle?"

"No, my asshole. If you could..." God, I wanted it so badly I was getting as 
tongue-tied as Jules had been the previous night, "...if you could use your 
tongue it would be perfect."

"Oh, okay." There was nothing then I felt Jules tongue pressing firmly 
against my butthole. She'd got the idea, licking around then pressing as 
best she could into my anus. It was heaven. "You're a fucking goddess," I 
groaned. "Now, just press the candle against me," I directed. I could feel 
it, hard where her tongue had been so soft. "Now, just press it, aagh, fuck, 
that's the bit, that's where it feels impossible, now, keep going, yes, 
that's it, it fucking hurts, it fucking burns but it feels incredible. It 
feels like if I move an inch in any direction I'll explode. Fuck me with 
it." She was careful, slowly in, slowly out. "Aaagh, fuck, yes, now move the 
other one, yes, Jules, I promise you, you've got to feel this, now."

She sighed. "What the fuck." It was almost impossible to lube the candles as 
she kept up a relentless rhythm on my cunt and asshole, but soon enough I 
was plunging the fat one into Jules' pussy. She was sopping, either from 
what she was doing to me, or the thought of what was to happen to her, or 
both. There was no hymen, either, but I had no idea whether that was from a 
cock or over-vigorous use of a hairbrush. Then I was drilling her ass with 
my tongue, seeking to press inside her anal canal but always encountering 
just too much opposition. It was the perfect preparation.

As I rubbed the slim candle around her butthole I went to work very 
delicately on Jules' clit, knowing she would need that stimulation when the 
moment of penetration came. Gradually my running focused closer and closer 
on her crater, and then I pressed, firmly, violating that perfect little 
hole.

Jules yelped with shock and pain, similar to the sound when she came only I 
knew this was almost pure discomfort. I worked hard on her clit as I slid 
the candle some four or five inches into Jules' bottom. Momentarily I even 
forgot about the painful pleasure being done to my own body as I 
concentrated on taking the teenager through that brief moment of "I hate 
anal sex" to "This is fucking incredible." I knew a lot of women never made 
it through.

Then I heard it in Jules' voice. Those long slow pants, desperately 
controlled, indicating she was on the razor between excruciating pleasure 
and excruciating pain. With each thrust into her butt she panted, but then 
imperceptibly the sound coming through her lips became "Yes. Yes." At the 
same time she became more attentive to me, her tongue brushing my clit with 
skill.

As Jules' pleasure increased I thrust the two candles further into her, 
knowing the extraordinary feelings she would get when they were separated by 
the thin membrane between her asshole and her cunt.

Despite all the wonderful things Jules was doing too me it was the sight of 
that twelve inch candle almost swallowed up by her rectum, her anus closed 
in a tight but perfect circle around the intruder, that brought me over the 
edge. There is no orgasm like an anal orgasm, and there'd never been an anal 
orgasm like the one I enjoyed knowing what I was doing to Jules' pretty 
young bottom. As my own shaking finished I was able to enjoy the whines as 
Jules came, a wholly different sound from her previous climaxes, as her body 
instinctively begged for release, release.

It was a delicate business, removing the candles, but I wasn't quite 
finished with them yet. I collapsed onto the bed alongside Jules, both of us 
glistening with sweat. Her eyes were wide open, shocked and stunned by what 
her body was capable of. I rubbed the candle that had been in my pussy 
around Jules' mouth, and she poked her tongue out, tasting me again, while I 
licked the one that had been in Jules' sex. Then I got the slim number that 
had been embedded so far in her asshole, and brushed it above my mouth, 
twisting it under my nostrils, before licking it, kissing it, fellating it.

There was one candle left. Morbid curiosity or the beginnings of a nasty 
habit? As I offered it to Jules I could see that its rough violation of my 
behind had not left it clean. She looked up and down its shaft, seeing what 
I saw, then she traced a finger along its length. Then, her eyes fixed on 
mine, she leant in towards where I was holding my offering, she never 
blinked, she never looked away, as she licked it, slowly, carefully, her 
tongue always visible, until it was completely clean.

***

Even when the VeeVees were at their best I'd always known the world of 
finance was my future, not the exhausting struggle of the music biz. But I 
kept my Telecaster, strummed along at home when the shit got too much. A few 
years ago I was reading a guitar magazine, an occasional poorly read treat, 
when I read about the hot young session player being called in to record 
with everyone from Madonna to Paul McCartney. Apparently people were blown 
away by her looks, her charm, but most of all the way she played, how she 
turned wood and electricity into raw sexy blues. There was no photo, but the 
name was clear enough. Even if it wasn't really her name. Good on yer, 
Jules.

The End

You'll find my other stories at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/samcornell/www/




Read the collection of my stories at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/samcornell/www/


_________________________________________________________________
Send and receive Hotmail on your mobile device: http://mobile.msn.com

-- 
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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+