Message-ID: <37689asstr$1028571005@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <mmtwassel@aol.com> From: mmtwassel@aol.com (mat twassel) X-Original-Message-ID: <20020805085822.11677.00001284@mb-ck.aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 05 Aug 2002 12:58:22 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Mat Twassel: A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole Date: Mon, 5 Aug 2002 14:10:05 -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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/37689> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: kelly, gill-bates Please take a moment to look at Mat's Erotic Calendar at: http://Calendar.atEROS.com ========================================================= A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole (je suis toi) -- by Mat Twassel I had a hard time sleeping last night. Sexual thoughts of Annie. In college Annie and my wife Laura were sorority sisters. I'd dated Annie a couple of times but we'd never slept together, in fact, I'd never even kissed her, though I'd badly wanted to. Back then, for a week or two I couldn't think of much else but Annie's wild red hair and wide eyes and well-behaved little breasts. We were both shy people, but I went so far as to think we had a future together. When Annie phoned to break our last date I was crest-fallen. "Can I ask how come?" I'd said. "I don't know," she'd said, "Maybe we're too much alike. But my roommate Laura thinks you're a cute guy. I bet you'd like her, too." I did. That was five years ago. Now Annie was visiting us, staying for a few days. She'd broken up with her husband, Laura told me, and she was traveling around the country to rub off the hurt. Annie didn't seem too hurt to me, but we didn't talk much. Mostly she talked to Laura, sometimes seriously, sometimes giggly, sometimes whispers. I think they wanted to talk about the horrible man, and maybe I made them nervous. "He was ..." Annie started to say, and then she looked at me, and then she said, "Awful," and then she giggled and spilled her after dinner wine in the lap of her dress. "Now see what you've done," Laura accused me. "Why don't you go in the study before anything else happens." I went to the library and sat at my grandfather's big desk and wrote in my journal and thought about Annie taking off her wine-stained dress. An hour or two later Annie came in with a cup of tea. "This is for you," she said, and she handed me the steaming cup. It seemed to me her fingers were trembling. I thought about asking her to stay for a moment, but I didn't know how to put it. "Won't you have a cup?" I said. "Oh, no," she said. "I'd surely spill," and she giggled and touched the front of the tight gray jogging pants. "I wouldn't want to soil your wife's clothing," she added, and I suddenly had the feeling she wasn't wearing anything underneath. I blushed. Turning from my chair, Annie stopped at the edge of the desk and picked up the glass paperweight. I couldn't help but be aware of the smooth curve of her hip a few inches from my arms. I tried to remember if maybe that paperweight was something Annie had given Laura and me as a wedding gift. "It's nice," I said foolishly. "Yes," she said. Then she put down the paperweight and picked up my journal. "That's, uh, my journal," I said quickly. "Oh," Annie said half-turning towards me. "Is it private?" "Well, uh ..." I said. "Can I read it?" Annie asked. "I promise to be careful with it." The journal has some intimate thoughts, things I hadn't even shared with Laura. I don't know why I didn't say no. Clutching the journal to her breast, Annie quickly left the room. That night I dreamt Laura and I were driving to Arizona. We stopped in a cheap but not uncomfortable motel, and an ivory light smoothed her moon-silvery skin. I was on my back, my phallus gleaming with the wet of her sex, but when I awoke in the middle of the night I couldn't actually remember having made love. I wondered if Annie was awake in the guest room reading my journal. When I fell back to sleep I dreamt of cars and trucks cruising a desert highway, their headlights skimming the lonely asphalt. Soon Laura's fingers trembled across my back. "What do you think it would feel like falling asleep inside of Annie?" she asked as she continued her stroking. I pressed myself into the bed, and her soft voice merged with the sounds of night traffic. "Do you wonder what kind of moans she makes when she comes?" Laura whispered. "Or how her cunt feels when it clenches? How especially snug it is? Do you wonder whether she ever cries when she fucks, or if she laughs, or what sex words she uses?" I awoke aching with want. I tossed and turned and at the same time tried not to wake Laura, who was sleeping so sweetly on her side of our bed. I got up to go to the bathroom but had to wait a long time for my erection to subside before I could pee properly. In the hallway outside the bathroom I stood for several moments staring at the closed guest room door. I wondered if Annie was awake in there, or if asleep what she dreamed. If I'd had my way, she would have needed to pee or something, would have met me in the hallway, would have walked up to me as simple as could be and tilted her head upward and pulled my mouth down into an endless kiss. I tried to remember some of the dangerous things I'd written in my journal. Dreams. Desires. Speculations. Secrets my wife Laura had never shown any interest in. Back in bed, back under the light blanket, I began to touch myself. I touched myself as lightly as possible, just the barest hint of touch, and I imagined it was Annie's hand, and after a while I imagined I was having Annie's thoughts as she touched herself, as she imagined me touching her: "Oh," she says, "My fuck-hole feels so good when you do that." A forefinger under the crest of my cock, I pause, surprised I have had her use a word like "fuck-hole." "Well, you make up flower-lovely French-sounding words like je'picoo for Laura's cunt," she says, and she pushes a finger slowly and deeply into her sex. "Make up a word for mine." Her fingers travel down the spine of my cock miming the traffic's dawn-sleepy drone. Moonlight seeps through the slitted drapes. I harden my hand, not being able to get enough of her. I can never get enough. But I don't make myself come. Then I sleep deep into morning and Laura and I make love. I simply roll into her and it is so sweet, the best it's been for months and months. But no, it's just the final dream. In fact Laura politely refuses, saying it always makes her sleepy all morning and she won't be able to get anything done, and she has too much to do, what with a guest in the house and all. Annie is not up yet. While Laura pours us coffee at our kitchen counter I stand behind her stroking her bottom and teasing her that she might have passed up the fuck of the century. She turns to me all smiles. "I'll keep that comment in mind," she says, grinning impishly. Then Laura turns me around. I see that I was mistaken. Annie is up. She's sitting at our little kitchen table, sitting there so still and pretty and perfectly naked, her prim breasts lovely in the morning light, her reddish curls soft and wild, her eyes looking demurely down upon a page of my journal set before her, wide open. Laura hands me a cup of coffee, steaming hot, and then another, and then she looks at me, her eyes twinkling with inquisitiveness, and in the most matter-of-fact voice asks, "Have you thought of a name for Annie's fuck-hole yet?" Before I can even begin to think of a response, Laura abruptly kneels down next to me, fishes my penis from my jammies, and takes all of me quickly into her mouth. The coffee is trembling in both cups. I glance over at Annie. She seems more interested in my journal than in what's going on in front of her, although I notice that her nipples, softly pink, have fattened up. Still reading the journal, Annie idly brings her finger up to touch one nipple, then presses the fattened pout of it into the puffy flesh around, and then she looks up at me, to watch me come. Just before everything spills, I wonder if this is the beginning of something, or the end. ============================ A Word for Annie's Fuck Hole Mat Twassel ============================ Mat's Erotic Calendar at http://calendar.atEros.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> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+