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Message-ID: <39004asstr$1035936602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Medea K." <medeafk@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Tell Me (MF, cons, rough, anal)
Date: Tue, 29 Oct 2002 19:10:02 -0500
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

	"Tell me what you want," he says.
	She's silent for a moment, then replies.  "I don't know."  This isn't 
entirely true, but it's easy to say.  In the dark room he can't see her 
indecision, though the tone of her voice reflects it.  He is patient, and 
for a few minutes she thinks quietly.
	They lie clothed, on top of the bed covers, two friends who have known each 
other for years, though never all that close.  It seemed easy to ask him in, 
even to invite him to her bedroom, but now she hesitates.  An hour ago they 
were at a party, surrounded by other people.  She found herself sitting in a 
chair, off to one side of the crowd, sipping her drink alone.  The people 
around her were happy, lively, and both friends and strangers stopped to 
chat for a bit.  It didn't seem to be working for her, though.  She couldn't 
quite engage with the surrounding mood.
	She was starting to think it might have been better to stay home and read a 
book, when one more person walked up.  He guessed her mood immediately, and 
most days might have shrugged and continued on to look for a livelier 
conversation elsewhere, but this time he stayed.  There was something about 
the way she looked at him, that called him to pay more attention.  He 
offered to take her home, and once there, she asked him if he might like to 
come in for a minute.

	"There are things we never talk about," she says, not looking over at him 
on the other side of the bed when she speaks.  "Maybe in the abstract, 
general sense, or when they apply to other people's lives, but never when 
it's about ourselves."
	"Did you ask me here to talk?" he asks.
	She sighs.  "Not exactly.  But it's hard for me to answer your question, 
and I started thinking about why."
	"I'm not really sure what you want from me tonight," he says.
	"Some nights, all I think about is love.  That magic sheen that it seems to 
give ordinary days, and the tangible difference when it's gone.  It's not 
just love that I miss when I'm single, though.  It's touch, it's that 
feeling of connection, it's the lust and the sex and everything else that 
goes with it.  But then I realize all of the ways that my life includes love 
and connection with people and lust and desire.  What I miss most is the 
physical touch."
	He rolls onto his side to face her, and reaches towards her.  "So I should 
touch you?"
	"Well, yes," she laughs.  "Why else would we be in my bed if that weren't 
true, though?  It's more than that."
	"What, then?"
	"One of the things we never talked about...  Some people do BDSM, and it's 
all about the power relationship, but not for me.  I want the sensations of 
pleasure and pain and overwhelming feeling, the sort that crowds out all 
other thought.  I want to be held down and used."
	This is his turn to be silent.
	"And I wanted you," she says, "because I knew you could give me that."
	He responds by taking her hands, which are resting on her stomach as she 
speaks, and pulling her to face him.  "I can't touch very much of you with 
those clothes in the way."
	She smiles.  "You have to strip, too."
	Quietly, they get up and take off their clothes.  She gets under the 
covers, now naked, to avoid the chill of the room.  He climbs in beside her. 
  Her mind is full with anticipation, but also hesitancy, and worries that 
this will go badly.  She likes him, but their friendship has been nearly 
devoid of physical contact, even hugging.  She knows enough about his past 
relationships and preferences to want him here, but she's still uncertain 
whether he can give her what she needs tonight, despite what she says.
	He moves closer to put his arm around her.  His manner has changed, 
becoming a little more feral.  When he touches her, the energy she feels 
puts all her fears to rest.  Everything about him speaks raw lust.  She 
closes her eyes, nestling her chin in the curve of his neck, feeling her 
body press against his warmth.  His hand presses into the curve of her 
waist.  "This is my favorite curve," he says.  "The place where the hip 
joins the side of the back."  And he grabs her there, as if trying to pull 
her even closer.
	They begin to rock back and forth together.  She moves her leg to rest on 
top of his, increasing the stimulation of her clit.  His erection presses 
against her thigh.  As their arousal increases, he begins to growl 
underneath his breath.  She is slick and wet, and his body against hers 
feels so good, but it's not enough yet, even though his fingers press into 
her body, almost like they want to tear through the skin, and she's too 
turned on to speak to ask him to fuck her.
	He knows, though, and he pushes her onto her back and straddles her.  He 
takes his cock in his hand, and rubs the tip along her wet slit, teasing 
her.  She opens her eyes, and stares at him in the faint light that leaks 
into the room from the street outside, and sees his teeth shine as he 
smiles.  He pushes into her fast, so fast, and she moans, losing herself in 
the feeling of his cock pounding into her cunt.  He grabs her wrists, and 
pins them on either side of her head, pushing them down into the pillows, 
balancing himself as he fucks her.  She presses back against him, daring him 
to hold her still.
	This only increases his thrusting, until he stops for a moment and pulls 
out.  "Turn over," he orders her.  She lies with her face pressed against 
the pillows, barely able to breathe even with her head tilted to one side.  
It's made worse by his weight pressing against her.  He continues to pound 
into her, grabbing her by the hips to bring her onto her knees.  She reaches 
under herself to finger her clit.  The angle and the jolting is all wrong to 
get much stimulation, but it doesn't really matter.  Within moments it's 
enough, and she goes limp as her climax fades.  He takes the opportunity to 
rest.  He's close to his own orgasm, but there's one more thing he wants to 
do, first.
	He slides his fingers down along her slit, which is exposed by the way her 
hips are still in the air even though her head rests on the pillow.  He dips 
a finger, then two, into her cunt, enjoying the slippery feeling.  Then he 
brings them to the pucker of her anus, and slides his middle finger inside, 
ever so slowly.  She moans, clearly still aroused.  He fucks her with the 
finger until he thinks she's ready for the second.  She's so turned on, it 
doesn't hurt at all.  He removes his fingers and slides his cock back into 
her cunt, getting it as wet and slippery as he can.  And then he pushes it 
into her ass.
	She gasps as the head of his cock enters her; it's much larger than his 
fingers.  His grip on her waist is firm.  She hopes she'll have bruises in 
the morning.  His pace remains slow enough that she begins to push back 
against him, even though the way his cock stretches her open when he's all 
the way in is mildly uncomfortable.  This is not about being comfortable.  
He teases her a moment longer, and then slams into her as hard as he can.  
He pulls out slowly, and then again, wham.  Her eyes well up with tears, the 
sort that come from being overwhelmed by emotion and sensation and the need 
to have more, even when it's already almost too much.  He pushes her down 
onto the bed again, his weight centered on hers, and as he sinks his teeth 
into her neck and his cock firmly into her ass, he comes, spurting his milky 
fluid inside her.
	They lie on the bed, sweaty and panting even after he rolls off of her, the 
covers long ago kicked to the floor.  She reaches under the bed for her 
vibrator, not quite finished yet.  She presses it to her clit and turns it 
on, trying to draw out just one more orgasm, one more to end the evening.  
As he recovers, he joins in, sucking and biting the nipple closest to him, 
as she pinches and twists the other with her free hand.  It doesn't take 
long before she's gasping and coming so hard the tears return.  After she 
switches the vibrator off, she lies there in silence, letting it all drain 
away.  He gets up to clean himself off, and before he comes back, she's 
asleep.  In the morning he's gone, and there's a note on the table by the 
bed.
	I'm not very good at mornings, it says.  I hope you understand.  Give me a 
call sometime.


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