Message-ID: <40196asstr$1041343806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Mr. Variag" <ludmax11@hotmail.com>
X-Original-Message-ID: <BAY1-F138BnccYTjr8c000207e4@hotmail.com>
X-OriginalArrivalTime: 31 Dec 2002 01:31:16.0261 (UTC) FILETIME=[4FDC9D50:01C2B06C]
X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 31 Dec 2002 01:31:15 +0000
Subject: {ASSM} "Lesya" (Varangian) (fMF oral)
Date: Tue, 31 Dec 2002 09:10:06 -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
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2002/40196>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw, gill-bates
_________________________________________________________________
MSN 8 limited-time offer: Join now and get 3 months FREE*.
http://join.msn.com/?page=dept/dialup&xAPID=42&PS=47575&PI=7324&DI=7474&SU=
http://www.hotmail.msn.com/cgi-bin/getmsg&HL=1216hotmailtaglines_newmsn8ishere_3mf
<1st attachment, "LESYA03.TXT" begin>
Lesya
Copyright (C) 2002, Varangian
Lesya, a fourteen year old blonde who stood as tall as I, arrived
to live with us by a circuitous route. Her father was said to be
Russian, a deserter who hid out in her village during the Soviet
war in Afghanistan. There is no record of what became of him, but
we know that the girl had been shunned and neglected since birth,
except by her mother. Now an orphan, Lesya had found her way to
America and our home in Pennsylvania through the efforts of a
rabid Christian missionary who thought he could save her soul but
soon gave up. The impatient rescuer dumped her on the pastor of
our church, who in turn managed to inveigle my wife, Marge, to
take her in.
We knew beforehand that Lesya spoke no English and anticipated the
disorientation she would experience at finding herself in a world
so utterly unlike her wretched mountain village. What we did not
expect was her attitude towards me, the head of the house.
When she and Marge were alone, she was a bright, cheerful girl,
eager to learn, but in my presence she became quiet and
submissive. One might argue that such a quality is not an
entirely bad thing; many fathers of disrespectful teenage girls
would welcome it. The problem with Lesya, though, was of a
different sort. It was not that she was simply docile; she sought
to be physically intimate with me. From the beginning she stood
close, held my hand, and on the morning of her arrival she sat
unbidden on my lap, although she was too large for that. Her
sexual availability was not the fantasy of a middle age man,
because my wife was first to remark on it.
"We have a problem with her, Ted," Marge said the next day.
She shooed Lesya from the couch where she sought to cuddle with
me, taking the girl's place. Lesya stood near the window with a
sad expression on her girlish face, listening to us talk about
her, although she could not understand our words.
"I think she's confused about our relationship," Marge continued.
"Perhaps she assumes she's the junior wife here."
"But she's only a kid! Her breasts are just half grown."
"Yes, that's true. But where she comes from it's not unusual for
a girl her age to be married, often as the second or third wife of
an older man."
I suggested, "Didn't anyone instruct her about life in the West?"
"Who knows what she was told, or how competently, or whether she
listened? The fact remains we face a very serious situation.
Sending her back is not an option."
"Why not? That sounds like the most rational solution."
"We have an obligation, Ted. We wouldn't turn her away, if she
had some physical defect. Besides, I've begun to like the girl
very much. She's such a sweet thing."
"Your like or dislike of her does not address our problem."
"I've also put her on the pill."
I was dumbfounded. I glanced at the girl, then gaped at my wife.
"Are you accusing me --"
"No, no," she quickly interrupted and placed a hand on my arm. "I
wasn't suggesting anything of the sort. It's just to be safe. We
don't know how she'll react to boys."
I was still miffed. "But what about me? Do you expect me to
avoid her indefinitely?"
She gave me a warning look. "Of course I do, Ted. I expect you
to behave like a father. It'll be easier once we find a tutor who
can explain the situation."
* * *
If only it had been that simple. We soon learned that Lesya spoke
a dialect of a very obscure language, one scarcely known in North
America. The best we could do was hire a woman who specialized in
teaching English as a foreign language.
The basic problem remained. Lesya followed me around like a puppy
whenever I was at home, touching me constantly, often pushing her
body against mine. The situation would have been amusing were she
a scrawny, unattractive kid. But she was not. She possessed an
appealing figure that was nearly mature, and a pretty face as
well.
Even were I a devoutly religious man, the temptation would have
been daunting. But I was a guy who had enjoyed an exuberant youth
with numerous sexual partners, settling down finally after
marrying Marge at age 32. I continued to resist the girl -- as
well as my urges -- partly because I feared the law, but mostly
because Marge never left us alone for any length of time. Only
too obvious to me I could not dally with her without going all the
way, a common sense reason to keep the girl at arm's length. I
sought relief with Marge, pestering her for sex more often than I
had in the recent past.
"Is it really so difficult?" she asked me one evening in bed.
"You're a grown man and she's just a kid."
"You're inexperienced regarding men, Marge. I'm the only one
you've ever known."
"Yes, I was a virgin bride and I've not been attracted to another
man in our fourteen years of marriage. Are men so different?"
"Yes, they are. Even faithful guys like me 'lust in their
hearts,' as someone once said."
"I've been trying to get through to her, Ted. But it's difficult
to discuss such a delicate matter when she only knows a few verbs
and nouns of English."
I slipped a hand under her pajama top to fondle a generous breast.
"Again?" she complained. "We did it just two days ago."
"Think of it as therapy," I said, nuzzling her cheek. "You have
to keep me calm."
She got up to retrieve a towel from the bathroom as she always did
before submitting to sex
"I just don't understand men!" she groused upon returning.
Marge had lost interest in sex some years previously when she
learned she could not conceive a child. Although not a prude, she
considered the activity at best an annoying obligation. Again
that night I imagined Lesya beneath me when I spewed.
* * *
Lesya, an intelligent youngster, quickly learned not to disturb me
when Marge was around. Thereafter the two of them got on
famously. We went out to dinner like a family and once to the
zoo, where I found myself annoyed when a grown man ogled the girl.
Marge bought her a lot of pretty clothes, conservative items for
the most part such as dresses, skirts and blouses, but also some
T-shirts and jeans. The girl made a point of donning her new garb
and posing in them for me. I must acknowledge that she was very
lovely, and I enjoyed her modeling shows.
When she and I found ourselves alone for a few moments, however,
she persisted in her physical displays of affection -- holding my
hand, rubbing her body against mine, seeking kisses. I continued
to resist her, although it became increasingly difficult. I
relented once and embraced the girl, relishing the feel of her in
my arms, becoming sexually excited when I stroked her bare upper
arm. After that lapse I redoubled my efforts to avoid touching
her, but evidently I had by then crossed a forbidden line. I
began to anticipate moments when I could be with her away from
Marge's scrutiny.
One morning my infatuation drew me to her bedroom while Marge
still slept. I found the girl almost naked, having taken off her
pajamas and about to dress. She stared at me clad just in
panties, a sweet smile growing on her face. She was stunning.
Despite the modest breasts and girlish face, she had the stature
of an older girl, because the rest of her was ripe, the long legs
in particular. Rather than cover herself, she posed for me
proudly, pushing down the panties so I could see all of her. She
possessed a half-grown pubic bush of light brown hair. I wanted
to rush to her, to take her, and she would have been delighted had
I done so. But I quickly closed the door and hurried back to my
room where I undressed, went into the bathroom and relieved myself
in the shower.
* * *
Three weeks after Lesya joined the family I found myself alone
with her for an entire evening. Marge had to attend a committee
meeting at the church and would not return until ten.
"Behave yourself," she had said upon leaving.
I did not intend to. Knowing her schedule, I had been looking
forward to this opportunity for several days, having finally
discarded my previous fears and inhibitions regarding the girl.
Lesya embraced me from behind as I stood near a front window
observing Marge's car back down the driveway. I watched it turn
the corner and drive out of sight. Then I faced the girl, who
gazed at me eagerly. She must have sensed that the time for us
had arrived.
"Marge," I said, then held a finger to my lips.
When I repeated the name and the gesture, Lesya nodded excitedly.
"Yes! Yes! I know! I know!" she exclaimed, using perhaps a tenth
of her English vocabulary.
I embraced her, caressing her cheek with mine, breathing in the
shampoo odor of her flaxen hair. She turned her pretty face to me
and we kissed. She was fervent but unpracticed, eventually
offering the tip of her tongue when I invited it out with my own.
I held her tightly, lifting her a bit to feel the heft, perhaps to
convince myself that her body had as much substance as most grown
women. I eased a hand between us to cup her left breast, a
pointy, firm delight. She pushed her lower body against mine to
demonstrate her total acceptance of what I had in mind.
"Husband," she murmured against my neck.
I would not have disputed her, were it possible for us to
converse, having already decided that I was willing to leave Marge
and emigrate with the girl to a more reasonable country. But I
hoped it would not come to that.
I moved awkwardly with her toward the stairs, our arms around each
other, intending to claim my new bride's virginity on her own bed.
I did not have to urge her on. Indeed, she pulled me forward.
In the bedroom she freed herself from my arms, twirled around and
disrobed gracefully with an ecstatic look on her lovely face. It
seemed to be a bridal ritual that ended with her lying naked on
the bed, legs parted in invitation. After tearing off my clothes
I crawled onto the mattress to lie beside her.. Although a gentle
probing finger confirmed that she was a virgin, she responded to
my kisses and caresses with a passionate intensity I had never
before experienced from a female of any age.
"Husband! Husband!" she gasped, eagerly pulling on me as I mounted
her.
I penetrated with little difficulty, requiring just a determined,
single thrust. She stared at me with gray eyes widely open, her
discomfort betrayed only by teeth firmly on lower lip. But she
clung to me with all four limbs, urging me deeper until we pressed
tightly together. I did not have time to relish the feel of her,
climaxing after just a couple of small strokes. She yelled
ecstatically in response to my evident pleasure, although I
quickly withdrew and rolled off, because I knew she was in pain.
She cuddled to me and began to kiss my neck, shoulder, and chest,
moving downwards to an obvious destination. I pulled her face
back up for kisses, turning her on her back to begin an
exploration of my own, which got as far as her lovely breasts
before we were interrupted by a scream from the doorway.
"You pig!" Marge yelled, striking my buttocks painfully with her
purse.
I flew over the girl to the far side of the bed, dived to the
floor and cowered with eyes peeking above the mattress. Marge did
not pursue me, attending to Lesya instead. With an edge of the
sheet she wiped the girl's groin that was messy with blood and
semen, mumbling repeatedly, "you poor, sweet girl," and moaning
encouragement. Suddenly the distraught woman leaned down to kiss
the girl's face intensely, one hand roaming from stomach to
breasts. Lesya responded with equal passion, hugging my wife
while mewling like a hurt creature.
"You've ruined her!" Marge exclaimed, glaring at me. "You should
be shot!"
Marge helped Lesya from the bed and left the room with her,
leaving the door half open. I expected the worst -- a visit from
the police and being led away in handcuffs. I climbed onto the
bed to await my fate, but after half an hour began to relax
somewhat when the cops did not show up.
Voices were audible from my bedroom across the hall, although I
could not make them out through the closed door. To my
astonishment I recognized the sounds of sexual enthusiasm. Marge
emitted an orgasmic cry that I had not heard in years, and not
long after Lesya trilled in delighted counterpoint. My fear of
retribution quickly dissipated to be replaced by seething anger at
my hypocritical wife, whose unexpected lesbian inclinations were
just then revealed to me. I resisted rising from the bed to burst
in on them. Instead I cuddled my head to a pillow in the certain
knowledge that I would continue to live in my house, although
uncertain about my future status.
I dreamed of a mouth on my penis and awoke to find that it
belonged to Lesya.
"Husband!" she exclaimed, when she saw that I had awakened,
quickly cuddling to me in search of kisses. Before I could
respond she was atop me and squirmed herself onto my member.
Although she must have been sore, her face betrayed ecstatic
delight as she moved back and forth. "Husband!" she repeated more
than once, gazing at my astonished face with purest devotion. I
ran my hands along her slender thighs, capturing her breasts when
I squealed in a climax that arrived regrettably soon. "Yes!
Yes!" she shouted, as though the pleasure were hers.
Then I noticed Marge standing naked in the doorway with a glass in
hand. She did not appear to be angry.
"Ted," she said quite calmly, "when you're finished come
downstairs for a drink. We have to talk."
* * *
I went downstairs hand in hand with Lesya. She remained naked,
although I had pulled on my underpants and a shirt. We found
Marge in the living room sitting naked on the couch with the glass
still in hand. A bottle of Scotch stood half empty on the coffee
table. I retrieved a glass, sat in the facing armchair and looked
at the two females cuddle affectionately.
"Can we share her?" Marge asked abruptly, her free hand kneading
Lesya's further breast.
I nodded dumbly as I stared at their naked bodies, only the girl's
capturing my interest. Lesya gazed back at me, her head on
Marge's shoulder. She winked playfully.
"Of course you won't need me any more," Marge continued, "at least
for . . . you know."
"Of course," I replied, delighted by the prospect of having the
girl at will. "We'll have to rearrange our sleeping
accommodations."
"I've been thinking about that. Lesya can have our room, and we
will take the two smaller ones."
"Should we draw up a schedule?"
"No, Ted. Your new wife will decide on that. When she turns
eighteen I want you to get her pregnant. I've always longed for a
child."
It was a reasonable request, I thought, one with which I could
heartily agree. I had not felt so young in years.
"Perhaps Lesya and I should go upstairs and practice."
Marge snorted in her drink. "If you're up to it, old man. I want
to watch."
END
Comments to ludmax11@hotmail.com
<1st attachment end>
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format. The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
--
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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+