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Message-ID: <41126asstr$1046740205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: kellis <kellis@dhp.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Picnic Crumbs {Kellis} (MF anal oral)
Date: Mon,  3 Mar 2003 20:10:05 -0500
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Picnic Crumbs

a Short Story by Kellis
Copyright (c) 2003, Kellis



"Liz!  You're still here?"  He rose with the last wayward paper
plate and stuffed it into the garbage bag.  The girl froze.
Apparently she had meant to sneak up on him.

"Darn!  I owe you a tickle," she complained with a smile above
her tank top and shorts.  Her blue eyes danced merrily.  Long,
soft hair floated to one side in the late afternoon breeze.

He raised his arms.  "So tickle!"

She sniffed.  "You take all the fun away, Pops."

He nodded with a smile.  "Yes, I know.  A stolen tickle --"

"Like you gave me!"

"-- is certainly the best kind.  Is that the only reason you came
back?  I thought you were leaving with the rest."

"My car wouldn't start."

"Really?"  At Christmas her husband had bragged of buying a new
one.

For some reason she grinned slyly.  "Jack thinks it came with a
bad solenoid, whatever that is."

"That's uncommon.  Shake out that throwcloth for me and I'll go
look at it for you.  Sometimes solenoids only need a good whack."

She glanced around at the checkered cloth spread on the ground
and peppered with crumbs but made no move toward it.  "What's
your hurry?  It's such a pretty day!  I remember how this hill is
just the place to watch a sunset."

He studied her engaging face.  Under his scrutiny a slight upward
curl appeared in one corner of her mouth and her eyes dropped.
An odd feeling crept over him.  "Liz, did your grandma go with
Millicent?"

"I think so.  That was the plan, wasn't it?  She's baby sitting
for Millicent and Teddy to go to the concert tonight."

He waved his hand at the distant woods and fields and the old
house thrusting above the scrub.  "If she did, then we're the
only people on all these 75 acres."

"So?  Surely I'm safe in the company of my grandpa."

Her voice was curiously ironic.  His queer feeling grew strong
enough to recognize.  Something made him respond, "Perhaps so, if
I truly was."

"Were.  You should say, 'If I truly were.'"

"If I truly were, I'd paddle you for daring to correct your
elder."

"If you could catch me."  The girl's eyes twinkled.  She raised
her chin.  "Why did you marry Granny anyway -- for her money?"

He answered the impertinence with deliberate coarseness.  "She
also gave wonderful head."

If he surprised her, his reward was only a cocked eyebrow.  "I've
heard that."

"And she had lovely big tits, which you didn't inherit."

The girl only smiled.  "Give me time.  You're what, nine years
younger than she?"

"About.  But we look well matched, wouldn't you say?  She's very
well preserved for a sexagenarian...  What's with the raised
eyebrows?  Once upon a time I went to college too."

"I heard about your college days -- and why you left."

"Did you!  Which story -- the one that had me getting the dean's
daughter pregnant?"

She leered.  "You did that?  You were a player, eh, Pops?"

"A what?  Oh, as in 'playing the field?'  I was horny, young and
dumb, as they say.  What's your excuse?"

"Oh, I too!"  She laughed shrilly.  "And I left because I got the
dean's son pregnant."

He retorted, "Trust you to do something unique!"

As they talked he had gathered up most of the trash and stood
before her with his middle-aged spread tucked into Bermudas and
T-shirt, arms full of stuffed plastic bags.  "Looks like I missed
that can of whipping cream over there.  You've still got a free
hand.  How about bringing it along with the throwcloth?  Or do
you think a few hours in the sun would spoil the cream?"

She sauntered to the brightly-colored can, partly covered by the
checkered cloth where some child had undoubtedly kicked it, and
raised it to her face.  She stared with curious intentness.  "One
way to find out."

The nozzle passed between puckered lips.  He heard a hiss.  When
she lowered the can, the O of her mouth was chock full of white
cream.  Eyes dancing, she studied his expression for a moment
before closing her lips, chewing briefly and swallowing
ostentatiously.

"Well?" he asked testily.

"Too sweet."  With a contemplative expression she ambled back.
Nearing him, she began, "Why don't you see --"

He had a glimpse of the nozzle, depressed by her slim forefinger,
just before thick foam occulted his vision.  He yelled a curse,
only to have his mouth filled as hers had been.  Meanwhile she
completed her sentence.  "-- for yourself?"

She was necessarily close.  He dashed the foam from his eyes and
caught her extended arm in a vise-like grip.  His other hand
snatched the can.  She tried to twist free, but a stream of foam
coated her own face.  She screamed, not too loudly.

Half-swallowing, half-spitting sweetened cream, he released her
arm and caught her around the waist.  She continued to scream and
struggle while he squirted the nozzle first up under the bottom
front of her tank top, then down into the top of her shorts.
Both her hands sought the can and together managed to wrest it
from him.  Whipped cream, cooled by expansion, flooded into his
own shorts.

With both hands free he dug knuckles into her ribs on both sides.
She screamed louder, face contorted, and twisted around.
Suddenly he was gouging soft breasts.  She concentrated on
digging similarly into his ribs.  Defying her knuckles in return,
he thrust a hand under the tank top and palmed a lumpy nipple.
Perhaps in retaliation she plunged a slippery hand into his belly
and down the front of his shorts to clutch testicles and manhood.

Both of them froze.

"Ah, Liz ..." he began.

She giggled.  "I wondered how this might affect you."  She gave
his half-erection a little pump.  "This has real promise."

His free hand slipped into her soggy shorts and fell abruptly on
an undefended clitoris.  She twitched.  So did he.

Staring into her eyes, he asked plaintively, "What happened to
the hair!"

"I'm a modern girl, Pops.  I shave."

"Girls shave their cunts these days?"

"Lots of them."

"They like it smooth?"

"It can feel a tongue better." 

He barked a laugh and nodded admiringly.  "That even makes
sense!"

With the aid of his other hand he spread the elastic of her
shorts and pushed them down to her knees.  She raised a leg and
kicked it free before rotating in his arms and attacking his
clothing similarly, pausing briefly for him to lift her tank top
off shoulders and raised arms.  In less than ten seconds they
were both naked aside from wristwatches, jewelry and sneakers.

He caught her by the buttocks, lifted her up and over his
thrusting organ, aided by her arms and legs, and penetrated
easily despite the lack of guidance.

"You're very slick," he noted, "even for whipped cream."

"It'll soon be whipped!"  Her legs enwrapped his hips.  She began
twisting her buttocks as her open mouth closed over his.
Immediately his tongue darted out.  They kissed wetly while she
bounced, groaning through flared nostrils, until he raised his
face.

Panting, he declared, "You're a little too vigorous for an old
man, sweet Lizzie."

"Because I'm -- god! -- coming."

"If you say so."  He stumbled toward the checkered throwcloth,
still spread on the grass.  Falling to his knees, he laid her
back among the crumbs.  Now both contributed to the exercise, he
with full thrusts and she with hips rotating in the same rhythm.
Her groans resumed and became soft screams.  Perspiration mingled
with whipping cream on their bodies.

His buildup was agreeably slow, as it had become during the
infrequent sex with his wife.  He had expected a return to
youthful jack-rabbitry inside the body of this girl, at least as
passionate as any he could recall.  Marvelling at his own
stamina, he happily plunged on and on, unconcerned as her nails
gouged his back.

But eventually her groans faded and her hips quietened.  She
blinked up at him, sweat standing on her forehead.  With a voice
of awe she gasped, "God, Pops, I believe ... you could shag me to
death!"

"Not that far.  Want to take a break?"

"You didn't ... come."

"No rush on that."  He kissed her tenderly.  "Liz, you're
amazing."

"_I'm_ amazing?  Huh!  Carrie must've got you ... mixed up with
somebody else."

"Carrie?  Not Carrie Walters!"

"That's the one.  She said you were like a rabbit the first
time."  The girl grinned up at him.  "Don't tell me somebody
already made your day!"

"Not today.  Am I too heavy?"

"No, you've been a gentleman.  Thank you very much."  Her eyes
were thoughtful.  "But what does it take to make you come: a
blowjob?"

He chuckled.  "Is that what Carrie said?"

"Not exactly.  She claimed you're really an ass man."

His chuckle strengthened.

"I see you don't deny it."

"All right.  I like a woman's body in my hands."

Her eyes were contemplative.  "Is that it: boobs not big enough?"

"Nothing's wrong with your boobs.  You're still quite young, Liz.
What are you, about 21?"

"Twenty.  My shaving!  Surely that doesn't put you off!"

He grinned.  "Well, it makes you look like a little girl from a
distance -- below the waist.  But I never saw anything wrong with
little girls.  It was a twelve-year-old who introduced me to this
wonderful stuff."

"How old were you?"

"The same: twelve.  Would you believe she also taught me how to
jerk off?  She had older brothers."

"Really?  They shagged her first?"

"I asked her which one."  He grinned, eyes distant.  "She said,
'All five of them.'"

"That's it!"

"Huh?"

"That's why I love talking about sex with older people.  You've
lived it.  You have such rich memories!  But it's strange.  Men
won't talk.  I think you're the first one to tell me anything.
Are you an ass man?"

"I never turned it down."

"Goody!"  She smiled invitingly.  "I took a Fleet before I came
over here."

"A what?"

"It's a big plastic bottle that you squeeze up --"

"I know about Fleet enemas, thank you.  Carrie must have been
persuasive."

"She knows you.  I learned from her that you like to tickle."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"I don't know everyone.  Not yet.  Let me turn over."

He backed away.  She rolled onto her belly, drew knees beneath
chest and raised her buttocks toward him.  Her hands reached back
and pulled her cheeks apart.

He stared into the puckered flesh.  "I don't have any lubricant."

"Yes, you do," she corrected.  "Put it into my pussy again
first."

"Did you really take an enema?"

"The last thing before I left home."

Gathering a mouthful of saliva, he bent far forward and expelled
it forcefully into the depression, following it with a working
tongue tip.  She gasped and shivered.

His large knob completely obscured the tiny, clenched orifice.
He chuckled at the disparity but pressed ahead.  To his surprise
the flesh parted willingly, almost gratefully, which meant, as he
understood from previous experience, that she was pushing out
internally as if to evacuate.  He slid easily through the
expanding ring, chuckling again in pleased surprise.

She said tightly, "What's so funny?"

Building a slow thrust, he answered, "Two things.  I don't
suppose you've ever actually seen a cock enter an asshole, have
you?"

"Now why would you suppose that?"

When he was silent, she muttered, "I've seen it done to others."

"When your sphincter pushed back, I realized it wasn't your first
time."

"You laughed before that."  She sniffed.  "Was it because my
hairlessness made you think of a little girl's butt?"

"No.  That might be funny, I agree, except you're not quite
hairless here, sweetie.  What amused me was how impossible
butt-fucking looks with the cock-head next to a puckered
asshole."

"Until you think what normally passes there."

"Well, yes."

"And right after you pull out it won't look impossible at all."

"Christ, Lizzie!  How'd you learn all this at 20?  Do you love it
that much?"

Her body undulated in a shrug.  "Men love it this way, which I
gather wasn't always true."

"That women would let them is what wasn't always true."

"You're kidding!"  She turned her head to stare curiously at him
over her shoulder. "In your youth women had to do what their men
wanted.  Hell, they couldn't complain even if husbands raped
them!"

"That's still true in some places.  Though it was never really a
problem.  Only a fool would force the woman who puts the sugar in
his coffee."

"Why not?  He'd just beat her if she did it wrong."

He laughed scornfully.  "Not if she sweetened it with potassium
cyanide!"

"That's a good point."  She grinned over her shoulder.  "Maybe
that explains it. Nowadays men sugar their own coffee."  She
giggled.  "So they had to pass a law!"

"And repeal the one that made butt-fucking a crime, though I
admit I never heard it enforced between man and woman."  He
chuckled.  "This is a curious subject, my sweet little catamite,
while engaged upon it."

"Your sweet little what?"

"Aha!  So I found a word new to you, eh?  I only had to reach
back a couple thousand years for it."

"What is it?"

"Well, originally it was a young boy, usually a slave, whose anus
was kept well-jizzed by his master, but I think it's the
willing asshole that's important, not what swings in front of it."

"My god, you _are_ an ass man!  You'd like this better if I were
a boy, wouldn't you?"

"I don't know.  I never fucked a boy."

"Well, my boobs aren't much bigger."

"But your butt is."  He slapped and squeezed both rounded cheeks
at once.  "No, I definitely prefer female flesh."

She rose to hands and knees, disconnecting them.  For a moment he
feared she had taken offense, but she only spun around and
slurped his wet manhood into her mouth.  To his further amazement
she swallowed most of the shaft.

"Good god, Liz!  What do they teach in school these days!"

She released him, laughing at his tone and expression.  "To try
it in case you like it." She paused to lick her lips.  "I do."

"You like ..."

"My own chocolate."

"Wh-what?"

"Two or three hours after a Fleet.  You stuck your tongue in
there.  Didn't you notice?"

While he boggled at her she gulped him again and slurped juicily
before turning about to resume her previous position, buttocks
elevated and cheeks spread.  He gaped at the previous pucker now
transformed into a large, purplish orifice.

"See what you've done to me?" she accused over her shoulder, eyes
twinkling.  She grinned at his expression and added, "Do it some
more."

He could only obey.  When he was well seated, her sphincter
clamped him.

"Go to it, Pops.  Bang me hard and fast.  If I pass out, just
keep banging."

Through her flesh he felt a hand vibrating the clitoris.  He
grasped her hipbones in either hand and began to shove fiercely
into her, testicles slapping against the hairless labia.  His
thrusts neared maximum length, but she timed her sphincter
exquisitely, keeping the ring closed tight except when it would
force him out.

Her groaning voice deepened to a strong contralto.  He pounded
her furiously, ignoring his growing shortness of breath, feeling
the release finally rising through his prostate. Then he froze.
Grunting with each spurt, he ejaculated into her bowels.

She screamed.  Her sphincter relaxed.  When at last he released
the grip on her hipbones, she sagged limply forward.

Gasping for breath, he spread her nether cheeks and stared in
fascination at the huge opening.  Also gasping, the girl put her
hands back to hold herself open.

"Thank you," he said, suddenly resolving to accept the implied
invitation.  Forming the four fingers of one hand into a V, he
inserted them into her easily to the knuckles.  From there he
popped them into his own mouth.

She raised up on an elbow and grinned at him.  "Well?"

"Well what?"

"How do you like Liz chocolate?"

"A hint of spice.  Unlike the rest of her."

She seemed to frown.  "You don't find all of me spicy?"

He sniffed.  "I don't find a _hint_.  You're solid pepper."

"Thank you, I think.  Pepper burns."

He nodded.  "Exactly."  With a sigh of fatigue he knelt beside
her.

She sat up languidly.  "I don't think I burned you.  Who was up
whose ass?"

"Pepper engages the taste buds," he replied obliquely.
"Instructively, in this case."  He took a breath.  "I see I've
fallen out of touch."

"With what, Pops?"

"With the 'New World Order' as it pertains to casual sex."

"'Casual!'  What makes you think this is so casual?"

"It has to be, Lizzie.  Obviously we have no future."

"We don't?"  She was definitely frowning now.

"Must I spell it out?  You're a rare darling, Liz, whose regular
lovers I already envy.  But you know what everyone will say about
you if I leave your grandmother and take up with you."

Her frown disappeared, replaced by a slow smile.  "You really
thought about that?  Pops, that's sweet."

He shrugged.  "That's what it means for a man and woman to have a
future."

"Maybe in your day.  I have an apartment, you know.  And if you
care what anyone thinks, it has a backdoor."

"Lizzie!"  He stared at her.

She chuckled.  "Now why should that idea upset the tom cat of the
country club?"

He shook his head.  "Let me understand you.  Do you propose an
affair?"

She chuckled.  "Nothing so formal."

"Formal?  You want to continue with casual contacts, is that it?"

"Pops, there's nothing casual about your dick up my ass."

He snorted.  "It seems that you and I use that word differently."

She explained patiently, "Casual sex is just release, like
masturbating each other.  This afternoon means more than that.  I
like you, Pops.  You tell me things.  And you make me feel
special."

"Well, yes.  Leaving out your svelte body and winning ways, you
are my first step-partner, which I suppose is pretty special."

"Would you like to have two step-partners?  Millicent gets
together with me from time to time."

"Millicent: now there's a set of tits!  If she's half as frank
and open, the two of you would be quite a combination."  He
grinned mockingly.  "But she's only an _in-law_
step-granddaughter: not the same cachet."

"Don't be too quick.  Millicent's a swinger, Pops.  You do know
what that means?"

"Likes a woman as much as a man, eh?"

"Especially together at the same time."

"My god!  And you're both married women.  What do your husbands
say about all that?"

"Not much.  I've heard them say, 'Let's trade back.'"

He shook his head.  "If I join your set, you'll hear more than
that.  Teddy doesn't like me."

She sniffed.  "Millicent doesn't tell him everything."

"Doesn't she?  And your husband?  I don't know Rafe very well.
What do you tell _him_?"

Her bantering tone and expression faded.  She looked away,
squinting at the orange sun half set behind distant trees.
"Nothing now."

He studied her thoughtfully before following her gaze across the
long, sloping meadow.  The scene was very peaceful in the
evening stillness.

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, and sighed.  "You did know 
about him, didn't you?"

"Know what?  I didn't see him at the picnic."

"No, you didn't.  He's off getting drunk on his last night of
freedom."

"'His last --'  What do you mean?"

She laughed harshly, not meeting his eyes.  "And Granny doesn't
like _me_."

"What are you talking about, Lizzie?"

"You didn't hear?"  She sighed.  "Tomorrow morning he'll
surrender."

"'Surrender?'"

"To begin serving his three years for embezzlement."

He blinked at her.  "I thought the sentence was suspended."

"On condition he repay the money.  He missed the deadline.
Granny wouldn't help him."

"Yes, I know her attitude about that.  But why doesn't she like
you?  You're her blood granddaughter."

"Because I 'married such a louse,' quote-unquote."

"She said that?  Must have been a private conversation."

"It was.  I wanted her to help him -- actually to help me.  We
fought, I'm afraid.  You could sum up her final advice as, 'Get
lost.'"

"That's tough, Lizzie.  At least you should be all right."

"You think so?  Are you also going to tell me, 'Get a job?'"

He studied her face.  She glared stonily back.  He said
thoughtfully, "I suppose Rafe liquidated everything."

"Every last cent!"

They sat silently for a while as the sky reddened.  She shivered.

"I guess we'd better get dressed," he suggested but without
moving to do so.  "What are your plans, Lizzie?"

She took a very deep breath and hitched herself against him.
"The fact is, Pops, I'm scared."

"Scared?"  He made deprecating sounds.  "Nothing to fear.  Henry
Miller said, 'The world never lets a pretty woman starve.'  And
you certainly qualify."

"Thank you."  Her arm snaked around his back and she pressed a
nipple into his side.  Her voice was muffled in his neck.  "What
I'm hoping is to entertain my step-grandpa.  I'd like to try out
for the part of the girl who's the most fun he ever had."

His arm fell gently on her shoulders.  He murmured admiringly,
"You'd be plausible in the role.  But in the meantime how do you
plan to eat?"

"You're in Henry Miller's world too, Pops."

"Meaning I won't let you starve?"

She gestured at the cloth upon which they sat.  "You leave lots
of crumbs.  And I already know you have funds of your own."

Right behind the words he felt a hot tongue in his ear canal.
"Checked up on me, have you?"

"For a long time.  You did this to me at your wedding to Granny.
You were a little drunk, I guess.  But it thrilled me right down
to my toes."

"That reception was wild.  What were you, about 14?"

"Thirteen."

"You've had a busy seven years, haven't you!"

"So have you."

"I'd tapered off a lot -- until today."  He laughed.  "Let's get
dressed and go find supper.  You're right: I haven't starved a
lover yet and I won't begin with you."



END

Contact kellies@dhp.com

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