Message-ID: <41574asstr$1049206202@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Originating-Email: [empath69@hotmail.com] From: "just empath BJ" <empath69@hotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <F144Csm2xwjGiXTqedr0001fa37@hotmail.com> X-OriginalArrivalTime: 27 Mar 2003 15:03:29.0945 (UTC) FILETIME=[06ED2890:01C2F472] X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 27 Mar 2003 11:33:29 -0330 Subject: {ASSM} "Dream Maker" {Dancer} (MF rom slow) [3/5] Date: Tue, 1 Apr 2003 09:10:02 -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 X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/41574> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, dennyw Warning: "This [work of prose] contains scenes of nudity, sexuality and coarse language. [Reader] discretion is advised." (I.E. If it's illegal/dangerous to read/possess pornography where you are, don't bother.) Disclaimer: Dancer - the authoress of this work - and Empath - its 'publisher' - take no responsibility due to any harm or misfortune that befalls someone from reading or possessing this work. Copyright: This work of prose is the intellectual property of Dancer, and is protected by the Berne Convention. *Unauthorized* publication or redistribution is prohibited. {Non-legalese translation: if you want to put this on a web site, just drop us an email; we'll probably say yes. :)} Bonus Question: Where is the quote in the 'Warning' from? :) _________________________________________________________________ Help STOP SPAM with the new MSN 8 and get 2 months FREE* http://join.msn.com/?page=features/junkmail <1st attachment, "Dreamkr3e.txt" begin> Dream Maker (3/5) (cons, pett, humor) Dancer 2002 (c) I felt one of his hands tugging the hem of my top out of my trousers. He slid his warm fingers underneath it, caressing my skin with the lightest of touches. It hit me just then where we were, a public dance hall. I turned my head away and tore my swollen mouth from his. I looked into his half-lidded eyes, sighed with regret and laid my forehead against the crook of his right shoulder. "Max, we have to stop," I managed to said after a moment to collect my scrambled thoughts. He hummed and replied, "Yeah, we'd better. No need to give everyone a show." He was as out of breath as I was, a reminder that it wasn't only me having some pretty intense feelings during the kiss. I took a step back and removed my arm from around his neck, staring at a spot on the floor. I quickly pulled his Stetson off my head, reached blindly behind me for one of his hands and thrust the felt brim into his slack grip. "Here. You'll want this back now," I said shakily, twisting in his embrace to find my glasses. My fingers touched the cold metal bows and I settled them on my face again, then smoothed down my hair to keep from looking at him. Max reluctantly let me go, running the brim through both sets of fingers. "Amanda, I..." he paused and licked his lips. The hesitation made me glance up. His feet shifted restlessly in place as he searched for the right thing to say. "I really liked kissing you and I was wondering if...maybe...you'd like to head home and...kiss me some more." His soulful brown eyes caught mine and I could see the pleading mirrored in them. I laughed weakly, shocked and in disbelief over what he'd said. My thoughts tailspinned. What was I suppose to say? Whimpering, I dropped down in my chair simply because my legs felt limp, watery and unable to hold my weight. He tossed his hat onto the table and crouched down in front of me, saying, "Put your head between your legs if you feel faint. I didn't mean to throw you for a loop." He grasped my hands, set them in my lap and started chafing the insides of each wrist with his fingers. "No, er, yes," I answered, finally finding the strength to talk. "I mean, no, I don't feel faint, and yes, take me home." His movements stilled and he peeked into my face. I went shy all of a sudden and dragged some of my loose hair forward to hide my expression. "What about the rest of it?" he asked, creating a part in the dark veil so he could see me better. I knew where 'the rest of it' would lead and so did he, or he wouldn't be specifically asking me that. My daydream on the ride into Tulsa popped into my brain, prompting me to ask, "You don't have a gun belt and a pair of Colts hanging off your bedposts, do you?" "No, and my bed frame doesn't have posts to hang anything from," he answered, his face showing confusion at my question but his mouth hinted at a grin. "Why or should I even ask?" Now he was truly grinning. He leaned his head to mine and pressed his smiling lips into the patch of hair covering my right ear. "But I can find some if you're into that kink," he whispered boldly and I gasped softly, squeezing my hands into fists. I growled against his cheek, "Maxwell Stone, you...- whatever the male version of a minx is!" He moved his face back, catching my fists with his open palms as he rocked on his haunches. "Hmm, you're saying Amanda Kiss the romance writer doesn't know that? I'm surprised. I figured you'd used 'rogue' plenty of times in your books." Now I knew why he'd grabbed my hands. I struggled to free them and pummel his chest, but he held me prisoner in his strong grip. "No, but I have used rake, scoundrel, wretch, cur, bounder, blackguard, rascal and rotter!" I hissed, mad at being hoisted by my petard. "You make my brain go all ka-blewie so I can't think straight!" "I know the feeling," he replied and stood up, his hold on my wrists forcing me to follow. He did? "You do?" My voice was a breathless whisper. He merely nodded, then switched one wrist over to his right hand and snatched up his Stetson. "I'm not going to hit you now. The heat of my anger has passed," I yawned delicately and batted my lashes at him. "Too bad," he replied and perched the hat on top of my curls. "What's that line Corrigan said to Alicia in 'Branded'? Ah, yes," his mouth hovered above mine as he delivered the sentence of dialogue in a flat, Midwestern accent, "'Getting you riled makes it just that much sweeter.'" He kissed me quick and tightened his hold around my wrists as he dragged me through the rest of Trucker's. "You son-of-a-bitch!" I shouted, not caring who heard me. "You read my book!" Damn it! The soles of my shoes refused to find purchase on the floor as I kicked my legs out and tried to hold my ground. They skidded and scraped across the sawdust-strewn, wooden floor while Max hauled me in his wake. Jesus Jones, he had a strong grip! I twisted and turned my wrists between his fingers, then settled for some old-fashioned yanking by throwing all my weight backwards. Oh, screw this. "Help! Somebody help me!" I yelled to the crowd surrounding us. "I'm being repressed! Held against my will! Removed bodily without my consent! Kidnapped!" Some of the other patrons watched the proceedings while the bulk of them ignored my cries. Max didn't, couldn't. He suddenly halted, whipped around, hauled me flush against his chest and swatted the palm of his left hand across my butt with such anger I shut-up immediately. His eyes were slitted and his tone low and harsh as he told me, "Good. Now stay that way." He butted his shoulder into my stomach and I choked as the wind got knocked out of me. I dangled over his back, my head close to his rear and my legs imprisoned to his front by an arm across the crooks of my knees. Mental note - having a man carry you out of a dance hall over his shoulder was mortifying and very exciting. I heard him thank someone for returning his Stetson. It'd fallen off during my battle for freedom. He swirled around and strode out the side door to his pickup, yanked open the passenger door and tossed me unceremoniously across the bench seat. ======= He slammed the door shut and raced around the front, opening his door before she had a chance of locking it. She'd sat up and huddled like a scared rabbit against the door panel, obviously shocked over being manhandled. He jammed the key into the ignition switch and cranked the motor, wondering what possessed him to treat her like that. He glanced over at her. Her dark hair was a wild cloud framing her face and her blue eyes bright behind the lenses of her glasses. All thoughts of apology scattered as he drank in the sight of her. "Amanda," he growled. "Sit next to me." Cautiously, she scooted across the seat toward him until their thighs touched. "Good girl. Here's your hat back." He dropped the Stetson on her head and she adjusted it to fit better. He shifted into drive with his right hand and pulled out, draping the same arm around her shoulders as he headed for home. At first, she sat stiffly under his arm but gradually relaxed and rested the side of her face against him. The silence got to him. "I'm sorry I dragged you out like a side of beef," he said gently, the earlier fire dowsed. "I don't know what got into me. I don't treat women like that and I apologize." She didn't answer and he figured she'd fallen asleep. He drove the rest of the way with his thoughts keeping him company. Unpleasant company. What caused him to react so forcefully rude? He replayed the evening in his mind, starting from the minute he kissed her. Her lips got malleable the instant he pressed his mouth against them and she'd let him stick his tongue between them to taste her warmth. Nothing wrong there. Definitely not, unless her molding her soft places around his hard ones was a bad thing. Then she'd asked if he owned a gun belt and guns and he'd said no, but he'd get some if she was into that game. He had kidded her about not knowing what the word rogue meant. Was that when the tide turned? No, not then. Later, when he'd quoted a line from her latest novel. She'd called him a bastard and started fighting back. "Did you get mad because I'd read your book?" he asked quietly and she shifted in his light embrace. He brushed his lips over the crown of his hat. "I didn't know it was yours. Remember? You write under a pseudonym and I didn't know you were her until tonight. Want to know why?" He paused for a response that didn't come. "My mother made me do it. She devours romance novels like a lioness at a zebra feed and wanted to disprove my notion of those types of books being tawdry garbage. I skimmed through the first third of it, bored to tears and coming to the conclusion my opinion was correct. Then I hit the big love scene in chapter twelve. I don't know how you got all those dirty epithets and the bestiality scenes with Corrigan's dog and horse by Kilroy's morality board, but thank you. I highlighted them so I could find them in a pinch. You can check my copy in the library at home if you don't believe me." Max raised his left knee up to steady the wheel, thanking Christ he was on a straightaway while he reached between his thighs and manipulated himself to a different position. Since he was positive she slept, he decided to throw caution to the wind and get a little naughty. He slowly picked up her left hand and placed it palm open and down along his arousal. "Mmmm," he moaned behind closed lips and grabbed the wheel with his hand again. Even with her not doing anything, it still felt great to have her hand cradling his length through his clothes. The fit was perfect for him. The bottom of her palm touched his tip and her nails just brushed his base. He decided to take it farther. He checked all of his mirrors for anyone coming up behind him, saw nothing but darkness and slowed his speed from forty-five to twenty miles per hour. He breathed as silently as he could and tried not to jar her too much when he unbuttoned the closure of his jeans. The zipper tab slid down the brass teeth and he eased the back of his hand under hers, holding it up while he extricated his member through the opening of his boxers and jeans. Waiting for her to wake up, he carefully let her palm cover him and crossed his eyes when their heats meshed. Amanda whimpered. Max gunned the engine and floored the gas pedal, the needle of the speedometer rising up and beyond the legal limit. The hand touching him moved and started stroking his erection. "Are you awake?" he demanded. She giggled softly, raking two nails playfully through his crotch hairs. He growled her name and she responded with more giggles. "You were never asleep, were you?" He felt her shake her head against his shoulder. Her fingers trailed up to his head, circled the prominent ridge twice and slipped between his torso and him. They wrapped themselves around his cock while her thumb rubbed the velvet flesh of his glans. "Ohhh, that's nice," he groaned and somehow made the turn onto his driveway. He drove in halfway, then parked and switched the motor off. "Is there a reason for you not speaking?" he asked in a throaty tone. "You spanked me, I shut up and you told me to stay that way," she replied, gently squeezing his shaft. "It's the one thing Alicia and I have in common. We shut up when our men tell us to. A flaw, I know, but getting muzzled can cut down on breathing and it's not as much fun as obedience." The fingers working his cock pumped a bit faster and steadied into a nice hand job while she talked. "Besides, obeying will get me what I want quicker than fighting." "This is going to sound strange," Max said, stilling her delightful work and removing her hand. "I've gotten inspired and I have to write it out on the computer before the idea leaves me." "Go," she answered. "I know that feeling myself. Do what you have to." 'What a loaded sentence,' he thought. He turned on the motor, shifted into gear and pulled up outside the garage. He didn't bother putting the truck inside. He parked and got out, running to the front door and bursting through it. She hurried after him and closed the door behind her, making sure it was locked. She found him in the room he'd exited earlier, obviously his office. He sat at a desktop computer and typed out his inspiring thoughts onto the monitor via the keyboard. Leaning against the open doorway, she watched him work for a while with a smile upon her face. Yep, she knew exactly how he felt. A part of her longed to read his writings but she left him be and padded down the hall to her room. ======= I reached my room and strolled inside, kicking my shoes off at the foot of the bed and throwing 'my' cowboy hat on top of the dresser. I pulled out my wallet, stuck it back in my jacket and hung it over the corner of the closet door. I shut the bedroom door while I was over there and tugged my blouse out of my pants and over my head. It got tossed onto the floor and I undid the catch of my slacks, unzipping them and shoving them down my legs. My panties went along with them. I stepped out of the pile, reached behind me and unhooked my brassiere, letting it slide off my arms and hands with a sigh. Sitting almost naked on the edge of the bed, I thumbed off both socks and rubbed the marks the elastic made in the skin above my ankles. It felt good to finally get out of my traveling clothes, even though Max wasn't here to appreciate my nudity. That was okay. Work came first for him. I could relate. I threaded my fingers into my hair and massaged my scalp in exaggerated circles. It needed another good brushing before I went to bed tonight. Yech. I felt like a dog shedding its winter undercoat except my undercoat never fell out during the summer months. Toronto didn't get scorchingly hot and humid then and I managed to stay cool wearing my hair up, plus I had central air in my condo. Money does have its advantages, I guess. I untangled my fingers and stood up, heading to the dresser and pulling open the second drawer. I brought out one of my sleep shirts, slipped my arms into the sleeves and stuck my head through the ribbed neckline. The cotton was soft against my skin, worn that way by a thousand washings and dryings. This one was my favorite and made me feel all cuddly and huggable as the hem brushed my kneecaps while the rest of the material clung to my curves. Wiggling my toes, I shut that drawer and opened the top one to get a pair of bobby socks. I unrolled them, did the one- legged, flamingo dance as I put them on my feet and decided to investigate the rest of Max's house. He said I was next to the bathroom, so I flipped on the wall switch of the first room I came to. Yep, definitely the washroom. I turned off the light and continued on my way. At the corner, there was a junction of a small corridor and I looked down it, seeing Max typing away in his office. His posture was slouched a little bit from the wide stance of his stretched out legs. His feet were bare and he stroked the big toe of his right foot along the plastic edging of his computer desk. Instead of an overhead light, he opted for two strategically placed lamps both set in opposite corners of the room to cut the glare they might cast on the screen. The fly of his jeans was still open but his member was hidden carefully under his boxer shorts. "Well, damn," I muttered and returned to my nosing. The next door I came to was closed, so I opened and spied some stairs going down. Must be the basement. I shut it quietly, not wanting to disturb my host writing away. Okay, I knew this bit now. I stood at the end of the main hall with the front door to my right at the far end. The third room had open archways instead of doors, one on either end. From the shelves of books, a chair, lumpy chesterfield and reading lamps, I figured this was the library he mentioned. I sauntered through the closer archway and gazed at the shelves, noting the books were arranged alphabetically by the author's last name. Mostly paperbacks and some hardbacks, a good percentage of the hard covers his own novels. Walking over the shelf holding the 'eses', I pulled out what I assumed was his first, published book with Kilroy Canada, flipped the rear cover back with a thumb and read the bio printed on the flysheet. It was his first book -ever-! The picture was the same and I made a face at it, sticking my tongue out. I closed it and checked out the front cover artwork. It was of a single man in a torn military-type uniform holding a futuristic pistol in one hand with the typical, reddish, Martian landscape in the background. He definitely fell into the 'hunk' category. I slid it back in its spot and perused the remainder of the books, scanning the names quickly as I worked my way backward to the 'kays'. There I was. I smiled. He had four of my novels - 'Branded', 'Reaching for the Stars', 'A Present for Halloween', and 'Simply Jessica'. On impulse, I pulled out 'Reaching' and peeked at the portraits under the top flap. Aha! Matilyn, the heroine, had her uncorrected, auburn mane cascading over Craig's arm as he bent her over it and plundered her bared throat with kisses. Tapping it against my chin thoughtfully, I wondered if Max realized he had a collector's item sitting in his library. "What are you doing in here?" Max said loudly, grabbing at my ribs and making me yelp. I spun around and slapped my book hard across his stomach. "Sneak much?!" I cried in reply after hitting him. He rubbed his wounded abs. "I see you found my porn stash." "This is not porn," I argued and waved my novel under his nose. "Maybe not this one," he countered, taking it from me and replacing it on the shelf. He snagged 'Branded' and tapped it with his left fingers. "Now this, on the other hand...would you care for an example?" He thumbed through the dog-eared pages until he reached chapter twelve and my jaw dropped in shock. Yellow highlighter marked every line on every page from number 187 thru 203. He saw my wide-open mouth and chuckled, "Thought I was lying, didn't you, Amanda?" He leaned his head near mine. "Had to check it out for yourself. Am I right? Hmm?" "No," I protested and crossed my arms under my breasts. "I was walking around and learning the layout of your house. And I don't need you to read me an example. I wrote the stupid thing. I know what's in there." I huffed and stuck my chin up in a defensive posture, positive he was going to keep arguing. "You know," he began, gesturing with the book he held. "I can see you through that shirt." "Oh you can, can you?" I replied and pursed my lips. My eyes stared at his as I told myself not to look down and confirm his findings. I knew the cottony fabric was a touch on the thin side but it wasn't as if he could see the hue of my areolae or anything. My pubic hair, yes, I'll give him that only because it was as dark as my head hair and created visible shading at the apex of my legs. "What? You want me to prove my point?" He assumed a stance akin to my own and raked his brown eyes up and down my body. "Your pubes are blackish." "A gimme," I retorted and tugged a lock of my hair. "Okay then. Your nipples are several shades darker than the rest of your skin, probably a dusky brown with a hint of pink." An eyebrow shot up into his hairline. "And erect, too." "A lucky guess and an identical description of Alicia's from that book." "Alright but how about this?" His tongue slid across his bottom lip, wetting it thoroughly. "Under your crossed arms and a few inches below your right breast are two tiny moles about half an inch apart with one slightly higher than the other." "Nuh-uh," I said and rubbed the fingers of my left hand over the area, just to be certain I was right. "They're freckles, not moles. My doctor says so." He sighed, planted his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Mole, freckle, skin discoloration...whatever. Same difference. But they do prove my claim of your shirt being too thin." I unfolded my arms and poked an index finger at his sternum, saying, "Wrong! Moles and freckles are not the same thing. Freckles pop up due to exposure to sunlight. So there." I gave an extra poke for his troubles. "And so what? I like this shirt. It's snuggable and comfy and perfect for sleeping in." "Alright, I concede," Max replied, lifting his hands up. "Don't you want to know why I snuck up on you?" "Weeell...maybe," I hedged and smoothed the front of his shirt across his chest. "If you're going to be like that-" I grabbed his bent arm with both hands. "No, wait. Tell me." "I need your help," he explained briefly, glancing downward and realizing his fly was wide open. He closed the gap hurriedly. "I'm working on a love scene between Dalton and Mona and I can't seem to get the details right. Would you give it a look-over, please?" "Okay," I sighed. I exited the library first, asking over my shoulder, "Where are...Dalton and Mona?" "On the far side of Mars hiding in the backroom of a seedy bar," he answered and I stopped with a groan. "I meant plot wise, you dope." I turned to face him and tossed my hair back. "Are they friends? Enemies? Does she want him and he hates her, or vice versa? Is the temperature dropping? Do they need to stay warm? Is she whining? Is he bitching and complaining? That kind of thing." Stuffing a hand in one pocket and combing his hair with the other, he replied, "Dalton works for the federated government as a freelance troubleshooter, tracking down criminals, protecting witnesses and the like. The U.F.M. hired him to find Desdemona Cantrel and escort her safely to Mars base five-nine for her debriefing. Mona's an informant for the Martian D.E.A. working undercover as Krieg Giger's accountant-" "But she got discovered and now there's a contract on her head, right?" I interrupted, slightly annoyed at the bulk of unnecessary info he told me. He nodded. "Jesus Jones. It's the 'woman has sex with bodyguard' storyline." I snapped my fingers. "Easy. No prob, Max. I can write that in my sleep. And have." "Amanda, that's not the problem," he said with exasperation, shaking his head. "What I need help on is the logistics. Usually when I write out a scene with Frieda and Dalton, they're in her bed. But with this one, they're hiding behind a stack of liquor crates with little floor space and the only thing available is the nearest wall." "So? Do it against the wall." "But I've never done it that way!" he cried out. "And don't tell me it's the same as doing it in a bed because it's not!" Damn, he did get loud when he was mad. I cringed, feeling like a heel for not really helping. I knew his frustration. I'd had it plenty of times and had to rely on asking my best friend, Connie, to help me act out the troubling scene, especially if it was a position I hadn't personally experienced. "Max?" "What?" he said, his tone still heated. "Sometimes when I'm stuck writing, it can help if I act it out." I clasped my hands together and began wringing them. He looked at me and waited while I gathered my courage, took a deep breath and blurted out, "Pretend I'm Mona, you're Dalton and take me." ======= He gulped and merely continued to look at her, positive she hadn't said what he thought he heard. He stuck his left pinkie finger in his ear and wiggled it around in the canal. "Excuse me?" "You heard me," she answered and backed herself up against the closest wall. "I'm Mona and really scared. Console me." She held her arms out to him and he stepped into the open space they created. Her hands came around his neck and she whispered, "We don't actually have to have sex. We can pretend that part, too. I'm sure all you need to know is how it feels and where all the arms and legs go." Her cheeks flushed and the tip of her nose pinkened, betraying her embarrassment. "Okay," he replied, settling his palms over her hips and pulling her lower body firmly against his. "But promise me one thing. If you start getting all warm and excited, my name's Max, not Dalton." "I promise," she breathed and raised her right foot off the carpet. He caught it with his left hand outside her knee and stroked his fingers along the soft skin of her thigh. They trailed upward, pushing the hem of her nightshirt up passed her hip. Slowly, he rocked his pelvis and rubbed the fly of his jeans into the cradle of her womanhood. She hummed, a lazy smile tugged at her mouth and she speared her fingers through his hair, dragging his face to hers. Their mouths touched, then opened, each offering the other a taste. He groaned and brought her right knee up to his waist, feeling her wrap the limbs around his body and securing one foot over the other. With his arms free to move, he braced his forearms along the wall and sank both hands into her wavy tresses. Max's cock grew hard again and tented the placket of his pants, giving Amanda something to feel. He thrust himself up and against her softness. The wet heat of her most intimate place burned through the twin layers of clothing covering his shaft, making him speed up his movements. Her arms and legs squeezed him tighter and she started purring into his mouth as she bucked against him. She wasn't acting anymore than he was. The ridges of her turgid nipples dug into the material of his shirt and prodded his chest. He pressed closer, mashing her breasts with his upper body and chafing her backside across the pebbled wall as he thrust harder and faster against her. He released her yielding lips and rained chaste kisses along her face, murmuring, "Amanda, please let me inside. I need to be there." He nipped the fleshy lobe of her ear and suckled it to soothe the light pain away. She mewed and whimpered tiny noises into his hair, clutching him harder when her body began to quiver with orgasm. "Ohhh, ohh, Max," she moaned seconds before burying her face into the crook of his neck. He felt the body beneath him tense up as her muscles contracted, freezing in place briefly, then she relaxed and a trickle of wetness dampened his fly. He rubbed his cloaked member along her quim, soaking up her juices with his thick denim seam. Her swollen, outer labia had flowered apart and he was able to slide against the tender, inner flesh. He ground his pelvis into her and she arched her head up, crying his name again when he came in contact with her distended clitoris. He slowed his hip movements and gradually eased away, letting her come down at her own pace. Breathing in her ear, he whispered, "I did good, huh?" "Mmmmm," she hummed in satisfaction along his left cheek and smoothed down his tousled hair. He slipped his right arm behind her back while she unlocked her feet and gently lowered her legs. He stepped back to give her some room but she went with him, gazing up at him and refusing to let go. "My legs are all shaky and stuff," she informed him, blinking her eyes to focus. Her hands reluctantly pulled away and she removed her glasses, lifting part of her shirt and wiping the lenses with it. He continued to keep his arm around her, rubbing the indentation of her spine with his fingertips. Peering into his face, she scolded him. "You got my glasses dirty with your sweaty nose." "Oh, well shit then," Max drawled out. "I'll remember to take them off next time." "Re-he-heally?" Amanda replied, replacing her manmade eyes. "And what, pray tell, gives you the idea there will be a 'next time'?" She squealed as he swept her off her feet and into the cradle of his arms. "Because I'm going to write it that way," he told her in a tone that brooked no arguing. As he carried her down the hall toward his office, she huffed, "We'll just see about that, Maxwell! You aren't the only author in this house!" "I know," he replied with a saucy grin and pecked a quick kiss on her lips. "I'm going to need all the - help - you can give me. Romance is your bread-and- butter and I can dream up a thousand different ways in which Dalton and Mona get it on; so to speak." He sauntered over to his padded chair and sat down, holding her across his lap. "Like a pilot's chair." She slapped his shoulder. "You can't have intercourse that way! How will Dalton be able to read the flight console?" "I never said anything about intercourse," he corrected and slid her off his lap so she knelt between his legs and the desk. "I modeled the 4J71 land cruiser's flight controls after my computer desk which means-" "-there's plenty of space -under- the main consol," she finished, smirking. "And since you're soooo into details, you want me to give you a blowjob." He looked aghast at her presumptive tone. "Miss Kesselring! How dare you question my research techniques?" She blew a puff of air out of the corner of her mouth and rolled her eyes. He grinned, resting his elbows on the chair arms and steepling his fingers together. They both knew he was kidding but after the intimacy outside the library, he had to attempt to talk her into sucking him off or he'd be kicked out of the male gender. She leaned her head on top of his right leg and ran her hands up and down his calf. He touched a hand to her lush hair, stroking it off her face. They sat like that for a long time, neither of them speaking and both enjoying the quiet, peaceful air around them. The hands on his calf ceased moving and he softly called her name. "Amanda? Are you awake?" She didn't answer. He listened at the easy, deep sounds of her breathing and chuckled. She had fallen asleep, for real this time. Putting every effort in to not wake her, he slipped a hand under her head and lifted it off his thigh. He cautiously stood by bracing her shoulders and back against his leg and shoved the chair out of the way. He crouched down, looped her limp, left arm around his shoulders, eased his left arm under the crooks of her knees and slowly hoisted into the air. She wiggled and mumbled incoherent groans. He stopped cold and held his breath. She adjusted herself so both arms were around his neck and her nose burrowed into the warmth of his body. Once she stilled, he exhaled a long breath through his nose. Decision time now. Her bedroom was just down the hall and to the left but his was closer, right next door to his office. Max was no wimp in the strength department, but his muscles protested at carrying her dead weight and started to buckle. That settled it. He walked through the open entrance of his room, over to his rumpled bed and placed Amanda on top. She moaned in her sleep and curled up in a fetal position, knees tucked up to her ribs. He managed to get one blanket from under her prone body and draped it over her, reaching down to remove her glasses and pressing a light kiss to her temple. ======= more to come... <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> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+