Message-ID: <43780asstr$1060204206@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <parasol_60@yahoo.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <20030806162056.19763.qmail@web80703.mail.yahoo.com> From: Parasol <parasol_60@yahoo.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 6 Aug 2003 09:20:56 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} Life Is Sweet (MF, ROM, HOWTO) Date: Wed, 6 Aug 2003 17:10:06 -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/Year2003/43780> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, newsman Standard disclaimers apply, but don't take yourself too seriously. - - - - - LIFE IS SWEET parasol_60 @ yahoo.com There's things about chicks -- and if you're a guy you'll know exactly what I'm talking about -- that can drive you fucking batshit. Like the way they doll themselves up like god-damn whores, then get all huffy if they catch you taking an eyeful. They're all like, "Hey, buddy, what you looking at?" when they're strutting it out there in your face. I mean, shit, right? Or like you're out with some hottie and she's all, "Buy me dinner, buy me drinks, buy me tickets, pay for every fucking thing," and then she's all like, "I want you to treat me as an equal, I want your respect." Respect. Shit. I'll show you respect, twat. You get my engine running, you get me to shell out the cold hard cash, damn straight you're going to come across with the goods, know what I'm saying? Okay, I'm not some pretty boy Romeo, you know? But I get my share. Got a good job, good head of hair, keep myself in shape, work out pretty regular. Got some killer wheels: a 944 if you give a shit. Chicks dig me -- I don't go home alone too often if you catch my drift. A typical night I'll hit the clubs eleven-ish, maybe a little later, out with my bros. Chat up a few lovelies, pair off, let `em dance if they want, buy em a drink or two. The way I figure, you can tell right away about a chick if you buy her a drink. If she makes eye contact, she comes across and talks -- expresses a god-damn interest, that's all I'm saying -- then that's cool, she's okay. She does that little thing they do, tilting their head to the side and brushing their hair, that's what I'm talking about. She doesn't do that, or for Christ's sake at least acknowledge you and say "thanks for the drink," that's it for her, I'm off chatting someone else. Life's too short to waste my time on stuck-up bitches, know what I mean? A chick smiles at you though, I say go for it. First a little skin-on-skin contact, pretty much anywhere will do: on her forearm, her shoulder -- even her leg (above the knee) if she's on a chair or one of those barstools in front of you. It's important to establish that connection, it's important to get the electricity flowing, it's important she gets used to your touch. Not that all chicks dig that shit. If she freezes up, or makes some face, or pulls away forget it, might as well not waste your money. Better luck next time, plenty of fish in the sea, you know? Like they say, there's another bus along every five minutes. But if the lovelies come across friendly with that first drink, and don't freak out when you break the touch barrier, it's always worth a second drink to see what happens. Way I figure it, by that point any reasonably good-looking guy can score seven or eight times out of ten if he knows what he's doing. You smile back, you make that eye contact, let her know she's got it going on -- and for fuck's sake you don't spoil it with some cheesy come-on -- by that second drink she's going to take it to the next level. Now a lotta guys I know say how around that time you gotta get their number. Fuck that. I never ever -- underline that -- ask a chick for her number; it's an invitation for a kiss-off. I'm not out to collect numbers. Shit, I already got all the numbers I could want. I wanted to call some bitch on the phone and shoot the shit I got an assload of numbers at home; I can fucking speed-dial up the wazoo. Plus you ask a chick for her number, that's her cue to cut and run. She looks at her watch, checks her girlfriends across the room, it's over. Not to mention that it's lamer than shit. I mean seriously, "Er, um, can I have your phone number?" Fucking grade school, man. No, that point you gotta keep the con rolling. No phone numbers. Instead this is when you work in close, keep up the touch. A hand resting on her shoulder or brushing her elbow -- brush her hair away from her face, whatever. By the end of the second drink most of the time she's going to be doing it back. Even if it's just touching the back of your hand to make a point, or resting her hand on your shoulder for balance. If there's dancing that's nice, but dancing can be pretty impersonal, you know? I mean we've all done that "dance with the hot chick" thing where she doesn't say a fucking word to you or catch your eye the whole time, then at the end of the music she's back to some other guy with a little wave. And that's bullshit, right? Who needs that. This is different. This is getting the chick to pay attention. Show her you're fascinated by her, you're into her. If you can, try and work it so you're above her, or at least you come across as taller than her, make her look up to see your eyes. Maybe stand up if she's sitting, or sit on your legs, whatever it takes -- they respond to that kind of subtle dominance, that whole "big protector" shit. Talk about whatever she wants -- no matter what sort of cow crap she's spewing. Hell, I'm not saying you should lose your backbone: have all the opinions you want -- just let her pick the playing field. In fact it's good to disagree with her. That lets you work up to the "jostle". You know that move. She says something outrageous and you touch her shoulder with a laugh. You give it back even more outrageous and she pushes you back. Now you've got a dance going, but it's a private little dance. And the physical sensation of your hand pushing her back and forth -- that's getting you exactly where you want to be. While you're talking, one cute trick is to work up to some pretty vulgar language. But there's an art to that. You don't just come out and say "fuck". Instead you finesse it. You start to talk, you start to say it, then you pull back at the last minute. Like say you're reacting to something she said, and normally you'd say something like, "I can't believe you did that, that's fucking amazing." But instead, you just aspirate the f, smile and change it to something else. Say, "that's f... freaking amazing." You get the word out there, without coming across all crude and shit. And chances are after you do it once or twice, she'll just smile and flip it out there, sprinkling little "fucks" all through the conversation. After all, chicks are filthier than fucking sailors, they're just waiting for you to tell them it's okay. And it never hurts to get the word out there. It might sound like just conversation, but trust me on this: no chick ever says "fuck" to a guy without thinking about letting him fuck her. But if she wants to maintain the illusion that it's just conversation, who are you to stand in her way, right? Damn right. Because that's what this is all about, letting a chick believe in whatever the hell illusions she wants to believe in. She wants to believe you're big and strong, that you find her fascinating and beautiful, and that it's her idea to fuck you. But most of all, what she really wants to believe is that she's in control. So let her maintain her illusions. Now listen. Anybody can fuck a drunk chick. And I won't say there aren't times when it's okay. Hell, it's practically a sin to let a drunk twat go to waste; I say if a chick is drunk enough, line up your buddies, pull out the video camera and go for the fucking gang bang, know what I'm saying? But that's not what this is about, this is about finesse, this is about one-on-one, this is owning a woman who knows what the hell is going on. There was this oh-so-hot number a few days ago that's exactly what I'm talking about. She was sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, I came up and bought her a drink. One of those fruity martooni things chicks are into lately but what the hell. She was dirty blonde, chesty, wearing a little black dress with see-through lace over a black bra. When I first walked up she was sitting with her profile to the room, her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. After I bought her the drink I borrowed one of her cigarettes, lit it -- and another one for her -- then did the small-talk thing for a while. Every fucking chick in the world has a story, don't ask me to keep it straight by now. Hell, I could lie and tell you I remember this one's story, but really who gives a fuck. They're all the same: you smile, you pretend, you laugh and soon enough she's laughing back, you're up close and you've got your hands all over the little slut. Now did I tell you this chick was stacked? Oh yeah. Long straight dark blonde hair that fell over her shoulders, with little curled-up ends right at the tops of these magnificent knockers. Big luminous eyes, blow-job lips. Legs a little chunky, but what the hell, the short skirt made up for it. She had bare legs -- no stockings or pantyhose -- and I stood by the bar near her, resting my left hand on her thigh. She made no move to stop me, in fact she rocked her leg back and forth as she smoked, and touched my shoulder from time to time as we talked. Our drinks were empty, and our cigarettes stubbed out in the ashtray by the bar. She gave me a little half smile, and I held out my hand to help her down from the barstool; with a hand in the small of her back -- a few fingers stretched out across her ass -- I led her toward the door. She stumbled a little on her heels, but not so you'd notice. We hadn't said a word since we put down our cigs, but it was pretty clear what was up. In fact she was pretty impressed when I led her to my car and opened the door. Her mouth opened in surprise and she looked up at me as she slid into the bucket seat. If she hadn't been ready to pluck before that, damn she was ready then. As usual I drove really fast, taking the turns tight as she directed me toward her place. One thing that's nice about a chick with really big boobs is the way they look with that shoulder harness between them; blondie's swayed from side to side on the turns and bounced whenever I`d hit a bump. At a light I leaned over and pulled her face to mine for a long kiss. Though her mouth opened, I kept it simple: for minutes our lips brushed and nuzzled and I didn't even slip her any tongue. Chicks so dig that shit for a "first kiss" -- plus it's really hot to keep them waiting for the tongue. I cupped the underside of her breasts with my left hand -- just a little nuzzle, nothing too wild. They were fake, but like they say, if I can hold 'em they're real enough for me. It was a quiet intersection, and one or two light-cycles went by before I broke the kiss and hit the accelerator. We were at her house a few minutes later. As soon as we got inside the door I pinned her against the wall and shoved my tongue down her throat while she tore blindly at the buttons of my shirt and my belt buckle. I had her dress pulled up almost to the underside of her boobs and worked my fingers into the leg of her thong, probing her sopping wet gash as she yanked at my zipper and stroked my solid nine inch cock. She moaned when she felt it, and rubbed the swollen head slowly with her palm. She sank to her knees in front of me and slowly licked the end of my cock, lubing it up and swirling it around with her soft lips and tongue. Obligingly I slid my meat into her mouth, pressing against the back of her throat. Breathless, she pulled away from me and led me into her bedroom, unhooking her bra with one hand as she went. She shrugged the dress and the bra onto the floor, then fell back onto the bed, slipping her sexy black thong off down her legs. I kicked off my shoes and pants and joined her on the bed, plastering my body to hers. I stuck two fingers into her cunt, stretching her sideways as my thumb worked her throbbing clitty. My other hand worked one of her boobs. Her breath came sharper and she moaned, almost sobbing, into my neck. Both of her hands went to my prick and she whispered my name. Mmmm, I whispered back to her. "Do you have a rubber?" she asked. Shit, you know? What a fucking slut! On her fucking back with a fucking stranger about to bang the shit out of her, and she's worried about fucking safe sex. Hell no, I don't have a fucking rubber. "Umm, no," I told her, "Do you?" Like of course she did, the little whore. Always prepared, right? She reached into a drawer beside the bed and passed one to me. I know you're like me, and you fucking hate -- hate, hate, hate, underline that would you -- rubbers. God damn fucking pieces of shit, just like the worthless little whores who ask you to use them. And usually I'd just fucking refuse, let the little bitch whimper until she agreed to let me fuck her bareback. But I was pretty fucking hot right then and I wasn't in a mood to argue. So I ripped it open, and unrolled it onto my throbbing fuck-pole while she watched. She slipped a finger between her legs and licked her lips in anticipation. But as I positioned myself between the bitch's legs I leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, giving her lots of hot wet tongue action. That way she couldn't see as I slipped the damn rubber off and palmed it, slipping my naked meat up inside her twat. At this point I was totally pissed, so I fucking pounded the fuck out of the little piece of shit as I plowed her. I fucking bit her lips and tongue, squeezed her neck and mauled her boobs. I reached beneath her ass and grabbed her cheeks in both hands and humped her like a demon on speed. Like I told you about chicks and their illusions, she got off on thinking that I was just being passionate, and she screamed into my neck as she had two orgasms in a row, clenching her pussy on my swollen boner. That fucking little cunt. Damn I was pissed at her, so I decided to bring her down a peg or two. Using my legs and arms I pinned her to the bed by her shoulders and her knees, then raised myself up between her legs, my long dick still buried deep inside her. I picked up the loose, slippery condom and without showing her what it was, slid it into her mouth. Again she thought I was being passionate, and she kissed at my fingertips as I did it. But as I pulled my fingers out leaving the scummy little rubber behind, I could see her feel it with her tongue, taste that sour medicinal stench. I locked her eyes with mine and slowly stroked my prick deep inside her pussy, then out, letting her feel every inch of my meat as it stabbed into her. She started to struggle, desperately aware of what I'd done, but she was pinned against the bed and unable to stop me as I plowed in and out of her clutching twat. "Fucking slut," I whispered, "I don't wear that shit for any horny little twat like you." She bucked her hips, twisted her torso, but the friction and the shaking of those big round boobs only made me hotter, only got me plowing into her faster and harder. "Stop, please. No!" she grunted, spitting the limp twisted rubber out of her mouth. I pushed it back between her lips and told her, "Eat it, bitch. Suck it down." She tried to bite at my fingers so I slapped her face -- just a little love tap, really -- then shoved my dick all the way deep inside, bottoming out and grinding against her pubes. I could see her eyes roll back in her head and she shuddered against me, betrayed into cumming by her own body's insatiable need for cock. "You know you want it, bitch. Tell me you want it." "No, please." She was whimpering. "Don't make me hurt you, baby. Tell me you want my dick." I pumped in and out of her dripping gash. "Say it. Ask me to cum. Say pretty please." "No, you can't." "Can and will, slut. Watch me." I closed my eyes and fell hard on top of her, squeezing her big tits between us and plowing her twat about a hundred strokes a minute until the pressure in my balls exploded and I splattered her insides with about a quart of thick hot jizz. It filled her up and squirted back out as my thick meat continued stabbing deep inside her. "You hot little piece of shit. That was fucking nice," I whispered into her ear. "Get off of me." She was mad. I laughed. Like I gave a shit she was mad, you know? I pulled my pole out of her, wiped it off on her leg, then grabbed my clothes and hit the bricks. It was only around 1:00; if I hauled ass I could still get back to the clubs and do it again tonight. Life is sweet. - - - - - __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Yahoo! 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