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Message-ID: <43780asstr$1060204206@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Parasol <parasol_60@yahoo.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
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

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.


- - - - - 

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