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Message-ID: <45807asstr$1071209403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: walt9899@hotmail.com (walt9899)
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 12 Dec 2003 04:24:03 +0000 (UTC)
Subject: {ASSM} Two Minute Drill (MF)
Date: Fri, 12 Dec 2003 01:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This story contains graphic depictions of sex between consenting
adults.  If you are under eighteen years of age you must stop reading
now.  Stop, I said.  Stop!

Now that I am addressing an audience consisting of only mature,
responsible persons over eighteen years of age:

This story and all its characters are a work of adult fantasy.  They
live in a world where sex is free of disease and unwanted pregnancies,
and, when convenient, free of the deeper emotional complications that
accompany it.  The characters happily invite you into their world
while you read the story but ask also that you please remember to
return to your own world when you are finished, and that you treat
that world with benevolence and generosity.

RESPONSIBLE USE POLICY:
Please enjoy this story responsibly.  Share it with someone if it will
make that person happy.  Don't use it to do anything hurtful.

FEEDBACK:
Did you like this story?  Was it worth the time you spent reading it? 
Did it stink?  The author appreciates any feedback you may have to
share about this story.  Send e-mail to walt9899@hotmail.com.

************************************

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I wanted to write something shorter than most of the
other stories I've written.  Here's the result.  I sacrificed some (or
maybe a lot) of character development, but hopefully retained a little
suspense and still managed a bit of naughtiness.  Let me know how I
did.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME

************************************



TWO MINUTE DRILL (MF)
By: Walt9899

I was only trying to find my shoes.  That's the reason I came out of
my room, into the hallway that became the center span that overlooked
the first floor of the beach house.  There were a group of us.  Some
old friends, some boyfriends, some girlfriends, come together for a
late September weekend at the beach.  The beach house took the kinds
of liberties with architectural good taste that beach houses tend to
take.  The four bedrooms on the second floor were divided two on
either side of the house, and where the walls of the bedrooms ended,
the hallway opened up to the floor below.  You actually went up two
steps, traversed the length of the span, then down two steps again to
get to the other two bedrooms.  Why two steps?  The architect wanted
the bottom of the span to form a broad arc over the first floor.  Why
an arc?  I have no idea.  You'd have to ask the architect.  There were
other bedrooms in other places, on other floors--it was a big
house--but somehow I'd landed in the room across the hall from my dear
old friend Rachel and her boyfriend, Tim, who was not part of our
group of old friends, and therefore fell into the second category of
people present, the boy/girlfriends.  I didn't resent these comealongs
as a matter of principal.  We were a few years past college now and it
was inevitable that our little group would be dating and marrying and
generally doing the things people do when they grow up.  But I did
resent Tim.  It wasn't just that the two of us had nothing in common,
it was that he was dating Rachel.  And I'd like to believe that if I
thought he was really the right guy for her, I wouldn't have resented
him so much, but that's probably a lie.  I'd probably resent anyone
who dated Rachel.  Of all this group who had been my friends in
college, Rachel was the one I cared for the most.  Rachel of the
crimson hair and the green eyes and the body that didn't so much knock
you out as win you over in a unanimous decision the more time you
spent in her presence.  Rachel of the quick wit and the flirty aside. 
And oh, yes, Rachel of the generous heart and the consoling shoulder,
who was like me in that she had nearly always made poor relationship
decisions, and was also like me in that she liked a friend to confide
in when everything else looked bleak.

Maybe that's why we had never hooked up in any meaningful way.  There
had been a handful of nights, mainly as sophomores in college, that
ended with the two of us making out.  It was pretty innocent stuff,
kissing with a gratuitous grope thrown in every now and then.  Nothing
that ever involved the shedding of clothes.  Nothing that made us
unsure how to face each other afterwards.  We liked each other more
than most of the people we went out with and everyone asked us why we
didn't go out with each other, and there was never a good answer,
aside from the fact that if the two of us needed each other for
comfort and consolation when our poorly chosen relationships ended
badly, who would we turn to if the relationship ending badly was our
own?  It's a coward's kind of logic that doesn't hold up under honest
emotional scrutiny, but who among us wanted to go to all the trouble
of being emotionally honest with ourselves?  It was far easier and
more entertaining just to be cynical.

But such things delve deeper than I have time to tell, so I'll just
say that Rachel was with Tim and I was alone, and Tim was a type-A
college football fan on a Saturday afternoon that served up the
season's first meaningful game at the same time we were due to meet a
charter boat for a sunset cocktail cruise on the Pamlico sound, and I
was looking for my shoes.  I had just showered.  In fact, I was still
in my boxer shorts and T-shirt when I opened my bedroom door to see if
I'd kicked off my shoes in the hall.  There were no shoes, but there
was Rachel, fresh from her shower as well, and having been kind enough
to cover up in nothing more than a thigh-length cotton robe before
she'd come out in the hall, as well.

Rachel wasn't looking for her shoes--or me, for that matter.  She was
looking for Tim, who was right where she had left him when she'd come
up to shower: in front of the TV with three other guys.  Her back was
to me.  She stood just at the point where the hallway gave way top
open space, one foot resting on the first step up.  She was staring
down at the group of guys, and I knew she was trying to decide if she
should say something or not.

I approached her from behind.  For a moment I savored the humid aura
that remained of her shower, the dark glistening of her damp hair. 
Then I chuckled.  "Trying to decide if you should be the nagging
girlfriend?"

"Jesus Christ," she said with a start, but quietly enough that she
didn't distract anyone's attention from the game.  "You almost made me
pee."  Then, "He said he was right behind me and that was twenty
minutes ago."

"Now it appears that I'm right behind you," I said, and sniffed her
hair.  "Is that a new cream rinse, or do you smell this good all the
time?"

Ignoring me, eyes still boring holes in the back of Tim's head, she
said, "We're going to miss the boat."

Perhaps Tim heard her.  Perhaps he just felt her malevolence beating
down upon him.  Whatever the reason, he looked up at that moment and
saw her glaring down at him.  He couldn't see me because of the angle
of the wall.  "Just two minutes left in the game, Babe," he called up
to her.  "Florida State's up a touchdown, but Miami's on the move."

"We need to be leaving in a few minutes," she said through annoyed
teeth.

"Gotcha," he said with a winning smile, and went back into the game.

"He treats you like a princess," I observed, adding, "I had no idea
Tim was such a big Miami fan."

She clucked her teeth.  "He's not.  He just loves his sports.  And his
guy time.  And in between that and work, you know, if I happen to be
in the same room, he notices me."

"You sound blissfully happy."

"It's the same old story," she said with a shrug.  "One day I'm going
to break the mold and go find myself a Hell's Angel, or maybe, God,
who knows?  Eminem or something."

"Ah, Jerry Mathers."

"Marshall Mathers.  God, you are *such* a geek."

I laid my hands on the soft fabric along her shoulders and began to
knead the knotted muscles underneath, eliciting a small happy sound
from her.  Rachel loved a nice massage, and I often obliged her if we
were sitting around talking.  It was the closest I got these days to
doing what I really wanted to do.  "Admittedly," I said as I worked
against the tenseness her aggravation had caused, "I'm not as cool as
your buddy downstairs."

She shifted a little, turning her shoulders into the attention my
hands were doling out.  "You've never liked any of my boyfriends."

"You've never dated anyone good enough."

"Oh my God!" the football fans shouted in unison.  "What a catch!" Tim
cried.

Rachel sighed.  "I don't think you'd ever think anyone was good enough
for me."

I settled a little closer to her, working my way down her back a
little.  "You haven't exactly been welcoming to the women I've dated."

"That's because you pick losers."

"Is that any kind of way to talk to your masseuse?" I asked, thumbing
small circles along her spine.

"Besides," she said, "I was nice to Missy.  She was sweet, and she
doted on you."

Missy had been my girlfriend our senior year in college.  We'd dated
nearly a year--longer than anyone else I'd ever dated.

"She was sweet," I agreed.

"And she was a redhead," said Rachel, giving a flirty little flick of
her head that whipped her wet hair across my face.  "Maybe that's why
I liked her."

"There's no doubt that's why *I* liked her," I answered, applying a
little extra pressure for emphasis.

"Time out!" cried the fans downstairs.  "Damn!" they shouted, and
chattered excitedly to each other.  Miami was on Florida State's
thirty yard line.

Rachel, obviously realizing Tim wasn't about to bound up the stairs,
wiggled a little, just enough to brush her butt against me.  "You got
a thing for redheads?" she asked.  Our relationship had always been a
flirty one, but suddenly it seemed to me as if she was flirting a
little more aggressively.

"Let's just say," I replied, leaning my mouth a little closer to her
ear, "that at that time, I had a thing for one particular redhead."

Suddenly Tim popped up off the couch, and for an instant I thought my
moment with Rachel was over--all the more of a pity because we didn't
flirt like this much anymore and I really missed it--but he trotted to
the kitchen saying, "Anyone want another beer?"  His compatriots
answered him with "Dude, sure," and I may have imagined it but I
thought I felt Rachel relax just a little in relief.

"Well," Rachel said as Tim tossed beers to the others, "Missy *was*
one particular redhead."

"The problem was, as it turned out, she just wasn't *the* one
particular redhead I had in mind."

Rachel didn't say anything for a minute, but made "hmm, hmm" sounds to
herself.

"What is it?" I asked her.

When she spoke her voice had dropped an octave, taken on a sultry
edge.  "I was just wondering, during what kinds of moments this, uh,
other redhead was on your mind."

And it was at that moment I felt my cock begin to stir.  I was used to
some banter and innuendo with Rachel, but she was playing hard now,
and I wondered just how far she was prepared to go.  I wondered just
how far I was prepared to go.  I looked down at Tim and his buddies
shouting as Miami moved the ball closer to the Florida State goal
line, and I allowed my hands to wander downward to Rachel's sacral
dimples and outward along the indeterminate boundary between her back
and her ass, until my hands rested along her hips.  I could feel the
gentle flaring of her shape beneath her robe's plush covering.

Rachel was still standing with one foot perched on the step above, but
she allowed herself to be drawn a little closer to me, until her back
was resting against my torso, but I was careful not to pull her so
close as to permit her to feel my cock as it roused itself towards
erection.

I put my face against the hair at Rachel's neck and say, "Missy had
this same fabulous hair, but when I nuzzled her like this, I'd close
my eyes and think about the other redhead."

"That doesn't sound like such a grievous transgression," Rachel
responded.

"Missy used to go crazy when I kissed her neck," I said, nuzzling
closer until my lips were moving against the bare skin of Rachel's
neck as I spoke, "but when I kissed her neck, in my fantasy I was
kissing the other redhead."

Rachel let out a long, trembling breath.  "Is it getting warmer?" she
wondered aloud.

"As a matter of fact," I replied, lifting my head again, "it is. 
Look."

The sun had dropped low enough that it was beginning to stream through
the high glass windows at the front of the house.  In a few minutes
the stream would be a torrent, and high as we were, we were right in
its path.  I could feel it warm along that side of my body.

"Whew," said Rachel in mock relief.  "For a minute, I thought it was
just me getting hot."

"That would be weird with me just talking about my ex-girlfriend," I
observed.

"Especially with my current boyfriend sitting twenty feet away from
us," she added.

"First and goal!" Tim shouted.  "Holy cow!"  High fives were exchanged
all around.

"Although he might as well be a hundred miles away," she finished, but
the thought of him being close enough to see and hear everything we
were doing seemed to spur her on as she said, "Well, I certainly hope
you never fantasized about this other redhead--whoever she may have
been--during any more intimate moments."

Deciding to step completely over the line of propriety, I tightened my
grip on her hips and thrust forward and planted my now-rigid cock very
firmly against her pliant ass.  "You mean," I said as she made a small
squeal of surprise, "during a moment like this?"  And I let one land
loose of her hip just long enough to slip it up and inside the lapel
of her robe, covering her left breast with my palm.  I could already
feel her nipple poking stiffly against my hand.

"God," she sighed, bumping her ass back against me and arching her
breast into my palm at the same time.  "Missy must have loved this."

"She loved all the things we did together, only I was cheating on her
in my mind."  I squeezed Rachel's breast and fondled her nipple
between my fingertips, drawing it out even farther from the peak.

"Speaking of cheating," she said, without making any real move to
break any of our points of contact, "what the hell are we doing?"

I didn't make any move to release her, either, but I did stop my
thrusting and squeezing and just held myself against her.  "I was
hoping you would forget to ask," I confessed.

"Maybe I shouldn't.  Maybe I don't want to think.  But, God, if Tim
looks up..."

"Feel that sunlight?" I said.  It was hot around us now.  "If anyone
looked up right now with that sun blazing behind us, all they'd see is
a dark black outline against the blinding light."

But then the crowd downstairs shouted "Ahh!" as Miami threw an
incomplete pass into the end zone.  "They've just taken their last
timeout!" someone cried.

"You're right," Rachel said after a moment.  "What was I thinking,
that he might notice me?"

I began to minister lightly to her again, massaging her breast.

"It's nice to feel appreciated," she said with a hint of a moan in her
words.

"Tim might not be the right man for you," I said as I leaned in again
and this time instead of just brushing my lips against her neck, I
kissed it hungrily, licking the freshly-showered scent from her skin.

"I, I think I'm beginning to see that," she stammered through trying
to catch her breath.

She was now moving regularly against my erection, and even through the
cloth of my boxer shorts and her robe, I felt the flex and release of
the muscles in her butt.  I insinuated myself a little more deeply
until that wonderful rhythm was squeezing along the length of my dick.
 I was amazed by the electric tingling already dancing in my balls.  I
could almost come like this, like in high school when all this groping
and rubbing was a wild new thing.

Somewhere downstairs a referee's whistle blew and Tim said, "Here we
go, third and goal."

I withdrew my hand from her breast and dropped it to her knee, running
my hands along the supple contour of her thigh.  In a moment my hand
was at the hem of her robe and I paused, as if it presented some sort
of barrier.  My other hand was still at her waist, and I squeezed both
hands against her for a moment, dry humping her.

"Don't tell me," she said with a small extra wiggle, "that this is as
far as your fantasies went when you were with Missy."

"They went a lot further than this," I assured her.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

I began to trace my hand up her flank under the robe until both hands
once again rested on her hips, only this time my right hand was
touching the naked skin beneath her robe.

"Not even any underwear to bother with," I smiled.

"Oh, my," she replied.  "How inappropriate."

Downstairs Miami had sent the fans into conniptions by failing to
score yet again, setting up forth and goal with only a few seconds
left.  Florida State had now taken a timeout to set its defense. 
Knowing there wasn't much time left, I ran my hand around to her
front, resting it briefly on her tummy before heading south between
her legs.

"Ah," Rachel sighed, shifting the foot on the step, angling her legs
open a little more.  "Here we go, I guess."

I wondered if we should talk about anything first but down below the
players were at the line of scrimmage and I decided that Rachel and I
had known each other long enough and well enough that we both knew
what was happening here.  As for Tim, well, like I said, I didn't
think he was the right guy for her.  So I reached hastily for the
prize of her pussy, but as soon as I got there I found another reason
to stop, this time in disbelief.  Where I was accustomed to the wiry
texture of pubic hair, there was nothing--just the electric bareness
of flesh--as smooth as the rest of her skin.

"Holy shit!" I exclaimed in shock, and Rachel laughed quietly, coming
out of the moment.  "Didya find a little surprise?"

"I had no idea you..."

"I had always kind of wanted to, but I never did until recently. 
Maybe I was hoping I'd get Tim's attention."

"If that doesn't nothing will."

"Oh, he certainly noticed, but I think he just thought it was weird."

"Here we go, last play!" Tim exclaimed from his bubble around the TV.

"I think he's weird," I said, and again sought out and explored the
silky smoothness of her shaved pubic area.

She slipped back into the moment.  "Did Missy ever do a thing like
that for you?" she breathed.

"I never imagined it before."

"Do you like it?"

Her mons was as curved and smooth as a nectarine and I told her so.

"A very succulent one," she added, pushing her pussy against my hand.

"And I'm thinking how delicious it would be to put my head between
your legs and nibble and suck and drink all your juices."

Suddenly a roar erupted from below.  "Holy cow!  They scored!" 
Another spate of high fives all around, and debate immediately ensued
about whether Miami would kick the extra point and take it into
overtime, or go for the two point conversion and try to grab the
outright win.

Right about then, I was praying for overtime, but Rachel had kept
enough of an ear on things downstairs to know how very close the game
might be to being over.  She reached in between us and fumbled for my
cock.  She said, "I promise you that any other time you wanted to put
your head between my legs I'd spread them wide open and let you do
whatever you wanted, and I'd return the favor, but the game clock is
ticking and we've crossed a line that needs to end with you inside
me."

She fished my penis free of the boxer shorts as I ran my fingers along
the length of her slit, already turned out and rimmed with the
moisture of her arousal.  Her labia parted even more freely as my
finger passed.  My fingertip was quickly slick with her wetness.  She,
in turn, had spent these few meaningful seconds running her hand along
the length of my cock, learning a brand new part of me just as I was
learning between her legs.  Then my finger slipped effortlessly inside
her and I was probing her liquid depths.  I gasped and moaned with the
frenetic heat I encountered there, and she gasped and moaned with the
teasing promise of penetration.

"They're going for it!" cried Tim.  "What balls," he exclaimed, to the
general agreement of his fellows.

"Now," gasped Rachel, and tried to work my cock between her legs to
where it could get in her.

I pushed her forward.  "Step up."  And she did, putting both feet on
the step above, raising herself to a height that matched mine.  I took
over, directing my cock to her entrance, and she grasped the iron
railing that guarded the length of the open center span.

"Oh, fuck!" we said at the same time as I pushed forward and sank into
her.  It was an incredible slick sensation to encounter her swollen
pussy all silky skin and welcoming wetness completely uninhibited by
hair.  I was sure I had never penetrated a woman so easily.  I could
feel the expansion of her vaginal walls around my dick's diameter, and
when I had gotten all the way in I could feel them close back around
me again, as if determined to hold me there forever.

"You feel so hot," she panted, which is just what I was thinking about
her as my penis shimmered in her molten embrace.  Or maybe we were
both just responding to the heat of the sun, which was pouring in
torrents through the windows behind us, and even aside from the heat
between Rachel and me, it was goddamn hot to be surfing on that
cascading wave of sunset.  It all built down low in my balls and I
teetered on the neon precipice of orgasm.

The boys downstairs all started shouting as the ball was snapped on
the game's final play.  The finger I'd had inside Rachel slid upward
now that my cock had taken over, and I followed the trail of her cunt
lips up until I found her clit snug in its pocket like a bright little
gem.  Something was happening downstairs because the boys were all up
out of their chairs, and I was fucking Rachel and she was fucking me
and I tapped and tugged and flicked at her clitoris while we fucked
and the fans screamed and from somewhere eons away a part of me cut
through all the heat and light and noise and wondered why it had never
felt so altogether fantastic before.

"What about this?" Rachel hissed through clenched teeth and moans. 
She was white-knuckled on the iron railing.  "Did you fantasize about
that other redhead when you and Missy were doing this?"

"Especially when we were doing this," I said, and somewhere downstairs
the two-point conversion fell short and Rachel came a long, low moan
that got lost in the groans below, and as she quickened and convulsed
around my cock, I strangled back my own growl and slammed my pubic
bone against her ass, coming inside her like a volcano, erupting in
violent spasms that caused her to squeak and her pussy to squeeze me
every time a new jet of semen surged inside her.

For merciless long moments we held ourselves against each other, the
aftershocks of our orgasms twittering and flitting between our loins. 
There was silence all around as the football fans mutely watched
replay after replay of the failed two-point conversion.  The first
sound I heard was Rachel, slumped now against the iron railing and
muttering, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," so softly to herself.

I realized with a start that I was no longer concealed behind the wall
of the hallway as I once was.  Urging Rachel up onto the step, and our
further actions after that, had left me scandalously revealed to any
who might change to look, and suddenly the sun's backlighting didn't
offer the obscurity it seemed to moments ago.

Downstairs the group began to break up and with a final parting
squeeze Rachel pushed my softening penis from its blissful lair.  I
slipped back into the cover of the hallway and she stood a little
straighter and smoothed her robe.

"Damn, babe," said Tim from below when he saw her still standing
there.  "I know we're late as hell, but that game was one for the
ages."

"I was mad but I got over it," she told him sweetly.

"We'll have a good time tonight," he promised her as he started up the
stairs.

"I already am," she replied, and as she breezed back into their room
to dress she stopped just long enough to give me a dangerously long
French kiss before Tim rounded the corner to the landing.

"Damn," I said loudly, looking around.  "Anyone seen my shoes?"

THE END

Walt9899
December 11, 2003

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