index


Message-ID: <50801asstr$1111749005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Frank Braun <mazares@hotmail.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 20:37:50 EST
Subject: {ASSM} RP: LIFE WITH MY WIFE AND DAUGHTERS - Part IV
Lines: 576
Date: Fri, 25 Mar 2005 06:10:06 -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


Copyright (C) 2002 by Frank Braun

mazares@hotmail.com

Emailed comments are welcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


LIFE WITH MY WIFE AND DAUGHTERS - Part IV

It was early Saturday evening, and my 11-year-old daughter, Rachel, and I 
sat together on a couch in the den, waiting for Sarah, her mother, to 
finish dressing.

Sarah and Rachel were on their way to some kind of mother-daughter dinner 
at the church, and I and our other daughter, Rebecca, 15, were to be left 
at home to fend for ourselves for the evening.

The situation between myself, Rachel, and Sarah continued to be awkward. 
Even though my wife seemed to be somewhat accepting of -- or maybe just 
reluctantly resigned to -- the sexual relationship between myself and our 
youngest daughter, there were still little hints of tension. And I was 
still quite uncomfortable, myself, about how to manage these two, 
separate, loving relationships under the same roof.

Meantime, as we waited on the couch, Rachel -- all dressed up in a dark 
green dress, and even heels -- sat contentedly beside me, my arm around 
her shoulders, my hand stroking her hair, until her mother at last 
appeared.

She, too, was dressed to kill, in a shortish black skirt, black stockings 
and heels, and a clingy, wine-colored silk blouse. Rachel and I rose from 
the couch; and I blushed as I realized that the beginnings of an erection 
were obvious beneath my jeans.

"Like rabbits, you two," said Sarah, not smiling. "Can't keep your hands 
off each other." Despite her words, she moved close to me and pressed her 
body against mine -- reaching down to squeeze at my hard-on before 
touching her lips lightly to mine, being careful of her lipstick. The 
movement seemed obviously intended for our daughter's benefit, a sign 
that my wife still claimed ownership.

Standing back, I looked at both of them, not really knowing what to say. 
They were amazingly alike, the two of them. Long, thick, curly, near-
black hair, big, beautiful, electric brown eyes, and full sensuous lips. 
In a way, it was as though I lived with just one woman as she was at the 
age of 34 and at the age of 11 -- both incarnations at once -- and I was 
madly in love with both of them!

"So what are you and Becca doing for dinner?" Sarah said.

"We'll probably go eat out someplace and maybe see a movie," I replied. 
"I'm not much in the mood to do leftovers."

"Well," Sarah said, "just don't forget to drop those papers by Gabby's 
place, ok?"

Gabby was Gabriela, Sarah's older sister, who lived across town. Their 
parents were in the process of re-doing their will, and some papers sent 
to Sarah for this purpose needed now to move on to her sister.

"I'll do it," I said.

"We should be back before midnight," she said, turning to leave. Rachel 
followed, but turned just before leaving the room.

"I love you, Daddy," she said, her bright eyes smiling into mine.

"Love you too, sweetheart."

As I heard the front door close, I went looking for Rebecca. She had 
always been the quieter, more independent of our two children. She was no 
less beautiful than her mother and sister, but seemed more content than 
most children to spend time by herself -- enjoying time spent with the 
rest of us, but in no way dependant on it.

I found her curled up in a chair in her bedroom, reading a book, dressed 
frumpily in jeans and a t-shirt. Her long, brown hair, a little lighter 
and straighter than her sister's, nearly hid her face until she looked up 
at me as I entered the room.

"So," I said, "have you decided where we're going tonight?"

"Hmm," she said, looking thoughtful. "I kind of forgot to think about it 
at all. Let me think..."

I grinned as I watched the wheels turn in her head until, at last, she 
spoke again.

"Yes," she said, "I have it. You're going out for a while. Make it a 
couple of hours. And when you come back, dinner will be ready. I'm 
cooking tonight."

"Well," I said, smiling, "this'll be a first. I don't think you've ever 
cooked for me before. Should I trust this?"

She responded with a rather intriguing smile, her dark eyes alive with 
something indescribable.

"It'll be the best dinner you ever had."

At fifteen, she was quite the little grown-up, and I was proud of her 
sense of independence and self-confidence. What could I do but trust her?

"Ok," I said. "I'm headed to your Aunt Gabby's for a while. Call me there 
if you need me, and I'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Take your time," she said, still smiling, and I left.

Things were most odd at Gabriela's. I had always made a point of spending 
as little time around her as possible -- for the simple reason that I 
didn't trust myself around her.

Just a year older than Sarah, she looked very much like her sister: the 
same piercing, brown eyes, the same luxurious raven hair, the same 
smooth, olive skin. But unlike Sarah, who -- though by no means 
overweight -- was voluptuous in her build and movement, Gabriela was 
thinner, straighter, with smaller breasts and a more athletic build and 
carriage. To look at her was, to me, the tantalizing experience of 
looking at what you might call a different "version" of my own wife.

She seemed to be wearing only a t-shirt, barely long enough to cover her 
private parts, when she answered the door. Her hair damp, she had 
evidently just left the shower. I handed her the envelope as she let me 
in; she tossed it on the coffee table, motioned me toward a big, leather 
chair, and sat down on the couch across from me, her legs curled up 
beneath her.

She seemed a little nervous -- perhaps it was her state of undress? -- at 
first, but relaxed a bit as conversation ensued. I hadn't seen her in 
several weeks; we made small talk about my "dinner plans" later in the 
evening, about the church dinner Rachel and Sarah were attending, and 
about how Gabby's ex had finally stopped causing problems and begun 
paying his child support dependably.

Then she turned nervous again as a male voice issued from farther back in 
the apartment.

"Mom!" It was Julian, her 16-year-old son and only child.

"Yes, baby," she shouted back.

Julian didn't respond. Instead, he just appeared in the entrance to the 
living room -- buck naked, holding a towel, his hair still wet, and 
carrying a monstrous erection.

"Oh shit!" he said, not realizing until just this moment that his mother 
had company. As quickly as he had appeared, he disappeared back down the 
hallway.

"What the hell was that?" I said, a little taken aback.

"Just a kid with a hard-on," said Gabriela, very nervously attempting a 
giggle. "Surely you used to get them yourself?"

I grinned at her, concealing my real thoughts. What the hell was going on 
here? Sure, I had hard-ons at sixteen. But I never followed one, naked, 
into the same room with my mother! And Gabriela knew, I could tell from 
the shakiness in her voice, that I knew something was up.

As I rose to leave, a little later, she stopped me at the door. She took 
my hand and looked deeply into my eyes, her expression somewhere between 
inquisitive and desperate.

"Don't think wrong things about what you saw, alright? And for God's sake 
don't say anything to Sarah."

I pulled her toward me, kissed her on the cheek, and said, "Don't worry. 
It's none of my business anyway, now is it?" I smiled -- a real smile, 
since I was terribly fond of Gabby regardless of what I might not have 
known about her -- and left.

As though, I thought to myself as I started the car, I didn't have a few 
secrets of my own...

I arrived home to find a yellow post-it note on the front door. "Enter 
quietly. --R.," it said. What the hell did that mean? I wondered. I don't 
typically enter the house shouting!

Charmed by the girlish handwriting, and wondering what my sweet Rebecca 
was up to, I just smiled, opened the door quietly and let myself in, and 
closed the door as quietly as I could behind me.

And there, on the mirror in the foyer, was another yellow square. It 
said: "Don't look for me. I'm busy preparing your evening. Go take a 
shower and get dressed for dinner. --R." Hmm... I'd never played follow-
the-notes with anyone before. I humored her, and headed for the bedroom 
and the bath, where I dutifully got in the shower.

When I emerged, I found yet another post-it note -- this time on the 
mirror over my dresser. "The mood for the evening is formal! Please dress 
accordingly. --R."

I wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or to find humor in all this. I chose 
to relax and smile while putting on a white cotton dress shirt, dark 
dress slacks, and a tie. What was this child up to? Whatever it was, I 
realized I must be taking it more seriously than I realized when I found 
myself back in the bathroom, inspecting myself in the mirror to make sure 
I looked good enough for the occasion!

And there was yet another note -- this time on a full piece of paper 
slipped under the door -- when I returned to the bedroom. "Dinner is 
served in the dining room. Please don't let it get cold. --R."

The dining room was typically reserved for special occasions just three 
or four times a year. The rest of the time, if the family managed to dine 
together at all, we did so in the kitchen. A tie? The dining room? Was 
she digging out the good china as well? I just shook my head and headed 
for the dining room.

And my heart jumped into my throat when I got there. There was my 15-
year-old, looking anything other than fifteen. Her long brown hair was 
tied at the back and wrapped attractively into a kind of bun at the base 
of her neck. She wore a short, black, sleeveless shift-like dress, black 
stockings, black heels, and dark, red lipstick. The contrasts between her 
milky white skin and her dark hair and dress, between her youth and her 
un-childlike appearance at this moment --  all of it took me by utter 
surprise as I entered the room. She looked too beautiful.

Only when I recovered from my own momentary daze did I realize that she, 
too, was a little nervous. She stood beside the table; the room was lit 
only by the candles she'd arranged on it; and her voice shook just a 
little as she said, so sweetly, "You look very nice, Daddy."

That totally disarmed me -- I looked nice! -- while I stood there 
transformed by a kind of beauty I'd never seen in her before. I took her 
hands in mine and looked into her eyes -- and found myself unable to say 
anything.

"Have a seat, Daddy," she said at last, breaking the awkward silence.

Dinner was something of a blur -- aided, I'm sure, by the wine that my 
daughter had poured for me. The food was excellent; I had no idea, before 
then, that Rebecca had taken up cooking. But it was my daughter herself 
who was the cause of the rising fever on my brain.

Beautiful as she was, there in front of me, and elegant as were her 
movements -- so suddenly adult did she seem in that moment -- I felt as 
though I were out on a date with someone whom I desperately wanted to 
please and impress.

"Daddy," she said at one point, her brown eyes peering deeply into mine, 
"you have such a dreamy expression on your face! What are you thinking 
about?"

"Just -- just how beautiful you look tonight." I felt a little stupid, a 
full-grown adult stumbling over his tongue, made speechless by a mere 15-
year-old.

"You seem nervous," she said, with the beginnings of a smile. She rose 
from her chair and moved to my side, taking the bottle of wine and 
refilling my glass. My heart rate sped up when she managed, in this 
movement, to press her body against my arm; her warmth, her closeness, 
the scent of her perfume, all combined to make me put my arm around her 
waist and pull her even closer.

She didn't resist. Instead, she bent slightly over to put her arms around 
my neck and to sigh, while my hand wandered up and down her back, 
straying down to touch -- ever so lightly in my nervousness -- her sweet, 
round bottom through the tight black fabric of her dress.

Then, realizing what I was doing, I dropped my arm to my side and took a 
deep breath, trying to maintain control of myself. I couldn't do this. 
Things were already too far out of hand in this household!

"You seem afraid to touch me, Daddy," Rebecca said, letting go of my neck 
and resuming her full height beside me, rubbing my shoulder with her 
hand. She again pressed herself close to me -- Dear God, did she know 
what she was doing? -- and said, "I'm not going to break, you know."

"I know," I said, rising from my chair, feeling the need to break free of 
her closeness. "It's just that..." I couldn't find words.

"I think I know," Rebecca said, taking my hands as we stood facing each 
other. "I think -- " she began, now seemingly herself having difficulty 
with words -- "I think that maybe you have some feelings that you're not 
telling me?"

The blood, warmed by the wine, pounded in my head as I looked at my 
daughter -- her beautiful face, so expressive in this moment; the creamy 
whiteness of her neck; the top of the sweet crevice between her breasts, 
just visible thanks to the low curve of her dress -- and I stood 
motionless, still paralyzed with fear.

"Daddy," she said, pulling me closer and placing my hands on her 
shoulders, "please touch me. Stop being afraid. Just please touch me."

I took her face in my hands; her eyes looked up deeply into mine, and her 
lips parted slightly; her hands, still on mine as I held her face, 
trembled.

"What are we doing?" I whispered.

"We're making love," she whispered back. "Kiss me, Daddy. I want you."

The child was seducing me, and I could no longer resist. I dropped my 
hands from her face and grabbed her tightly around the waist, pressing my 
lips to hers, and my groin into her belly. She moaned luxuriously as I 
delved my tongue into her mouth, and my cock began already to harden as I 
felt my daughter -- where had she learned this? -- meld herself closer 
and closer to me and return my kiss with a passion equal to my own.

"Where does this come from, sweetheart?" I said, pulling back a little, 
still scared out of my wits. "This is scaring the hell out of me! I 
didn't know you had this in you!"

"Daddy," she said, her voice plaintive, even a little impatient. "It was 
going to happen sometime. You know that. And you've wanted it. You just 
didn't know until now that I've wanted it too. Please, Daddy, just make 
love to me!"

This child, at fifteen, was already a woman, and irresistible. And with 
those words of hers -- so adult, so perceptive -- my sense of conscience 
and caution died on the spot and I let go.

I turned her around, her back to me, and held her close with an arm 
around her waist as I caressed her smooth, white neck with my hand, then 
let my hand wander down to her breasts. My breath was uneven with 
excitement as I explored them through her dress -- already the size of 
apples, they were going to be her mother's large breasts in time. And 
dear God, I felt her nipples growing erect through the fabric.

"Good, Daddy," she whispered. "It feels good... don't stop." I took my 
arm from her waist and placed one hand on each of her breasts, fondling 
them -- no, lewdly groping them! -- while her beautiful bottom pressed 
backward against what was now my complete erection. In that position, I 
found myself involuntarily dry-fucking her ass until, suddenly, she 
wrestled free and turned around to face me.

She moved me backward to the table and reached up to loosen and remove my 
tie. My cock strained against my pants as she said, "Unzip me, Daddy."

Reaching around her neck and through her hair, I found the zipper of her 
dress and lowered it, never removing my eyes from the open-lipped look of 
nearly unnatural -- animal -- passion on my daughter's face. She was 
without doubt her mother's daughter.

She wriggled around to let the dress fall down to her waist, and loosened 
her hair to let it fall free, a long brown cascade around her face, 
across her white shoulders, and between her breasts. Her sweet, pink 
nipples were fully erect, and she just stood there, looking expressively 
into my eyes.

"I think you're still afraid of me," she whispered, with a little smile. 

She reached forward to begin unbuttoning my shirt as I caressed her face 
with my hand. My mind wandered in this moment; this was happening in such 
a surreal way, and in a way so different from what had happened with my 
younger daughter. Rebecca, almost without asking, was just taking what 
she wanted -- and I was offering no resistance!

My mind snapped suddenly back to alertness when I realized she had 
unbuckled my belt and was loosening my fly. In an instant, my cock had 
sprung free and stood at attention, obscenely huge and erect, in front of 
my daughter.

Cautiously, as though afraid of breaking it, she took it in both her 
hands, and began feeling it, fondling it, curiously. Then, seeming 
sufficiently familiar with it, her eyes moved away from it to look up 
into my face. As I half-sat, half-leaned against the table, she looked 
wordlessly into my eyes as she began stroking my penis -- slowly, 
luxuriously jacking me off.

"Oh Christ, stop it!" I said, after a few moments. "I can't stand it!" I 
tore off my shirt and struggled out of my shoes and pants -- and pulled 
my daughter's dress, only barely clinging to her anyway, the rest of the 
way down -- to find that her stockings were thigh-highs and she wore no 
panties. My cock twitched visibly as I stood staring stupidly at her 
nakedness.

"Do you like it, Daddy?" she said, smiling. "I did it just for you."

I grabbed her, nearly violently, and pressed her whole body tightly 
against my own, my rock-hard penis grinding into her belly. My arm around 
her waist, I grabbed her hair with my other hand and pulled her lips to 
mine, burying my tongue in her mouth, and nearly coming with the 
excitement of how her tongue fought back, dancing lewdly with my own in 
her mouth.

This child -- so different from her sister, and no matter how seemingly 
quiet and mature -- was innately a slut, a nymphomaniac, like her mother! 
No wonder, I now understood, no wonder I felt so different in taking this 
one of my daughters from how I felt in taking the other!

"Daddy," Rebecca said suddenly, pulling away from our kiss. I looked into 
her face to find a very serious look in her eyes. "I want this to happen 
in your bed."

I had no words. I simply swept her up into my arms, carried her to the 
bed I shared with her mother, and all but threw her on it. Flipping on a 
lamp, I stood beside the bed, my cock still standing at attention, and 
stared at my daughter, who lay propped up on her elbows and staring back.

Her little breasts rose and fell with her heavy breathing as I devoured 
her slowly with my eyes. The naturally full, black bush at the top of her 
whore-like stockings was, unlike her mother's, neatly trimmed and 
thinned, easily exposing her slit; and just a hint of her inner lips 
protruded, glistening with moisture in the dim light of the lamp.

"Make love to me, Daddy," she said, the silence finally broken. "Please. 
"Make love to me."

As soon as I moved onto the bed, Rebecca seemed to take over completely. 
She rolled me onto my back, rolled herself on top of me, and began 
kissing me with a passion the likes of which I had no idea could exist in 
a 15-year-old.

With both my hands, I grabbed the sweet cheeks of her ass and squeezed 
hard as the moist opening between her thighs teased the throbbing head of 
my cock. She moved almost compulsively, seemingly unable to be still. It 
was as though she was at last devouring something she'd craved for a 
long, long time.

Suddenly, she jumped up, and moved forward to stand on her knees, 
straddling my face. Her sweet pussy was just inches from my nose, and I 
looked past it, up her smooth belly, past her quivering breasts, and into 
her face.

"Can I do this, Daddy?" she said, as though she needed permission. Where 
had she learned all this? Had she been reading it in books? Rather than 
speak, I took hold of her thighs and gently pulled her 15-year-old 
womanhood down onto my face. My tongue moved up and down her little slit, 
teasing her, before finally plunging in, making her whole body buck and 
jerk as I began fucking her with my tongue. Why did I feel no need to be 
gentle with this child?

Unable to remain upright on her knees, she fell forward to support 
herself with her hands, her pussy grinding hard into my face, her breath 
coming in increasingly noisy gasps.

Then she moved yet again, her crotch still glued to my mouth, but her 
head now facing the other way. Supporting herself with one hand on my 
thigh, she used her other to take my cock and begin stroking it in 
earnest -- masturbating me while my tongue plunged away at her wetness.

I rolled us both over on our sides and rather forcibly pressed her head 
down toward my cock, where she took the hint and -- with no hesitation at 
all -- eagerly took it into her mouth and began sucking it with abandon, 
all the while making muffled groans around it in response to the action 
of my tongue.

Suddenly, she let go of my cock and seemed to stiffen; her thighs, 
wrapped around my head, tightened horribly and, as I pressed harder into 
her little clitoris, drawing rough circles around it with my tongue, she 
began screaming at the top of her lungs. She was coming so hard she was 
trying to crawl away from it; and I just hung onto her hips and pressed 
her harder into my face, not letting her get away until, at last, the 
screams subsided and she grew limp and lay still.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?" I whispered, my voice hoarse with the 
excitement of my still unrelieved cock.

She didn't respond. Instead, she rose up slowly, rolled me back onto my 
back, and straddled my thighs, facing me, and taking my aching cock into 
her hands. It looked huge up against her smooth, white belly as she 
stroked it slowly, staring into my eyes.

"I've never done this before," she said quietly. "Is it going to hurt?"

"Probably," I said, my hips beginning to move in response to her 
stroking, my cock wanting to explode and trying hard not to.

"I want to do it this way," she said, raising herself up and placing the 
head of my penis up against her wet opening. 

"Please be careful," I said. "Please don't hurt yourself."

The sensation, for me, was somewhere between excruciating and exquisite 
as I watched my daughter trying ever so slowly to slide herself down onto 
my nine-inch cock, and watched the expressions on her face while she did 
so -- wide-eyed pain for a moment, open-mouthed pleasure the next...

Once the head was fully in, she stopped there, seeming relieved that 
she'd gotten that far, then smiling at me as she rode gently up and down 
on just the head of it. Now comfortable with this much, she attempted 
more. A frown wrinkled her forehead as she eased on down another half-
inch, then another, until she was about half-way. From there, then, she 
rode slowly up and down, her own moisture and gradual relaxation making 
this much comfortable too.

"It's so big," she whispered, looking at it rather than me, still riding 
it slowly, carefully.

"It feels good, sweetheart," I said, enjoying the calm look on my 
daughter's face, while at the same time working hard to contain my 
impatient cock, which was dying to start moving.

Finally, she decided to take the rest of it. Up and down, and down 
farther each time, and interrupted now and then with a pained little 
groan, Rebecca at last reached bottom -- and let go a long, sighed, 
"Mmmm" when she got there.

She sat there, quite still, for a long moment.

"I felt that," she said, smiling, when my cock twitched involuntarily 
inside her.

Then she raised up -- all the way up -- and slid all the way back down 
again. And did it one more time. Then she took me a little by suprise by 
what she said.

"I have you now," she said.

"Hm?" I said, by now gritting my teeth to keep from coming just from the 
tightness of her 15-year-old pussy.

"I have you now, Daddy," she said again. "Now you're mine." And with 
that, and with no warning, she started riding my cock like there was no 
tomorrow. Her dark eyes flashed wild madness as she humped up and down, 
grunting noisily -- "shamelessly" was the word that came to my mind -- 
and at last my own hips let go and began slamming back into her downward 
thrusts.

Her breasts jiggled up and down as she rode harder and faster; I watched 
my cock -- covered, to my alarm, with blood -- plunge in and out as she 
became gradually noisier; and my brain became fevered as her features 
merged, in my mind, with those of her mother, and she began shouting now, 
in words I didn't expect, "Fuck me, Daddy! Fuck me!"

No longer content to lie back, I rose up to stand on my knees as she 
continued to fuck me without interruption, her arms wrapped around my 
neck, her pussy impaled on my cock -- then I let her fall to the bed on 
her back, with me, now, doing the fucking. 

Her eyes grew wilder, and her screams louder; I pounded her harder and 
harder as she bucked and squirmed and humped hungrily around on my cock; 
the room went around in circles as I lost track of where I was or who I 
was fucking; and finally my cock blew up, shooting gallons of cum deep 
inside my daughter while she screamed sharply in response to each of my 
orgasmic thrusts.

But just as I started to come to rest, she screamed at the top of her 
lungs, a look of wide-eyed anger in her face: "Don't stop! For God's sake 
don't stop! Fuck me, God damn it!"

With what little I had left in me, I started moving again while my 
daughter wrapped her legs around my waist and nearly squeezed me to 
death, approaching another orgasm. With no rhythm left, I just tore into 
her, thrusting as hard as I could, when I could, until at last she let 
loose with a piercing scream that ended only an eternity later when she 
had simply run out of breath and she fell, loosely and limply, back to 
the bed, quiet at last.

The bed was covered in blood, Rebecca's whole pubic area was covered in 
blood, and so was mine. She lay still, her eyes closed, her mouth open, 
only her chest moving as she breathed heavily. I took her head in my arm, 
and held it close to my chest. I, too, breathed heavily, exhausted. 
Rebecca, her eyes still closed, put an arm around my neck.

In silence, my mind wandered aimlessly, confused. Now I had violated both 
of my children. And how different they were from each other! With one, I 
felt the tenderest, most innocent kind of love. And with the other? With 
Rebecca? I didn't know. It wasn't love. It was pure sex. Just pure sex 
with a daughter who'd chosen to have her way with me.

I felt sleep coming, and I had some vague kind of nightmare about Sarah 
and Rachel coming home to a post-it note on the front door, to a trail of 
clothes in the dining room and hallway, and to a pool of blood in the 
bedroom.

Rebecca said something that I didn't hear.

"What, sweetheart?" I said. "My mind was a thousand miles away."

"She said it would be good. And she was right."

"Huh?"

"Making love to you," said my daughter. "She said it would be good, and 
it was."

"She? Who?"

"Rachel."

-- 
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> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+