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Message-ID: <55463asstr$1174385402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "blue pervina" <bluepervina@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} No 1 Girl ( FF, nc, voy, FM, anal ) by bluepervina
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Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 06:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "No_1_Girl.doc" begin>

No 1 Girl

( FF, nc, voy, FM, anal )


by bluepervina
bluepervina[AT]gmail[DOT]com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www/

Copyright 2007 by bluepervina, all rights reserved.


* * * * * 

IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to
read any or specific kinds of) electronically transmitted erotic
material, please do not read anything else in this file.

This material is copyrighted by bluepervina. All rights are
reserved. The author specifically grants to an individual user
the right to download and keep ONE electronic copy for that
individual's personal reading so long as all original copyright
notices by bluepervina remain included with the work. 

Any and all reposting requires prior written permission from
bluepervina. 

* * * * * 



No 1 Girl

( FF, nc, voy, FM, anal )


by bluepervina



You let me watch the videotape, that first night I moved in. 
Remember?  You wasted no time.  I was finally in your home all
the way.  I had to be in your life all the way too, right?  

At first I thought it was something really special, you know, in
the customary way.  I figured it was some really good porn to
help us set the mood; then we could celebrate in style.  After
all, we'd been dating for over three years, and now I was finally
living with you.  There was no doubt you were the smartest, most
beautiful girl I'd ever known.  I'd watched you all through
undergrad, made friends with you, stuck around to watch for the
right time to risk more.  Then you went to grad school, and I
thought you'd never let me into your life, you were suddenly so
busy all the time and so much more serious and distracted and
driven; but one day I couldn't stand it anymore.  I asked you
out, and you immediately said yes.  And, just like that, we were
dating.  

So I sat down to watch that video with my cock already
half-awake.  And I didn't even notice for the longest time just
how truly hard it finally got.  All I could do was stare at that
screen.  Stare at you on that screen.  For a long time I didn't
know what to think about it.  I had no idea what to say.  I knew
you were sitting there on the other end of the couch, idly
holding the remote, staring at me with your gorgeous eyes, afraid
I'd freak.  And I almost did.

*   *   *

It is your bedroom in the apartment.  The camera is sitting up
pretty high, apparently on your bookcase, and part of the lens is
blocked by something.  You drag a girl into the room and pull her
awkwardly onto the bed.  She is a little taller and heavier than
you.  Bigger breasts and hips.  She has a cute little turquoise
stone set in her navel ring and a tattoo of a dolphin just above
her left hip.

She is dead weight, and you struggle to get her on the bed. 
She's completely unconscious.

Her flip-flops fall off as you climb up onto the bed beside her.
You bend over her, briefly obstructing the camera.  But then you
seem to remember and switch to the other side of the girl, taking
care to look up and see that everything is in the frame. 
Unbuttoning, unzipping, pulling softly, then yanking, you manage
to get her tight low-rise jeans off.  Her thong is next.  You
stand there and sniff it for a long time.  Then you stuff it into
your mouth and chew, sucking at the juices, slipping a hand
inside your own jeans.

After a minute or so, you pull out your fingers and begin to lick
them, flinging the thong toward your own clothes hamper near the
closet.  It's clear you don't intend to give them back.

Not caring about stealth now, you roughly pull off the girl's
sport bra and step back.  Her nipples are both pierced with short
silver bars, and she has a tattoo of some sort on her left
breast.  You come over and grab the video camera and take some
nice, long, close-up footage of this girl's outstanding body. 
All the lights in the room are on, and she's still out cold.  Her
skin is creamy and a bit flushed here and there.  The camera even
picks up evidence of razor burn on the girl's armpit.  It
lingers, strangely, on that roughened red flesh for a lot longer
than I expect it to. 

You spend a long time recording her face, her open mouth, the
drool trickling out, down into her ear.  Her hair is matted to
her forehead, and you linger on it, as well as on her sweaty
throat.  Obviously, the two of you have just recently been
dancing, hard.  As the camera trails down to her taut belly and,
finally, her crotch, the outline of her panties is still strongly
indented into her skin.  A nice triangle framing a very
well-trimmed bush.  

One hand comes into the frame, and you take a jostling moment to
spread the girl's legs.  Then your fingers move in and spread her
labia.  A thick white ooze has collected in her vagina, not
semen, but girlish.  Dancing made this girl horny.  Dancing with
you.  Your finger dips in, then comes out, briefly showing the
camera how it is covered with the tasty slime.  Then the finger
disappears from view, obviously finding your mouth.  The tape,
almost silent to this point, is suddenly alive with your soft
moans.

You put the camera back on the bookcase, then return to the
sprawled girl.  Pulling your own clothes off quickly, you climb
up onto the bed and begin to kiss the girl's face.  Her cheeks,
her forehead, her lips.  You bend for a long time with your mouth
over hers, obviously invading her with your tongue.  The girl's
feet begin to slowly rub up and down on the bedspread, and her
hands flutter at her sides, as if she is trying to reach up and
hold you.

Her movements startle you, and you jump away and stand to the
side, your eyes wide.  She moans a little and slurs something
unintelligible.  One of her hands begins to idly rub her
clitoris, but only for a few moments; then she is still again.

You move back in, but this time kissing her neck, rubbing your
palms over her nipples.  She begins to flutter her hands once
more, and she slides her legs open very wide.  Her moans are soft
and happy.  You move your mouth over her breasts, sucking her
pierced nipples for many minutes, flicking them with your tongue,
chewing lightly, always rubbing at one when the other is in your
mouth.

The girl begins to slur more nonsense, between groans, and her
hand once again makes its way to her pussy, rubbing slowly on her
clit.

You move down to her feet, pick one up and suck her toes, one at
a time.  As you do this, your free hand begins to roam over your
own breasts, then down to your crotch.  You lick the bottom of
her foot, then between her toes, then around her Achilles.  The
girl's moans are getting louder, and she's rubbing herself with
more speed; you go on.  Moving to the other foot, you repeat your
sucking and licking, all the while feeling your own parts with
your free hand.

Finally, you bend over and lick your way up from her ankle to her
knee to her inner thigh, taking your time with each leg.  The
girl clumsily raises her feet in the air, holding her legs open
with a hand under each thigh, whispering "Please" over and over.
Her eyes are opened, but rolled back in her head.  A much more
pronounced stream of drool is running down her cheek.  Softly,
she begins to cry.  

The camera picks up the sound of quiet sobs, and soon you can be
heard shushing her just as quietly, like a mother comforting a
frightened sleepy child.  With one last lingering "sshhhhh..."
you bend down between her legs and begin to lick.  Immediately,
the girl stops crying and whispers, "Yesssss," arching her back a
little.

For nearly ten minutes, the camera records your head rocking this
way and that as you work.  The girl's leg completely hides any
view of your face, which is plainly glued to her wet gash.  One
of your hands is holding her lips open, while the other one is
back between your own legs, strumming away.

I marvel, for the millionth time, at your body.  You are thin,
and your small breasts barely large enough to hang properly from
your chest as you bend, but there is just enough to make for a
nice side view.  A couple of firm, baseball-sized mouthfuls, the
nipples hard and long.  Your narrow waist and boyish hips can't
hide the fact that you are one sexy girl.  Your ass is firm and
round, a nice little peach, and your legs are long and perfect.

The whole time you eat her, I watch you on that tape undulating
with pleasure.  You moan as much as her.  It's clear you're
sweaty, too, and the beads of it show up depending on how you've
set your back.  I sit mesmerized by the sweet prospect of licking
the sweat from your skin, forgetting for a moment what I was
watching you do.  Forgetting how stone cold shocked I am at what
I have seen.  Because the whole time I watch you, I want you.  I
can't stop wanting you, no matter what you do.  No matter how
much you change.  No matter how little I really know about you. 
I can't do anything but want you.

Finally, you raise your face and look at the camera.  A glazed,
drunken look has washed over your eyes.  You are clearly not able
to focus on the thing that's focused on you.  But you want to
show the camera your cheeks shiny with cunt juice, your chin
dripping with it, your neck now wet from the runoff.  You grin
and turn to the girl, climbing up to lie on top of her, moving
your mouth down to hers.

She lightly holds you to her, opening her mouth to receive your
cunt-slimed tongue.  As you kiss her for several minutes, you
both groan and grind.  Your thigh is between her thighs, hard
against her cunt, and she is reflexively scrumping against it. 
Your cunt, since you are shorter, is level with her hip, and you
are grinding it into her hip, obviously finding a nice little nub
of bone to fit against your sloppy groove.

Getting up slowly, you crouch above her, rubbing your crotch all
over her belly.  You crawl up to her chest and crouch above her
breasts and rub your pussy all over her ample tits.  Finally, you
settle yourself onto the girl's face.  The camera is blocked from
seeing her head, but from the movements of your ass and hips, it
is clear that she is doing at least a little something with her
mouth.

You ride her face, hunching, panting, obviously approaching an
orgasm.  The girl's hands are fluttering again, and her feet are
slowly rubbing up and down on the bedspread, as if her heels
itched.  The force of your thrusts against her chin, mouth, and
nose is startling.  It is as if you've found the perfect pillow
to hump.  You drop to one knee from your crouch, clearly to give
you better leverage and a more pleasing angle.  With small yelps,
you fuck your cunt on her face over and over.

And in an instant you bend, then arch back, stiffen, and shudder.
 Your hips are flying back and forth as you ride through your
orgasm.  Your hands are locked in the girl's tangled hair.  She's
limply flailing her hands at the empty air above her waist.  She
can't breathe.  Her movements become more pronounced as yours
slowly ratchet down to nothing.  You are a lump squatting on her
face.  Melted, fused to the spot.  Orgasmically attached.  But
she cannot breathe.  That has to be what it is.

Then she stops moving.  Her hands fall to her sides; her feet
flutter briefly, then flop once, then nothing.  It's as if
they've somehow gotten heavier.  She's absolutely still.

Suddenly, as if rudely awakened, you stand straight up and step
away from her, climbing off the bed.  The camera shows the girl's
face.  It is pale and shining, covered with drool and cuntflow. 
She is staring blankly at the ceiling, her eyes so wide I can see
the whites of them easily on the camera from across the room. 
Her lips are a gray-blue on the tape, and you lean over her,
muttering words I can't quite understand.  You reach out toward
her mouth slowly, but then she gasps involuntarily for breath. 
Once.  Twice.  You step out of the frame as the girl continues to
gasp and choke for air.  Her arms come up in a violent jerk, her
hands held out at strange angles in the air.  It is as if she was
waiting to receive a cafeteria tray or a baby into her arms.

Then, slowly, her arms lower, she breathes steadily, and
apparently she slips into a deeper level of unconsciousness once
again.   You return to the frame, briefly at the edge, and then
the camera is lifted again and put to gathering close-ups of the
mess you made.  The camera zooms in to linger over her sloppy,
reddened cunt.  The slug-like slime trail of your own pussy has
not quite dried on her belly and her breasts.  And her face is
like a glazed doughnut.

The camera catches your satisfied little chuckle.

Cut to you stepping away from the camera, back on its shelf, and
you with all your clothes on again.  It takes you nearly ten full
minutes to get the girl dressed again, minus the thong.  At no
point on the tape do you wash her down with a washcloth or
anything; and it's clear from the way her face is still shiny and
mottled that she's going to have a nice film of dried pussy
covering her all over.

You do go into your bathroom and return with a brush, restoring
her hair to some small semblance of its former style.  Then you
pick her up beneath her armpits again and drag her out of the
frame.

Empty room.  Eventually the camera stops, and I see nothing but
static.

*   *   *

For a long time, I couldn't move.  My body was simply frozen. 
You still sat there so patiently on the other end of the couch. 
I could hear you breathing.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw
your long feet, your sweet toes, nails painted the lightest
sunset pink.

Finally, as the tape hit its physical end and began to
automatically rewind, you came and sat close, rubbing my arm. 
You smelled like gardenias.  Like the rain.  Your hand was so
soft.

"Craig?  Baby?"  you whispered, leaning in and looking up at me
with a small sweet smile.  You kissed my chin, then my cheeks,
then the tip of my nose.  Finally, you ran your tongue over my
lips, then you spoke to me again.  My cock was painfully bent in
my pants.

"Craig, are you OK?"

I stared into your eyes and slowly nodded.  My throat was dry. 
Embarrassed, I cleared it and looked back at the static on the
TV.  

"GHB?"  I guessed, as I tried to sound casual, but I couldn't
quite manage the easy tone I wanted you to hear.  My mind reeled,
and it was all I could do to keep everything in it from spilling
out my mouth.

But you knew I wouldn't want to blow up at you.  You knew I loved
you that deeply, no matter what crazy or stupid or dangerous
thing you did.

Not even if you showed me even worse things.

Not even if you admitted that you loved it.

You nodded at me.  I had to ask:  "You really like doing that?"

Again, there you were nodding, smiling softly, still rubbing my
arm.  My cock was killing me.  All I wanted was to put it deep
inside your wet hole and find release.  It felt to me like, if I
could do that, then I might not lose it completely.  I might not
scream and shake you and sob like a baby.  Maybe, I thought, if I
could just fuck you right then, it could make you forget about
ever doing that to someone again.  You wouldn't need that because
you'd have me.

I was terrified.  

You knew I would be.  You knew I'd be afraid that you were going
to jail   that you'd be locked away from me.  You knew I'd be
worried that you'd somehow lost your mind and thrown away our
chance at building a life.  I was sweating, panting a little,
dizzy.  You sat close and just rubbed my arm.  

You also knew, though, that I'd be inexorably aroused by what I'd
seen.  I couldn't help myself.  Watching you like that, my God, I
had never been so turned on in my life.  There was a rare and
powerful lust in me, just awakening, stretching out, pushing all
crazy against my insides and smashing through any rational
thought.  Did you really know I'd be like that?  Did you really
know me that well?  

That might've been the moment that scared me the most of all. 

But then I remember being absurdly amazed at how soothing the
sound of television static really was.  The phrase jumped into my
head:  white noise.  How I wanted that kind of calm inside me
just then, instead of the thunder that pounded through my skull.
And through my cock.

"H   How long ago?"  I finally managed to stammer.

You quietly answered, "Four years.  Well, almost five, I guess."
She knew what I was thinking.  "So don't worry about her coming
back around, all right?  It's OK.  Really."

But then you went on, "And, well, I have to tell you....  Before
I went and did that... well, that sort of thing was done to me."

I could only stare at the television and attempt to sit perfectly
still.  The part of me that was horrified and afraid of the
consequences you might face was suddenly at war with a searing
red scream of murder building up within me, ready to launch
itself at the bastard, whoever he was, that took advantage of you
in the same way.

But I wasn't prepared for what you said next.  My violent surging
blood was suddenly just a sludgy, heavy throb, not sure where to
flow or what to fill.

"Girls from a study group of mine got me in the stacks.  Of
course, I didn't know it was them at the time....  One minute I
was drinking a Coke I'd smuggled in from downstairs, then I got
up to pee, and when I came back to my seat... well...."  You
paused long enough to startle me, and I risked a glance at your
face.  You were frowning, your eyes unfocused, seeing back
through a fogged memory.  

I watched you concentrate like that, seeing plainly the light
freckles across your nose, the flecks of green in your blue eyes,
the faintest fuzz of hair that dusted your earlobe.  It calmed
me.  Magnetized me.  Galvanized me.  The steady, serene sight of
you.  My mind drifted:  I thought it maybe wasn't so bad, what
you'd done.  But what if that wasn't the only girl?  I considered
the fugitive life you might someday be forced to lead.  And I saw
myself with you, following you.  I imagined us on the run across
the country, eventually around the world, finally settling in
some nice South American place   or maybe New Zealand or
Australia or Zimbabwe   far from crowds, in a house with a big
porch all around, slow fans stirring the sweet air, and nothing
to do but start a new life together.  

"I still can't remember anything...."  You were speaking in a
calm, normal voice.  You could have been telling me about the
groceries you'd bought at the store, and your voice wouldn't have
sounded any more casual than it did then.  My heart ached at the
realization that you'd kept this story from me for, apparently, a
very long time.  And then it finally hit me, the inevitable
questions that my battered mind could only barely reach:  it had
been a long time since then... so had there been more girls? 
More than just the tall luscious girl I'd just watched almost
die?  More tapes?  More thongs in the closet?

How much did I need to know?  

"Anyway, I woke up at 4 A.M. in that same stack that same
night... there's no way I can ever really explain just how
horrible I felt, but I was in pretty bad shape."  You chuckled
then and ran a hand unconsciously through your hair.  A lump rose
into my throat at your beauty and your easy way.  Enough grace to
shame an angel, that's what you always had.  

"I threw up, like, all the next day."

I watched you as you talked, letting you rub my arm and play a
little with my limp fingers, and I finally began to really focus
on your story.  I knew that library.  I'd been in those stacks. 
It was suddenly all too real in my head, seeing you lying
unconscious and abused.  Some horrid slag's cunt riding your
face.  Mouths on you, hands, sliding bodies.  You sick later,
staggering, sore, confused.  It scared me at first to realize it,
but imagining what you went through shot like a thunderbolt
straight to my aching cock

"The cleaning lady found me and walked me to my bike downstairs,
but I couldn't ride it.  So I just puked into the bushes for a
while and then walked my way back home."

I remember how you caught my eye just then and grinned.  Like
you'd just beaten me for the fifth straight time on Moral Kombat.
 You had such a sparkling smile   I was breathless again.  You
knew what I was feeling.  I could tell you knew.  In the midst of
recalling all that pain and confusion you were shrewdly watching
me, measuring my arousal, taking note of every twitch, every
quiet gasp, every gulp for air.  You knew.

"I skipped class the next two days.  Two!  Did you ever think I
could do that?"  You laughed and suddenly squeezed my arm with a
grip I didn't know you had.  It fucking hurt!  I tried hard not
to flinch, but it was too much.  I couldn't help but react.  I'd
very nearly come in my pants.

You were still chuckling as you went back to gently rubbing my
arm.  "Anyway, I didn't know what to think.  I still don't
remember anything that happened that night.  It was so bizarre.

"But I did have a lot of pain in my vagina and butt.  And I was
so scummy feeling.  Like I'd been layered in grease or
something....  I remember, between the puking and all, just
feeling really   well, really itchy and really sore."

Intense, incongruous emotions raged through me.  It was pitiful,
you having to suffer through that, but I was still so turned on
by it!  At the same time I couldn't help but reel in shock over
something else   your ass had been violated too!  I've always
been amazed at how stupid I was, how I felt no shame at all in
the midst of my ridiculous outrage; but you'd never offered me
your ass, even after all the times I'd begged and worked for it.
I felt a dark stab of jealousy that someone else had gotten into
your sweet dark hole before me.  I found myself wondering, just
for the smallest moment, why I hadn't already taken it by force,
too.  You were so much smaller than me.  Why did somebody else
get to just take what they wanted, while I only got to take what
you chose to give?

"Then, like a month later, I got this tape in the mail."  You
pointed at the coffee table in front of us, and a video cassette
I hadn't noticed before is sitting there with its spine turned
away.  Slowly, you reached out and turned the label to face me. 
The writing on it was in black, feminine cursive:  The Smart
Bitch From Chemistry.

It was like being electrocuted.  Every part of my skin tingled. 
I was going two ways at once again, but yet I couldn't move a
muscle for the strange pain.  There was a kind of strangling lump
stuck high in my throat, and I somehow couldn't do a damn thing.
I wanted to grab that tape and stuff it in the VCR, rip down my
pants, and have your ass around my cock while we watched your ass
take something else way back then.  Yet I also wanted to grab
that tape and throw it to the floor, stomp it to bits, and then
find those girls and make them pay.

So I was frozen, and I did nothing at all.

But then your hand closed around my wrist, holding me steady, and
your mouth was next to my ear, talking firmly.  "It's OK, baby. 
I made it through, didn't I?  Let me tell you the rest first, and
then you'll know how to deal with it.  You have to trust me, OK?
Just let me finish."

I eventually managed a weak nod, and you pointed at an envelope
beside the tape.  The writing on it was different, but still
feminine; your first name was written beautifully across the
finely textured paper.

"That's the letter that came in the package with the tape," you
said.  "It's a confession.  It said who they were, what they did
to me, and why they did it.  The girl who wrote it was totally
torn up with guilt, and she said she deserved to be thrown in
jail for what she'd done to me.  She'd sent me her copy of the
tape and said for me to give it and the letter to the police. 
She said she couldn't stop crying.  It had been a month, OK?  She
was still crying all the time, she said, and was so tortured."

Suddenly a sane, worried boyfriend for perhaps the last moment, I
felt like I had to see if telling all this was somehow taking you
too strongly back, hurting you too much all over again.  I tried
to look into your eyes and figure you out, but all I got back was
a mind knocked off track, once again, by how beautiful you were,
by knowing just how soft your skin always felt against mine, how
deep you could always take me down your throat, how tightly your
long legs could wrap around me, how you tasted first thing in the
morning.  God I wanted you.  

I should have been weeping, pulling you into a comforting
embrace, murmuring soothing nonsense in your ear.  But instead
all I could think about was ripping your clothes off and fucking
your sweet little pink asshole.  All I could think about was
grabbing up fistfuls of your hair as you sucked my slimy cock
until it was clean again and ready for more.

You shook your head, for once not studying me.  You were frowning
again, but in a skewed sort of way.  Like it could've been a
smile there on your face just as easily.  You breathed hard out
of your nose, shaking your head again.  "It's just so weird, you
know?  I still can't remember any of it.  I mean, something
happens   some girl does some crazy shit, and then she's
tormented that much because it's just so horrible... and yet
there's me, the poor little victim who had to live through it
all, and I can't recall one single detail about it!  Not one
thing.  It's amazing, really...."

And I was still frozen.  I was lost to thoughts of you taking
that poor, tormented girl's fist up your ass, taking her friend's
fist up your cunt.  I was lost in a vision of some girl's fat
pussy sliding back and forth over your unconscious, gorgeous
face, your mouth gone slack, your pretty cheek streaked with
drool as some anonymous cunt smeared slime all over your nose and
lips and chin.  And all of that could be on a tape, right fucking
there in front of me.

You cut to the chase, apparently unaware that I was totally gone.
 But, then again, maybe that was already obvious.  Maybe that was
what you were waiting for.  "So I had to do it.  I watched the
tape."  You looked over at it and smiled.  Happily.

"And you know what?  I watched it over and over again.  I was
naked and rubbing myself before I even finished rewinding it that
first time.  I ended up coming so many times that night... I got
sore all over again.  I stuck just about anything up inside me
that would fit.  I made myself bleed, and those girls hadn't even
been that rough with me."

You were blushing, gazing at me cheerfully again, watching me
struggle to imagine what you might have done.  "I mean, I did
things people just don't do, you know?"

To my own amazement, enough of me was still there to mull it
over, to study you for a change.  I found myself for a moment
actually struggling to think it through, to figure it all out. 
Somehow you handled it, didn't you?  Something about you changed.
 Something about you died or maybe was finally set free.  And you
made a choice.  You bought some drugs.  You found a girl   a
tall, curvy girl with a couple tattoos and pierced nipples.  You
dragged her home and rode her face and dragged her back to the
bushes outside her dorm.  You curled her up around an azalea with
her flip-flops under her head to keep the dirt out of her ear. 
Then you went right back home and masturbated over the tape you'd
just made, didn't you?  Fucked yourself for hours, all over
again.

Then along came this guy who loved the you who wasn't really you.
 He loved the old you that he'd known for a few years already,
the old you that he'd finally asked out on a date, finally
kissed, finally fucked.  There was something about him that you
really liked.  What was it?  Was he just a tool?  Was he just a
convenience, a living sex toy, a ready fuck because you could
never fuck yourself enough?  

Or was it because you somehow already knew how hard he'd get,
right from the first moment, if he ever did watch that tape?

So you did it!  You let him move in with you   this guy you
somehow owned, right from the start, head to toe, nose to nuts,
heart and soul   and you knew he'd be the one who'd like watching
what you still craved to do.  That way you'd never have to stop
your hunting; he'd never be able to stop you from doing it.  And
he'd probably, eventually, even take every ounce of blame for
you.  And every gram of punishment.

You went on talking, your voice shaking a little, your hands
flapping helplessly in your lap.  "And   God, Craig   it made me
so horny all the time after that.  I was fucking myself all the
time.  In bathrooms on campus.  At work.  I was going crazy.  My
apartment was a wreck.  I wasn't sleeping.  I wasn't eating.  All
I wanted was orgasms.  I was like, just let me come.  Let me
come.  Let me fucking come, you know?"

For a moment we both sat and stared at the tape again, but there
was no way I could speak or move or even think anymore.  My brain
was done.  Cooked.  I didn't care about theories.  I was through
trying to figure things out.  I was nothing but cock.  Nothing
but blood swelling flesh, hot breath stoking fire.  I was a root
in the dirt, wanting only to do what it does and blind, deaf and
dumb to anything and everything else.  

Then you slid to the floor, between me and the tape on the coffee
table.  You put a hand on each of my knees, and you gave me your
sunniest smile.  Sweat broke out all over my body.  Do you
remember how I started shaking, the way my teeth rattled? 
Looking up at me, taking full measure of my complete
imprisonment, I could tell you had something in mind.  You always
did.

You playfully nudged me, grinning wickedly.  "So, baby, do you
want to watch it?  Want to see how it all started?  How those
girls fucked me?"  The tape was suddenly dropped into my
trembling hands.  Then I was up, staggering for my balance,
lurching toward the VCR.

*   *   *

Later, as your wet, sweaty body melted into mine, as your soft
skin took me in, tore me apart, and kept me   every bit of me  
deep inside, you reached down and opened that cabinet beneath the
television set.  You pushed aside some DVDs, a couple PlayStation
games, and pointed at a stack of tapes, all labeled neatly in
your precise, slanting script.  Girl 2.  Girl 3.  Girl 4.  Girl
5.  And on and on.  

Then you rolled over and reached back, opening your ass for me,
finally letting me in, and you asked me if I wanted to watch
those tapes, too.

"And then, when you're done watching them, can I show you
something else?  Something even better?"  

You asked it so sweetly.  I don't think I'd ever seen you more
beautiful.  You were looking back at me with this light in your
eyes   with this light all around you, really, this glow that was
more than just what was flickering over you from the TV.  I
swear, you were like a naked angel.  I can still see you so
perfectly like that, even after all these years.  Your hair was
tousled, matted, sticking to your neck and shoulders, and your
nose was a little red.  Your lips were swollen, and some of my
semen still clung stickily to a spot on your cheek just below
your left eye.  Your hot, tight asshole was sliding back and
forth on my cock; and there was me, on my knees behind you,
watching you work, ready to come for the third time and doing
nothing but loving everything and anything about you. 

My God, how could I ever say no to you?  How could I ever?



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
by bluepervina
bluepervina[AT]gmail[DOT]com
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www/

Copyright 2007 by bluepervina, all rights reserved.



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