Message-ID: <61097asstr$1302423002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Message-ID: <BANLkTik60GTU_=ABzBV8AzMA0_fvK=39WQ@mail.gmail.com> From: blue pervina <bluepervina@gmail.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sat, 9 Apr 2011 20:38:44 -0400 Subject: {ASSM} Crack and Peel - Part 2 {bluepervina} ( MF, exhib, oral, vom ) Lines: 465 Date: Sun, 10 Apr 2011 04:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2011/61097> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: dennyw, RuiJorge Teacher and student can't get enough of each other. They cut class and hook up at his house for vodka and fun on the dirty garage floor. <1st attachment, "crack_and_peel_2_by_bluepervina_assm.doc" begin> Crack and Peel 2 ( MF, exhib, oral, vom ) by bluepervina, 2011 bluepervina@gmail.com www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF ADULT CONSENT or are otherwise forbidden by law to access/view erotic material, do not read anything else in this file. Furthermore, THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. The following story is not a true account, not based upon fact, and is not in any way connected with reality. It is a fantasy. Please do not read this story if you cannot or will not accept that this is purely a work of the imagination. It was the third day of it, deep into it, deep into her. Took me that long to figure out I didn't know her name. Her real name. First, last, "middle i" the name the ethics board would know about, one of these days, if we kept at it. I was a goner for sure. Not that I cared. A nineteen year-old wanted my cock. I was thirty-five, and I wasn't stupid. No time's as ripe as the right here, right now. You know? She was fruit on the vine, swollen, sweet, juicy. And the vine? Tighter every day. Rubbing in the right places, though. A strange, steady squeeze. My head was mush. I'd gone stupid. Well. Obviously. My chest hurt. Ten times a day I swear I was dying, my heart stopping, lurching, stabbing. I knew it wasn't love. Knew it wasn't even lust. I had both with the wife me for her, her for me. And plenty. It was a little weird sometimes, maybe a little messy, but it was fun. Harmless. Married people in private fucking however, whenever. What could be better? She liked to lose control. I liked to take it. Wife and I, we just fit, just right. But this girl what was it about her? How could she want me? How was I that hot? That cool? Why, when so many other nineteen year-old asses had swayed past so many times before, why was hers the one I finally wanted? Hell, I'd already been laid dozens of times before she was even born. I'd fucked nineteen already. Wasn't like it was something new. Wife, she was a wild, white-hot thing at nineteen. God. I didn't forget that for a second. Still saw it in her every day. Still wanted it. I'd already had my nineteen. So why? Why? Fuck. My head fucking hurt. But it's not like I stopped. Not like I made her stop. Stupid, right? Was, am, always will be. Blood pumped then just like it does now. It moves fast, gets in tight places. Things move. Things swell. The soft gets hard and the hard questions hide. So I'll never fucking get it. Not really. Not the how, not the why. It's in there somewhere. She'd show me if I looked. I'm sure she would. Women know this shit. How this game gets played. She's got the cheap-ass board, the pieces, the little tri-lingual fucking rulebook. I know she does. But I'm already gone. Already in. All in. Meet, greet, fuck. Roll the dice. Pick up the pieces. Turn. Lose. Turn. Win. And tie, tie, tie. ***** She was texting me nonstop. Sexting me. Yeah. Suck it. I got the letters in the line, bitch. I got the lingo. Who's old now? Sexting. She to me. Pussy. Ass. Tits. Repeat. Pics. Her cunt in good light, bad light, weird light. Her asshole. God. Her asshole. There was one, her anus half-open, like she gaped it, held a cheek out hard, wide, just to show me inside. It was a red, dark little cave. Wet in there. And hot. Pink and shiny around the rim. Teensy light-blond hairs here and there, damp, matted down. I licked the screen. Yep. Tiny, tiny pixel hole, right on the tip of my tongue. More than once. Pics! Her delicious tits in all manner of exposure. A lot of shots at exactly the same 47-degree angle, the same slippery sheen of motion that killed me every time. I got tons of bathroom moments. The ladies room at the end of my hall, a dozen steps from my classroom door, it was her own little studio. There I was teaching only fifty feet away while she fucked herself in the handicap stall, a foot propped on the rail, fingers jammed in both holes, her phone cocked just so, her focus only a little off. Only a little. All class long. Buzz. Buzzz. Buzzzzzzzz. Girls giggling. Boys squinting, sly. They knew. I had no poker face. I had no game. By the third day the phone was off. Flat full off and in my bag. Her sweet pussy stink practically right there in the room. And I was supposed to explain Shakespeare to these snickering little fucks? By the second day I could hardly talk. I was live-action Elizabethan, my codpiece swollen, my everything so obvious. Why should they read and discuss when all they had to do was show up? Simply watch professor stumble dick-first into Act Two. "Every why hath a wherefore", that's what the old bugger said. Here's teacher, now ...here's the rising action. You figure it out, kids. The dude's fucked, but is he fucked? (Essays due Friday. Double-space and spell check please, spell check! and it's your asses if you copy/paste, you lazy little shits!) ***** So day three. I get to work, fuck her on the floor of my office, go see my boss. I cancel classes. Again. Second time in a week. Tell the department chair I'm still sick, need another day. Cough right in his face when I say it, for added effect. He closes his eyes, covers, cringes. And I'm gone. I need a day away from there. A day at home. With her. She's across campus at one of her classes when I send my own pic. Cock in fist. Great light, flattering angle, no fucking blur. I'm in the car about to head home. I send her three. Bam, bam, bam! Nice pre-cum drool in the last one. Hardly had to stroke at all. I'm fucking ready. Maybe soon I can manage to come enough. Finally settle down. Settle in. That's what I wanted. In. In. In. Maybe I get in her enough, then I'll be all right. Maybe I make it back. I'll be able deal with other things. I'll be able to think and speak, in that order. I'll know what I just said. I'll know what was just said to me. I'll see what's happening in the world around me again. See more than just her high, full tits. Her round, tight ass. Her wet lips around my cock. Her hands on me. Her hands on herself. I need to fuck her more. A whole lot more. That'll work it right out. I'll find the handle for sure. She gets there almost as soon as me. Find out later she'd cut right out of class, ten minutes in. Got my message, saw my cock, and she was gone. I'm in the back of my garage grabbing fresh vodka out of the freezer, haven't even gone inside yet. Granny across the street is watering flowers. Mailman is two houses down. A cat's sitting creepy and still under a bush next door. And they're all staring. And I can't blame them. She pulls up, jumps out, gets to it. Her VW's barely off, and she's barefoot making a bee-line into the garage. Coming right at me. Her skirt is halfway up around her waist. Her panties are gone. Her top, it's in place, more or less, her tits swaying free beneath it. She shoves a hand up her shirt, pinching and pulling. The other hand's yanking the skirt, not even close to getting it right while she skips up to me. Grinning. I smell my own spunk. It's what, thirty minutes old? Barely run out of her yet, not even had time to dry. I reach between her legs and feel it sliming the insides of her tight, smooth thighs. I pull my fingers up lick, suck, taste. She reaches down to get me more, feeds me glob after glob of my own jizz. I open the bottle and give her sips and gulps of Smirnoff. It's only nine-oh-what-the-fuck in the morning, and the garage door's still open. She doesn't care. Her tongue in my mouth is so cold. So perfect. She undresses me while we kiss. I hold the bottle. Then she drinks a little more. Mailman's at the end of my driveway now. I hear his sissy little eco-cart pull up, humming. There's the creak and clack of the hinge on the mailbox, and still the humming. He's hanging out. Getting an eyeful. Don't blame him at all. Granny's still running water. Cat's probably licking ass, though. I would. We're on the garage floor in front of the freezer. My car's a foot away, between us and our little audience. The engine's still hot, ticking down to cool but nowhere near. We're all sweat and stink as soon as we're down there. It's nothing but grunge and pussy. Old oil stains, fresh hot engine, and nineteen year-old cunt. My head's spun and rung, just from the odor of it all. I'm on my back, on the hard smooth floor, and I'm dizzy. High on the fumes. High on the sight of her cunt coming down on my face, her mouth around my cock, her hand milking me. I don't know when mailman leaves, when granny goes in for her nap, when kitty craps and scratches. All I know is she's riding my open mouth and moaning into my nutsack. She's got me all the way to the root, working her throat, slobbering all over my crotch. I want to fuck up against her face, ram her mouth as deep as I can, but she's pressing down hard. She can't take me any deeper. But I have no control. My hips buck. I fuck and I fuck and I fuck. She hunches my face in painful, sudden thrusts. Shudders. Heaves. I hear the rasp and retch and gurgling mess of it all only after I feel it, the warm liquid evidence of her stomach having fits. But she stays on my cock, her throat still working, tongue still sliding, head still grinding her face down, down, down. And that's what makes me come. Sends up one cocktail so she can swallow down another. How could I resist? Then we're laughing. Well, at first that's just me. For her it's mostly coughing. Hands flutter to her hair and back down. Floating. She's with the ghosts of vodkas past and all that. I love how she grins and looks me right in the eye. The lopsided mouth, the smeared makeup. She sits beside me, facing the freezer. I'm facing the bug-splattered grill of my shitty little compact. My feet are up under the engine, heels in a grease stain. She's got wet, red eyes, a busted blood vessel right up against the blue on one side. Snot and vodka leak out both nostrils. Her chin, her cheeks, everything's either slick with saliva, sticky with semen, or both. Little rivers mix together and run down her neck, onto her chest. Her wet tits bounce as she coughs some more, tries to wipe her face without heaving again. Classy little thing. And I'm getting hard again. I hold out the bottle. She swipes it like a pro, gulps down hard. Three giant mouthfuls, the last a swish-and-gargle job. Part of me is worried. A very small part. A girl that small drinking that much, that easily. Fuck. Maybe she's not so different from the wife after all. The puddle I'm sitting in is like oozy, gelatinous water. Nothing solid. Not even weird colors. I wonder when's the last time she ate. A small part again, worrying. And then, no. Do I have to be her dad every other damn second? No. No. Fucking no. So what if she starves herself? So what if she's got some problems? She's screwing a random teacher at her school one who's never even had her in his class, who doesn't even know her proper fucking name. She's got problems. No shit. But doesn't everybody? Somehow? Some way? Damn straight. I congratulate myself. Conscience cleared. I drink the rest of the vodka myself, grateful for the cringe and gasp at the end. "Jeez, Mr. Ferguson," she smirks, squinting at the empty liter of liquid Russian love. "Save some for lunch." I'm not about to try talking yet. I can barely breathe. I shrug and smile and put the mouth of the bottle to her slimy nipple, rocking it back and forth, watching her flesh harden inside the glass. Her breath catches. She's watching her tit, too. Watching me use her a little. "You make me so fucking hot," she whispers. She's sitting cross-legged, fingers working at her pussy, one hand opening, the other sliding, strumming. Her nipple pops free and puckers as I move the bottle to her other tit, twisting and flicking the smooth glass mouth over and around her slick aureola. She's in a trance, staring down at herself... left, right, left, right. Her hands move harder. She's panting. She's gorgeous. She gasps for air as I pull the bottle away, set it down beside us. "I had almost nothing to do with that," I chuckle. "Fucker," she flips me off, then rolls her eyes. Smiling. "You're hilarious, mister." I realize something. "Why don't you just call me Daniel?" "What?" "Daniel. It's my name. Not Mr. Ferguson." "Oh. Daniel." She runs her hands over her stiff nipples, staring down at my half-hard cock. Her chest and neck are flushed. Her eyes don't focus too well as she looks into my face. She's fucked up. "Um..." she starts. Blinks. Recovers. "Danny. Is Danny OK?" "Yeah. I like that." "OK. Danny." She's pinching her nipples, pulling down on them hard, harder than I'd ever do to her myself. Her eyes close. She slowly leans until she's flat on her back, still playing with her breasts. "I'm Missy," she slurs. "But you already knew." Well. Yeah. That's what she's called. I know that. Her friend Jenny calls her that. Boys in the hall talk about hot-assed Missy and all the dirty things they want to do to her. Missy with the tight, incredible body. The short skirts. The high, round tits. Whatever else she's called, though, I have no clue. I only know her by her body. Her bits and pieces. Their feel, their flavor. I only know what she's done with me. For me. To me. What she makes me want to do to her. On her. In her. It bothers me a little. I admit it. Three days of crazy and I got barely even a name. "Short for, what? Melissa?" She chuckles. What a slickster I am. Perfect moment for the small-talk. Right. Her eyes are still closed, hands roaming all over. Her hip is against my hip, her feet pointing the opposite of mine. Her head is almost completely underneath the front bumper of my car as she lies there, gently running her fingertips all over herself. I study her shaved, swollen pussy. She's pink. Leaking. "Nope," she finally mutters. "My grand-dad used to call me 'Little Missy'.... After a while I was, you know... just 'Missy'." "Oh," I'm mumbling, stupid. Her pussy is so close. So wet. "OK." She shifts a little away from me, raises her legs up and out. Her knees bend. She rests one of her thighs across my lap, her calf hooking my waist. She reaches down with both hands and spreads herself wide open. Her eyes still closed. "Go ahead," she whispers. "Go on." I drop one hand, that's all it takes. Crook my elbow a little, work my fingers in. Two in each hole. My thumb for her clit. Time to fly. She mews and rolls her head from side to side, works her hips in a little circle, pushes against me. We work out this nice rhythm that makes her ass dance on the concrete floor. All I can hear is her moaning and the squish and suck of her wet holes against my hand, around my sliding, wiggling fingers. "Oh! Oohhhh! Yeah, mister! Yeah! Yeah! That's it, right there don't st- don't stop!" She comes, her cunt and ass both clamp hard on my fingers, her hands at work again on her red, heaving tits. She's so fucking brutal! Me, I'm hard again, pushing up against the underside of her thigh. Who needs a hole? I'll take whatever I can get. But I don't get far enough. Not before she's done. Her hands fall to the floor. Her mouth is open. She's breathing deep. Smiling. She unwinds her leg from around my waist. Straightens out with a little moan. Stretches long and hard, arms above her head. Her pits are smooth and sopping wet. There's a sheen all over her. She's a slick, tired, drunk little slut. Grinning at me. Her eyes aren't focusing, but she doesn't care at all. "You did it again, mister," she teases. "Mister Danny." Her hand sneaks down, dips, and comes up to my mouth. I'm licking. Sucking. Half-drunk on the vodka, half on her. Fuck. Time for a little ride! I deeply, truly, immediately need to finish. But of course not. Hell no. Suddenly she's just a girl. Her nose wrinkles. Her face screws up. Her hands push me back. Fuck and fuck. "Let's take a shower," she mutters, staggering upright, crashing against my freezer. Then she's slowly off toward the kitchen door. There's dried, dead grass from the lawn mower, I guess somehow stuck all over her back and ass. Her hair is matted against her head. Every inch of her skin is wet, some parts more than others. The soles of her feet are almost black. I can barely stand it. She's wild, nasty, beautiful. It's all I can do not to knock her down and fuck her right there on the threshold into the house. But I let her go. I sit there on the floor of my own garage and watch her perfect dirty ass wobble on into my kitchen. My cock is killing me. I let it go and take a breath. A shower. That's fine with me. The wet's just going to get wetter, at least if I have anything to do with it. So don't fucking start without me. I stagger to my own two feet and nearly crash into the freezer myself. Damn slippery floor. ----- by bluepervina, 2011 bluepervina@gmail.com www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bluepervina/www Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+