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From: Vanessa Belgrave <vanessabel1973@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Teasers {Vanessa Belgrave} (MF oral)
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Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2006 20:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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  Teasers
  by Vanessa Belgrave
   
     "Damn it, Geof, it fell out again!" Exasperation was evident in 
  the woman's voice. She glared down from a face flushed with desire 
  at the old man over whom she squatted.
     His eyes rolled away, up to the rough beams over their heads, 
  before resettling on hers. "Well, my poor dear, I have only one 
  suggestion."
     "Only one!" she said aggrievedly. "I hope it's not 'Quit!'"
     "On the contrary, it's once more into the breach. Or as the poet 
  said,'Put the devil back in his hole.'"
     Captivated in spite of her irritation, she demanded, "What poet 
  was that?"
     "Bocaccio, in the _Decameron_. Perhaps not a poet."
     She snorted.
     "Did I quote it wrong?" he asked innocently.
     Her hand descended between them and caught the half-wilted 
  "devil," still much more than a handful even in this sorry state.
  "Put him back indeed! Damn it, Geof, do you have the slightest 
  _idea_ how frustrating this is?"
     "For both of us, dear."
     "The more for me, I fear. I'm a woman who loves cervical 
  stimulation, and whenever I first get him there, this ... _devil_ of 
  yours strokes me so thrillingly!" She sighed deeply. "About half a 
  dozen times. Then out it falls."
     He sighed too. "I am indeed sorry, dear Lorelei."
     She stared at him archly. "Do you get dizzy, Geof?"
     "Dizzy?"
     "Is it perhaps that your gaunt frame contains too little blood?"
     "You mean, to keep it stiff? That's cruel, Lorelei."
     "Not so cruel as this teaser."
     She gave the thing in her hand a twist, causing him to wince, then 
  smile.
     He said, "A teaser? I suppose it is, at that -- except believe 
  me, I'd never tease you so if I could help it. Come up on my chest 
  to the more reliable device."
     "An imp?" she asked whimsically. Without hesitation she scooted 
  her knees forward to surround the bearded face while a hand behind 
  her continued to enfold the original device. His tongue touched her.
     She shuddered. "I told you, Geof, be firm, so I don't notice your 
  tickling beard."
     His hands rose and caught the wide, soft hips. Lapping noises 
  arose, followed shortly by feminine whimpering.
     "Oh, god, yes, Geof! When I can't get my womb banged, this ... 
  this ..."
     Her whimpers escalated to wavering cries. She shuddered 
  powerfully and waddled backwards astride his hollow belly. Raising 
  wide buttocks, she settled them over the marvelously restored 
  instrument in her hand, immediately beginning the front to back slide 
  that alternates internal pressure with external.
     Her cries grew even louder for a few seconds but ceased abruptly. 
  "Darn!" she declared with a sigh, only to reissue it as, "Damn!" 
     Lifting her hips, she presented her bush to his beard, ordering, "Try 
  that imp again!"
     One hand remained behind her. By the time her whimpers 
  crescendoed, it clutched firmness. Again her thighs slid down his 
  body. With a twist her ravenous center recaptured him. Shrill cries 
  escaped from a tight throat as the sliding resumed, but shortly cut 
  off with a gurgle. Gritting her teeth, she let herself sag sideways 
  off his body and fall heavily upon the soiled sheet, bouncing them 
  both upon the bed. At sometime Geoffrey had at least obtained a 
  decent mattress.
     His bony hand replaced hers and pumped the soft organ briefly to 
  no avail. He said tentatively,
        "What nature abhors,
        "A devil adores."
     She sniffed. "Are you perchance referring to a vacuum?"
     "Exactly!
        "A delight thou art
        "To tongue, nose and heart.
     "Too bad _dick_ can't fit in there."
     "If it would only _stay_ fit!" She raised her head on an elbow 
  and regarded him sourly. "As to your vacuum, I don't mind starting 
  with one, but my own taste leaves me queasy. Geof, what _is_ your 
  trouble? Is it only me or do you prefer boys?"
     He took a deep breath. "I never tried a boy, though I've reached 
  the age."
     "The _age_?" She chuckled sarcastically. "Does _second 
  childhood_ imply pedophilia?"
     He nodded slightly. "Some truth in that, I think. But no, I've 
  always wanted girls, ah ...
        "Round, nubile and wet-quicked,
        "Standing forth to be pricked ...
  "That's the kind!"
     She said dryly, "Except Colfax was talking about rosebuds."
     "Was he? If so, a close analogy. We do like the same poets!"
     She patted his chest. "One in particular, a certain Geoffrey 
  Landis Standfield, despite his bent for the prurient. Huh, almost 
  poetic myself!" Her hand fell over his on the flaccid manhood. "Too 
  bad _bent_ is the operative word."
     "What bent for the prurient?"
     "Since last week I've read your stuff in the library. At bottom 
  it's all about sex, though I admit you have to think a bit to see it. 
  Otherwise you'd've never found a publisher." She smiled. "My vagina 
  realized it first. _Ada's Delight_ made me as wet-quicked as you 
  could wish."
     He breathed, "Thank you, my dear, for telling me."
     "Which is one reason I've returned for more frustration. May I 
  ask, was Ada real?"
     "Of course she was real! How could any man hope to accurately 
  describe a first vaginal orgasm without articulate female 
  revelation?"
     "If you had denied her, I was going to make that very point! Tell 
  me about her. One among many, was she, after word of this thing got 
  around?"
     "I did tell! Her seduction was the theme of that poem."
  "You mean she really was a nun? Come on -- not from St. Agnes's!"
     "Oh, yes, just up the trail. They sent her to succor me when they 
  missed the smoke from my fire. That was in the first stanza."
     "But ... That poem was published 20 years ago. How long have you 
  lived in this cabin, Geof?"
     "I bought this place 23 years ago, but after Ada I moved back to 
  the city for a long time."
     "Got tired of the peace and quiet, did you?"
     "Tired of the Mother Superior! Ada let herself get pregnant."
     "Poor Geof! Did the Mother Superior put your cabin off limits?"
     "Except to the Mother Superior."
     Lor grinned crookedly. "I can credit that -- with a little 
  imagination. The poem spoke of Ada's awe as well as delight. She 
  told her mistress of this superwang, did she?"
     "I think so." He sighed and shook his head. "That was the most 
  dreadful woman, a real take-charge type."
     "Go on. Or is she commemorated in another poem?"
     "Hardly! I am a romantic, even if prurient. That amazon never 
  had a romantic bone in her body" -- he sniggered -- "except this one!
     "On the day after Ada's last visit, an older nun in a fancier 
  habit came directly into the cabin. It was a warm day so the door 
  stood open. I was first aware of her boots thudding on the floor 
  behind me...
   
  [Narration Font]
   
     She came straight to me and stood over me at my desk. She was a 
  tall, strong woman, rather handsome, I suppose, large as you with 
  broader shoulders, but certainly no sweet librarian. She glared at 
  me and said,"You fancy yourself Geoffrey Standfield, a poet. Instead 
  your true name is John Stark and your true occupation predator upon 
  women."
     "Predator?" I countered. I started to ask who she was, but that 
  was rather obvious. "Perhaps I'm a victim."
     "Victim indeed! Do you claim Ada drew her full womb from your 
  seed sac_by force_?"
     "My ... Her _what_?" This was news to me.
     "She has missed Eve's penance twice, though she first came here 
  only six weeks ago. Now she sits bawling in her cubical, adding to 
  her sin, crying that the blame rises as an oaken shaft between your 
  legs. Show it to me so I can judge."
     "Do what?"
     "Take off your clothing, John Stark, all of it."
     "Look here, madam," I protested. "You can't just waltz in --"
     "No more than you can just duck under a habit and inflame a girl's 
  immortal soul."
     As hinted in the poem, because of my long isolation, the seduction 
  of Ada had indeed been quite sudden. Submission is a nun's lot, of 
  course. It had certainly worked on Ada. In a twinkling she had 
  collapsed on this bed with her habit in her hairy armpits and my 
  tongue on her finger's hairy habit. The memory of that quite 
  undercut my indignation.
     "Take them off, John Stark. Show me this awful shaft."
     I stood up to comply but whimsy struck. "If you show me too."
     Her nose tightened. "I do not disrobe for mere men."
     Ada had refused also, though she might as well have shown me. At 
  that point the woman hovered within arms reach. Exactly as I had 
  done Ada, I stooped suddenly, caught the hem of her garment in either 
  hand and snatched it above her waist, exposing a large and fragrant 
  bush, otherwise unprotected, before my face. Of course my hands 
  darted around her firm buttocks and pulled the honeypot to my tongue. 
  I would have done as much for you that first day if you hadn't been 
  armored in pesky jeans.
     Yes, I believe she protested. She even struck me in the back of 
  the head. Once. Then she sagged with parting legs. While tonguing 
  furiously, not directly on the critical spot -- of course I know 
  better than that -- I lifted her by the buttocks and set her on the 
  desk. She was heavy; it was good I had to bear her no farther. On 
  that perch my lingual effort soon elicited the most full-throated 
  howls, audible even through cool thighs clamping my ears. At her 
  climax she actually tore out a few wisps of my hair. Oh yes: 20 
  years ago I had a full head.
     I raised up and dropped my britches, saying, "Now, madam, it 
  stands inspection."
     The eyes in her flushed face dropped from mine to the object in 
  question-- and widened. Apparently ADA had not fully prepared her. 
  Immediately she fell back atop my papers and drew her heels up to the 
  desk edge, hairy thighs spread to the maximum. Within the pubic 
  profusion fat labia parted to reveal her glistening crimson interior. 
  A healthy pink clitoris gleamed proudly. What she wanted was 
  obvious.
     I gave it to her, most of it, though her nature was as far from 
  Ada's sweet submissiveness as one could imagine. I say "most of it" 
  because, although I served her at least three climaxes, I could not 
  produce one of my own.
     At last she gasped, "Enough, enough, lest tomorrow I be too sore 
  to leave my bed."
     I pulled out the chair and sat facing her while she recovered her 
  breath. "Although," she admitted after a bit, "stopping you was not 
  my heart's desire. Why didn't you finish?"
     I shrugged. "Perhaps I would have."
     She stood beside the desk, letting her habit fall to conceal 
  herself, bracing dizzily for a moment. "I know what it is," she 
  declared with a note of bitterness. "But I want your seed."
     Suddenly she sank to her knees before me and smiled invitingly. 
  "Perhaps enthusiasm can overcome age."
     Her head snapped down and engulfed my cock. Although not as 
  excited, it was still hard. Unlike today, in those days the flesh 
  did not weaken so readily as the spirit. You know my full size. 
  When I was young, the girls called it a "national treasure," a 
  lollipop for them to suckle all day long.
     This middle-aged woman swallowed the whole thing! I could feel 
  her throat close around the knob. One hand cupped my balls, the 
  other caught my hand and tugged it under her habit to close on a 
  pendulous breast. And her head bobbed exactly like a masturbatory 
  fist, stroking the entire shaft. The novelty of it -- Ada's one 
  failing was hating to suck -- roused my spirit at last. I gave her 
  the consummation she demanded, straight down her throat. She 
  swallowed as fast as I delivered. I don't think she spilled a drop.
  She looked up, licking one white dollop off her bottom lip before 
  it could fall. "That's better," she said, getting tiredly to her 
  feet.
     I sat there with cock still standing, feeling curiously 
  unsatisfied. I knew already that an imperious Mother Superior, 
  however complaisant, could never replace sweet little Ada.
     But she didn't know it. "Ada was here yesterday. One day for you 
  is not enough recovery, is it? I'll return in two days, and I want 
  your seed put where it belongs."
     "What if you should share Ada's fate?"
     She grinned complacently. "Childbirth in a nunnery is no 
  scandal."
     "Then your charge of predation was just hype."
     "More than hyperbole: an opportunity. For me. You do have a 
  wonderful shaft."
     "Where does a nun learn to suck cock so well?"
     "Where do you think, poet?" She smiled for the first time as she 
  turned to leave. "And don't look so down-hearted. I'll let Ada 
  return after the birth, if she wishes."
   
  [Normal Font]
   
     "Did she return?"
     "Every second day, rain or shine, always in early evening."
     "And did you finally give her 'all of it?'"
     He sighed. "I never succeeded where she wanted it."
     "Obviously you had no such trouble with Ada, despite her 'one 
  failing.'"
     He smiled reflectively. "I had _no_ trouble with Ada, period!"
     "Did Ada return?"
     He shook his head despondently. "I thought the woman would soon 
  tire of me. Most of these take-charge types find big dicks 
  inadequately subservient. But not this woman! Every two days, 
  reliable as the clock, even through her menses --"
     "_What_?"
     "Apparently some women are more feral than others. And she was 
  careful to leave me clean. I endured her for seven months, then 
  eight. I inquired about Ada and learned she had quit the nunnery 
  with her babe. So I left this cabin to find her. Of course I never 
  did."
     "Searched the world over, did you?"
     "I found other consolation less demanding than the mother 
  superior. Last year my health failed and I retired here. The great 
  irony is that Ada had returned during my absence and left me a 
  bittersweet note. I have a son."
     "My god, go to her!"
     "She has married."
     Lor thought it over and wrinkled her lip. "I suppose the mother 
  superior welcomed you back with open legs."
     "I feared that, but she had also moved on. The nuns do send me 
  the occasional food basket but they've been warned never to cross my 
  doorsill."
     She nodded and sat up. "Reasonable advice to avoid frustration."
     His eyes swung hopefully to hers. He chanted,
        "Lest she doth flute orchestrate,
        "Frustrated is to frustrate."
     "'Flute orchestrate,' indeed! What poet wrote that self-serving 
  claim?"
     His eyes twinkled. "I don't think it's been written yet."
     She made a face but smiled. "Such speed with the rhyme deserves 
  something, I guess."
     She bent over his midsection, her long brown hair, released from 
  its bun during their earlier exercise, concealing his hips. Strong 
  slurps sounded around the flaccid organ.
     He trembled but quipped, "Almost a tune from that flute!"
     She snorted, head bobbing. After stroking her moist back for a 
  moment, he caught her around the hips and tugged strongly, averring, 
  "An orchestra needs more than one instrument."
     Tongue otherwise employed, she agreed by walking her knees over 
  his chest and settling herself upon his face. Wet noises arose from 
  both ends. Soon she was whimpering again, body tightened.
  "Ah, god!" he cried, throwing his head back.
     The whimpering at his midsection ceased. Suddenly the woman flung 
  herself away and spun around, legs slipping off the foot of the bed. 
  She showed a face of wide-eyed consternation, one thick white streak 
  painted from nose to chin, beyond a rigidly upstanding member that 
  arced a last squirt to his navel. She coughed once violently, almost 
  a sneeze, spraying his torso with wet gobbets, and continued to cough 
  rackingly.
     "Damn you, ... Geof!" she gasped when she could. "Why can't you 
  ... fuck right?"
     He shook his head. "That's what Angela asked. Did I strangle 
  you? I'm so sorry."
     "Angela?"
     "The mother superior."
     Lor laughed. "What a name!" She took up the sheet and wiped her 
  face and chest. With breath recovered she managed a grin. "I guess 
  it's not entirely your fault. I was coming and let that monster of 
  yours get right down my throat. Of course you spewed into my 
  trachea." She sighed sadly. "It would've felt _so_ much better 
  where it belongs."
     He raised his hands. "What can I say, sweet Lorelei?"
     She shrugged. Beginning to gather her castoff clothing, she 
  smiled. "At least you can still claim to be a seminal poet."
   
  END
  vanessabel1973@yahoo.com

		
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