Message-ID: <53662asstr$1145693402@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Joris Huysmans" <joriskhuysmans@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Train to Schmertzylvania (mf BBW hist)
Lines: 196
Date: Sat, 22 Apr 2006 04:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Here is this week's BBW tale, set in an unnamed country sometime before the 
wars.  If you enjoy these BBW tales, encourage me for next week by dropping 
a line to joriskhuysmans chez hotmail dot commie.

TRAIN TO SCHMERTZYLVANIA

Sergeant Numskilov slumped against Lieutenant Firkovich drunkenly, the 
exhale after each snore producing a powerful effect of garlic which quickly 
fumigated the entire compartment.  Fourteen more hours of this on the train 
from Lubova to Schmertzylvania-- it was intolerable.  Firkovich propped 
Numskilov up with his own rifle, tucked against his cheek.  With any luck it 
would blow his brains out the next time the train ran over a deer or a 
peasant.

He stepped into the passageway, which was full of toothless old crones 
squatting on the floor, clutching the one chicken they had left, and cursed 
the misfortune that had brought him to this place instead of where he 
belonged, amid the lights and gaiety of gleaming Snerdsk, the capitol.  So 
he had taken the regional governor's wife as his mistress-- who had not done 
such a thing in Snerdsk, if he were as handsome and wealthy as Firkovich?  
What was the point of being in the army, of cutting such a fine figure in 
his dress uniform, with his elegantly waxed mustache and his dark, piercing 
eyes, if not to steal away a minx like Greta from her fat clod of a husband? 
  What chance had he of satisfying the fire that burned within such a woman, 
of appreciating the refinement and skill she, raised in Paris, brought to 
the art of lovemaking?  Was it to be expected that once a month, lying on 
her back in a nightgown raised to her stomach while her whale of a husband 
thrust four or five times inside her, would quench her desires?  Of course 
not-- and yet now here he was, fleeing to the hinterlands to escape the 
scandal which had engulfed them both.

The passageway was full to its end, and so he opened the door between the 
cars, the bitter winter wind cutting through his coat for the instant he was 
outside.  Inside the next car he started to make his way down the hallway-- 
and as he did a door opened and a large woman with the stern look of a 
governess suddenly appeared in his way.  Given the ample and boxy winter 
garments she wore, it was impossible to judge her exact shape, but there was 
certainly enough of her and coats to fill the passageway and block Firkovich 
entirely.  Seeing him, she suddenly locked herself into position and gave 
him a baleful glare.

Firkovich smiled.  "Well, one of us is going to have to go back the way he 
or she came."

The governess said nothing, but only glared at him through the small round 
spectacles squeezed into the puffy skin around her nose.  It seemed as if 
the pulled-back braids on her head tightened further.

"Madam, perhaps if you step back into your compartment for one moment, we 
may each go on our way."

"Do they not teach courtesy to the fairer sex in the army these days, 
lieutenant?"

Firkovich resisted the temptation to say that he had not realized that 
Gorgon was a fairer sex than his own, and simply replied, "Madam, nothing 
would give me greater pleasure than to make way, but unfortunately the aisle 
behind me is full of peasants all the way back to my own compartment.  In 
this case, it would be far easier for you to simply step back into your 
compartment for a moment, and you would have my eternal gratitude."

She sniffed.  "Impossible.  The baby is sleeping with the wet-nurse and 
cannot be disturbed.  I must attend to other business.  Please allow me to 
pass."

Now Firkovich, disdainful of the fate to which his appetites had brought 
him, no longer cared if he acted the gentleman or not.  "Very well, madam, 
you force my hand."  He pushed his way past her, turning her aside with his 
shoulder as he attempted to squeeze through the passageway.  She gasped at 
his impertinence-- and then disaster struck.  Squeezed against the window, 
pinning her with his body against her compartment, somehow he became stuck-- 
it felt as if a part of his uniform had caught on the window latch, perhaps. 
  However it happened, the two of them in their massive, unwieldy winter 
garments were wedged together like a cork in a bottle.

She glared at him with utter hatred.  He laughed at the sheer, humiliating 
mockery the gods were making of him.  "My sincere apologies, madam," he 
said, tipping his hat and then giving the end of his mustache a rakish 
flick.  She harumphed again and looked away.

He tugged at his coat, but it failed to release him.  An idea occurred to 
him-- if he could raise her, slightly, the rest of him would probably slide 
by.  It was a dreadful impertinence to touch her, but scarcely worse than 
the alternative, which was to be stuck with her all the way to 
Schmertzylvania.  What the hell, he thought, and he grabbed her under each 
armpit and tried to hoist her upward.

She shrieked in horror, and seemed ready to faint, but at the same time the 
practical side of her seemed to sense that he had hit upon the only 
solution, and so, gritting her teeth and muttering a prayer to St. Volodymyr 
under her breath, she closed her eyes and let him continue.  He gave her a 
tug upward; nothing.  He tried several more times, putting the whole of his 
body into the effort.

And as he did so he began to sense the shape of the woman underneath all 
those garments.  It was absurd, but he suddenly began to realize that in her 
roundish, pepper-pot way, the severe governess actually had quite a 
curvaceous, womanly figure.  And something else happened as he threw his 
whole body into the act of trying to force her upward-- her breath began to 
become shorter, her head rolled back, and her face flushed as she 
anticipated each upward thrust of his torso.  And then he felt her hands 
grasp his back, squeezing him with each thrust.

Now he felt her breasts, round and massive, under the coat.  She squeezed 
his muscular buttocks.  He planted a kiss on her round, flat face and she 
answered it hungrily, shoving her tongue into his mouth-- what, did she 
study in Paris too?  He desperately wished to be somewhere less public than 
the aisle but feared that succeeding in his aim of dislodging the pair of 
them would break the spell of the only diversion the long train ride had 
offered.

The train suddenly settled fate for him.  It halted, violently, and they 
were both thrown forward, him on top of her in the passageway.  Clouds of 
smoke went past them-- fire!  The boiler must have exploded.  He opened the 
door to the compartment, gently picked up the sleeping charge of the 
frightened wet-nurse, and (cutting a most heroic figure, he couldn't help 
but think) led the four of them out of the compartment and into the snowy 
banks outside.  He could see that the governess, looking at him rescuing the 
precious child who was her life's work and trust, thought he was a veritable 
gift from God, and that the liberties she had granted him in the passageway 
were nothing less than destiny's way of ensuring the safety of them all.

*  *  *

As luck would have it they were not far from the estates of Kronvek, a 
gambling companion of Firkovich's; of course Kronvek was nowhere near his 
own lands, being a man of society and position, but it was nothing for 
Firkovich to hire a sledge to carry them, to talk his way into the hunting 
lodge, and to ensure the child and the wet-nurse's care in the home of one 
of the serf families.  Now the governess, her eyes glowing with admiration 
for him, and he had the hunting lodge all to themselves; and clearly she 
considered the sacrifice of her person the payment she must offer Firkovich 
for the debt of their salvation.

He stoked the fire till it roared enormously inside the old stone hearth, 
and she laid out, daintily, a series of enormous bear skins on the slate 
floor.  Then they stood before each other as man and woman, and she began to 
unbutton her many coats and set them on the trunk.  At last she stood there 
only in a white undergarment, and then she began to unbutton it, revealing 
an ever-expanding view of cleavage between her huge dangling breasts.  Now 
she slipped it over one shoulder, and then the other, and the garment 
dropped to the floor, revealing the massive round mams, the soft white 
belly, the thick, sturdy legs, and between them the blonde pubis.

He quickly removed his own clothing and she averted her eyes from his erect 
member; so he took her hand and put it on his muscular chest as he began to 
massage the big white pillows of her front.  She dropped to the bearskin and 
now she seemed more confident about what they were doing, even raising one 
leg a little to expose her sex slightly.  On the rug she no longer seemed 
fat; in fact her size seemed natural, healthy, robust, her sturdy legs and 
arms seemed strong, her round belly friendly, her huge lolling breasts 
inviting, the frankly lustful look in her round open face free of the guile 
or boredom society women affected; now it was the other women, like Greta or 
Lisette the provost's daughter or the whores at Madame Borodkin's, who 
seemed insubstantial, unreal, and in a real sense undesirable.  He took a 
breast in one hand and sucked the huge round teat, while she ran her hand 
along his chest, down the side of his stomach to his hip, and then let it 
fall, fleetingly, across his manhood.  She did it again and this time she 
grabbed the shaft with one hand, playfully pulling the glans up and down 
over the head.  Well, this wasn't the first time she'd held one, he knew.

Now he nuzzled the vast white belly, and marveled at the unexpected pleasure 
of a woman defined by her ampleness rather than by, in the Parisian fashion, 
her slenderness.  He pushed one thigh up roughly-- this was no china doll 
such as he had loved so often in Snerdsk, but a real woman, substantial and 
strong.  He spread her legs apart and she showed him her pink sex 
unashamedly, and so he buried his head in it, plastering his mustaches 
downward as he licked his way up the wet slit.  She wriggled on the bearskin 
with pleasure, and her huge tits whiplashed from side to side while her 
belly jiggled like Christmas pudding.  Within a few moments she let out wild 
moans, which must have been heard in the nearby serf's hovels, and then her 
huge thick thighs clamped around his head as her behind ground into the fur 
on which they lay.

"Now," she commanded hoarsely, and as he climbed over her her hand grabbed 
his cock and seemed willing to rip it out to stuff it in her waiting sex.  
He mounted her, feeling for the first time the full meaning of that word, as 
she bucked beneath him like a horse.  She fucked fearlessly, pushing him 
backwards with her muscular thighs, thrusting a mammoth tit into his mouth, 
then suddenly producing from near the fireplace a birch rod with which she 
whipped his back to spur him on to ride harder.  A few moments of that and 
he could take it no longer; thrusting deep into her, he shot his seed, as 
she moaned with pleasure and clamped two mighty thighs around him.

He collapsed onto the bearskin, but within a moment she was on top of him, 
her weight bearing down on his groin, her enormous breasts dangling into his 
face, her belly spread out across him like a blanket.  She stroked his sack, 
then began to kiss her way down his belly until she reached his spent 
member, which she took her into her mouth, licking up the seed that had 
dribbled out of it.  It would be at least a day before the wrecked train 
could move again, and she intended to show her gratitude every moment of 
that time.

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