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From: malinov@mindless.com (Malinov)
Subject: {ASS} A Cold Night by Lord Malinov
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A Cold Night
by Lord Malinov
~~~
Ian struck the door furiously and stepped outside. A deep breath of
the chilly night air stung his flush face. Ian reached back
to pull the hood of his grey sweatshirt up over his head. "Shit," he
said fiercely, leaning into the strong wind. Ian's eyes watered,
blurring his vision.
"I don't believe her," he said bitterly. "You're such a liar,
Angie!" he yelled out into the deserted darkness. Ian gritted his
teeth, fighting the cold. "I don't know why I bother."
Ian relaxed slightly as he reached the end of the street, looking up
instinctively to check the road before he left the sidewalk for
frozen asphalt. The initial shock of cold faded into a dull ache as
he dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his long wool coat. "Oh,
well," Ian said aloud, "what did I expect, anyway?" Ian tripped
slightly as he stepped into the sharp incline of street's gutter.
Regaining his balance, Ian stopped and turned back to look at the
highrise he had just left. Counting up and then over, he located the
lit windows of Angie's apartment.
"Yeah, I thought so," Ian said. A figure walked past the window.
"Look!" Ian yelled to absent witnesses, his voice shrill with
anguish. "She changed into her black dress!" Ian felt the burning
sting of mistrust. "Just worn out!" he mocked. Ian shook his head
and turned to enter the narrow path of the park. "She's going to
bed, all right," he said, his voice pained with sarcasm.
An old oak hung a spiny branch over the walkway, dead brown leaves
clinging desperately to the outreaching skeleton. Ian dipped his
head down to avoid the brush of the dormant tree, but a thin finger
caught the hood of his sweatshirt. "Dammit!" he yelled, yanking at
the offending branch. The leaves rattled in the darkness. Inflamed,
Ian tore at the tiny assailant, ripping the young piece of wood from
the ancient sentinel. Ian thrust the shard of oak deep into his
pocket. His fingers ached with cold.
"I don't know why I expect any different," he said. Ian sighed and
carefully started down the sudden decline of the path into the
darker reaches of the park. Taking small steps, Ian imagined Angie
in the black dress he felt certain she wore. The thing he liked
most about that dress was the way the hem swayed from behind when
she walked. Angie had a saucy walk, a light footed bounce that used
both hips and churned her rear end. Ian let himself be battered
between lust and jealousy. When she walked away in that soft black
dress, the hem would dance vigorously, teasing her admirers with
glimpses of her thighs, a vision which particularly excited Ian when
she wore the lace topped stockings that would tickle him with each
momentary glimpse. The warmth of remembering grew in Ian's breast.
A dim blue light crackled overhead as Ian passed the still cream of
a frozen pond. The black path curved around the bank of ice, turning
until the wind came from behind. Ian relaxed slightly and kicked at
a small stone, sending it skittering over the slick surface.
Angie had worn the dress on the Saturday night Ian had taken her to
Nick's and Ian couldn't help but remember sitting on the sofa
talking to Evan when Angie had stood up. Ian turned to see where
she was going, afraid she would find some way to leave him. Angie
bent forward slightly as she talked to Francie, and Ian sat,
stricken silent and wide-eyed, as he watched the hem of that dress
rising just inches away. At once his heart leapt as the first
teasing curves of the lace thigh-highs gripped her white flesh. Ian
had stared, mesmerized at the pretty revelation until a sudden bend
pushed a puff of black satin panties into his private view. Ian
reached down to shift his thickening prick to escape a stiff crease
in his jeans as he stepped over a fallen branch.
"She's probably going to see that Easton piece of shit," Ian scowled.
His heart sank, imagining the tall blonde smiling fellow leering at
the creamy hills of her breasts under the plunging neckline. A hard
throb tore through his chest. Ian remembered all too clearly the
moment when she had allowed him to pull at the dress, exposing the
thick pink rings of her nipples. Ian could almost feel the shiver
that had run through Angie's body as he suckled her titties. He
loved the taste of her soft flesh, the sweet Angie scent that had
been perfectly concentrated in the tangy musk of her wet cunt. Ian
stopped walking, the wind whipping around to cut into his eyes, and
contemplated turning around, confronting Angie as she walked out her
door.
The urge passed reluctantly. As much as Ian felt it was only right
that Angie should be his for more than one night, he also knew that
violent insistence would immediately drive the woman forever away.
Angie would never permit herself to be pushed. Ian lowered his head
and pressed on.
Ian wanted desperately to linger in the ecstasy of that night, but
since Angie had given him a taste of her ambrosia, driving him into
a perpetual fit of famished hunger, she had kept him steadfastly
away. Ian almost wished it had never happened, the kiss that had
brought him into paradise. Perhaps, he thought, she would have let
him remain her confidant and companion if she hadn't turned him
into another one of the dogs howling at her gate. And yet, Ian
knew, given the choice again, he would trade it all for an hour in
her embrace.
The street lights at the edge of the park twinkled behind a tall
cedar, while Ian dove into the decadent memories of Angie's breasts
cupped in his hands, the hot breath of her anxious kiss, the tender
fleshiness of her belly. Ian felt the delicate warmth as he kissed
her pale neck, the golden strands of her long, flowing hair pressed
to his passionate lips. Knelt behind her, Ian had gone wild with the
sudden push of her hips back against his, plunging over and over
into her wet grasp, Angie's "Yes!" as she wrenched him closer with
both hands in his hair, pulling his tongue hard against her pink
throbbing clit. Ian stepped into the street, hurting with pleasure
lost. A car horn blasted him alert.
"Fuck you," he said as the bright lights drove past fast. Ian walked
across, into the eerie glow of a city street. The Saloon announced
its presence in pink neon lights. Ian took the chrome door handle
and stepped into the steamy heat of the bar.
"Earl," he said, stepping up to the bar, "can I have a beer?"
"Sure, Ian," replied the bartender. "Cold night?" Earl clunked the
heavy glass mug onto the bar.
"Fucking freezing," said Ian, pulling a note from his jean pocket.
Earl took the bill and rang the register.
"You're here early," said Earl, handing him his change.
"What else have I got to do?" said Ian after a long drink of the ale.
"Yeah," said Earl, picking up a rag. "What else do we got to do?"
Ian turned to look around the place, dark and soberly quiet. A
couple sat hunched over a plate of fries in one of the booths. Jack
Westin threw darts at a segmented round board. Ian turned the other
way and caught Theresa's smile at a table near the back.
"Ian!" the young woman yelled.
"Oh, well," said Ian, shrugging his shoulders and heading over.
"What else have I got to do?" He scooted around to sit down on the
bench behind the table. "Hey, Terry," he said.
"Hi, Ian," she said, smiling broadly. "I kinda hoped you be here
tonight."
"Yeah," he said, "I didn't plan on it, but I always seem to be
passing by."
"Well," said Theresa, her brown eyes glimmering with delight, "I'm
glad you did." She picked up her beer and took a drink.
"Ah, Terry," Ian said with a twinge of melancholy. "It's good to
have a friend, sometimes."
"Ian," she said, nervously. "I'm glad you think so. Have you," she
paused, choking slightly on her words. Theresa took a drink. "Have
you got any plans for the evening?"
"Nah," said Ian, looking around.
"Well, you want to go see a movie or something?" Theresa looked at
her hands while she spoke. Ian shook his head and then leaned
forward.
"Tell you what, Terry. I don't really feel like doing much tonight."
"Oh," said Theresa, dejected.
"But do you want to just come over to my place? I could use some
company."
"Yes," said Theresa abruptly. "I'd love to. That would be nice."
"All right," said Ian, smiling. "Let's finish our beers and get out
of here." They drank steadily in silence. "Ready?" asked Ian.
"Anytime you are," said Theresa, beaming. She stood and walked
toward the door. Ian watched the grind of her bottom as the girl
almost danced toward the door.
"Yeah," said Ian. "What else have I got to do?"
~~~
Malinov
Power belongs to those who dare. . . Sapere Aude
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