Archive-name: Inspired.Story
From: jfriday@ada.stat.uga.edu (Paul Stacy)
Subject: ARCHIVE: Inspired Story
Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories
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From: scoile@gmuvax2.gmu.edu (Steve Coile)
Newsgroups: alt.sex
Subject: STORY: <untitled>
Summary: a story I wrote -- looking for comments
Message-ID: <1991Jun27.154141.14108@gmuvax2.gmu.edu>
Date: 27 Jun 91 15:41:41 GMT
Sender: scoile@gmuvax2.gmu.edu (eliocs)
Followup-To: alt.sex
Distribution: usa
Organization: George Mason University, Fairfax, Va.
The following is a story I wrote for someone who...well, someone
who inspires me to write such stories. I'd appreciate any com-
ments you folks could offer. I wrote this with little clue what
a woman actually experiences during sex (not being female
myself). I had to go on what I've seen and what I could imagine.
If there's anything BLATANTLY wrong, *let me know!* I don't want
to give this to her if she's just going to end up laughing as
some ridiculous conception I had. Thanks!
Gently a breeze brushes by, rustling the leaves in its pass-
ing. It carries with it the smell of earth and grass and a
stream amidst the trees. The soft pureness of it flows over the
bare skin of your body, spread out amongst the plush grass of the
meadow. A chill courses through you, and you feel a tantalizing
tightness as your nipples harden in response to the wind's ca-
ress. Wispy fingers dance across your face, your stomach, your
legs; you stretch, running your feet and toes through the grass,
causing the blades to gently prick at your exposed bottom.
The warm sun blankets your flesh in light, warmth. Your eyes
closed, you drowse, feeling every inch of your skin soak up
everything around you. You are acutely aware of your nakedness,
of your exposure to all the world around you, and of the touch of
nature. The feeling is strange, exciting, erotic. Your body
cries out for a more substantial touch; the air moving through
the trees, across the field, over you, merely teases. You lift
your arm from the ground where it lay and lightly bring your
right hand down over your breast. Lightly, ever so lightly, your
finger tips brush the smooth skin, again sending a spark down
your back, causing it to arch slightly. The grass slides under-
neath you, again prickling. A whispered moan escapes your lips.
With gentle excitement, your own fingers glide over your skin,
feeling the smoothness of your breast, the pinched tightness of
your nipple. You move your left hand to your stomach, pulled
taught by the arch of your back. As your fingers move over it,
you can feel the hairs, reaching out to meet your fingers' touch.
Heat runs down your legs as you encounter the joint at your hips.
Fingers flick to the flesh of your thigh. You pull your legs up,
and your hands slide down your inner thighs, until they rest at
the base. The desperate heat, the cry for a touch -- your body
begs for release. You give in, and pull a hand over the moist-
ness between your legs, dragging your fingers over that most
tender spot...
Another breeze catches you as you relax your body from the
sudden gripping chill which arced through you. You realize the
tightness of your lips, and part them, wetting them with your
tongue. With a sigh, you again drift your fingers over your
body, eliciting a shiver. Your legs, parted and bent slightly,
feel the breeze pass between them. It carries with it the your
smell, your wanting, and your excitement. Your hands roam more
swiftly this time, over your breasts and down. Now a fire grows
between your legs, and your body aches to quench its thirst.
Your hands move up and down your creamy thighs, restrained,
wishing another would come and drown your fire. Almost hoping,
you concentrate on listening. Only the sound of the leaves and
of the distant brook return. You again become aware of your
surroundings, and the display which you present them. A twinge
from between your legs betrays your excitement. You forget
modesty, almost wishing someone were there, to see you, to admire
you, to want you. You wish I were there.
Again a moan, as you imagine my tongue running down your
sides, then across your stomach, up to your aching breast. The
warm wetness of my mouth surrounding the tightness of your nip-
ple. You feel my hand slide over your hip, down your legs, which
you part in anticipation. My hand gliding around to the inside
of your thigh, rubbing so very close to that spot, brushing the
hairs. Your own hands grip your nipples, pulling slightly,
aching for my touch. Your left hand moves down to your thigh and
glides over your pubes -- a teasing touch you wish could be so
much more. A wetted finger becomes my tongue, gliding over
sensitive flesh, parting your wet libs, probing inside of you.
The pressure as my tongue flicks back and forth across your
throbbing bud -- "oh god," you whisper.
The warmth of my body inflames your legs. It becomes uncom-
fortable to lay still. The grass beneath you tickles your back
as you wrest beneath the hold of my tongue. Your flesh prickles
with fire, your muscles tense with each pass of my tongue over
you. Desperately you reach for me, running your fingers through
my hair, gripping my head, forcing me down. My tongue presses
ever harder, faster, against your spot. The sharp jets of my
breath course over your pink lips. Back and forth, up, down,
every way my tongue causes spasms of pleasure to race through
you.
Tighter and tighter you wind. Your back arches, you legs
thrash out, your arms grip my head, as if to never let it go.
You pull your mouth open, gasping for air. My wet tongue races
across your nerves, pulling you, pushing you, carrying you
across. One side, then the other, up, then down. "Oh god, YES!"
Then, suddenly, my lips suck your bud between them, and you feel
yourself explode into blackness.
BTW, this story IS (of course) copyright 1991, by Steve Coile
(dat's me! :) Hope you all enjoyed it!
Steve "Stevers!" Coile
scoile@gmuvax[{.BITNET|[2].gmu.edu}]
"Maturity is knowing when and where to act immature"
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