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Subject: RP: Untitled (Bed and Bondage)   MF, bond
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(Note: I am not the author, only the archivist.

The following story contains themes of explicit sex.  If you're not old
enough to be here, you're not old enough to read it.  Scram.)

Usually stories lose their author's attribution.  This one has the
author, but has lost its title.  The present title is just a working
title I've given it.


(Title missing.  Working title:)
Bed and Bondage

My complements to the author, D. Carroll. 


         The room is warm, almost too warm.   I am slightly damp from 
perspiration, and the occasional draft makes me shiver.

          The room is filled with a warm, diffuse light, sunlight through 
heavy lace curtains, giving the place an antique feel.   The air 
smells of potpourri, mingled with red wine and musk.
 
          My eyes travel lazily along the ceiling, until they reach the 
far wall, where a full-length mirror stands across from the foot of 
the bed, tilted slightly forward in its heavy oak frame.   The image 
staring back at me from the mirror commands my attention: a 
exquisite brass four-poster bed, and on it a beautiful woman, 
naked, her arms stretched tautly over her head, and her legs 
reaching out toward the posts at the foot of the bed.

          That's me, with my wrists bound together by that long purple 
band of silk.   That's me, chest rising and falling more quickly than 
usual below tight, shiny skin.   That's me, lying there on the new 
beautiful bed we shopped for for so long, and bought just for this 
purpose.   That's me .  .  .  finally.

          Absorbed as I am in the image of myself, Robert's voice 
startles me.   "You certainly are a beautiful sight, love."  I turn my 
attention to him, as he stands by the side of the bed, a glass of 
wine in his hand, smiling warmly down at me.

          "Robert, kiss me .  .  ." I start to say, but he leans over me, 
and presses his finger to my lips, and says, "Shhhh.   Not a sound."   
But he kisses me anyway, lightly, gently, on the lips.   He takes a 
sip of the wine he is holding, then dips his finger into the glass.   
With his wet finger, he traces my lips, then bends over and licks 
the wine from my lips.   His feather-light touch makes me shiver.

          He continues with the wine, drawing his finger from behind 
my ear to the hollow of my throat, then following with his tongue.   
He traces a line down between my breasts; the evaporating alcohol 
is cold for a moment, but his tongue is warm and soft.   Mmmmmm.  
I was unaware that I had actually made a sound, but Robert warns 
me again, "Silence..."  And so I am silent, eager to please my lover 
and to make this moment perfect for both of us.

          A drop of wine on the left nipple, which hardens instantly, 
before he licks it off with a mere brush of his tongue.   And then the 
same to the right nipple.   His light, fleeting touch has awakened 
my sensitive nipples, and they cry out for more.   I arch my back 
toward his mouth, but he has already moved on to other places.

        A drop of wine on the soft underside of my arm.   A almost-
tickling lick along my navel.   A wet trail along the crease where my 
thigh meets my body.   Each touch a brief spark that awakens and 
arouses a new part of my body, just enough to tease but not 
enough to satisfy.

        He licks a trail of red off of my inner thigh, and I can't contain 
my gasp.   My whole body feels alive, itching for his touch.   I want 
him to lick up, up, to move his tongue between my legs, but he's 
gone again, standing next to the bed, watching my flushed form on 
the bed.   I look up at him, pleading with my eyes, Robert, Robert, 
touch me.  .  .

        "How can I resist those eyes?" he asks, with mock 
mournfulness.   "You don't really want me finish yet, do you?"  My 
body cries yes, but at the same time I savor the delicious 
frustration, and I know the answer.   The question is rhetorical.   
Robert goes to the dresser by the bed, and returns with another 
broad band of soft purple silk, like the ones that bind my wrists and 
ankles.   This one he drapes across my eyes, then lifts my head 
and ties it expertly in place.

        The removal of vision heightens my other senses.   I become 
aware of the sound of cars in the distance, and the wind in the tree 
outside the window.   I become aware of the smell of Robert and 
the smell of me.   I smile and relax, delighting in hypersensitivity of 
my body and the feeling of anticipation.

        I am not disappointed.   Robert starts touching me again, 
returning to the top of my body.   He strokes my face with his 
fingers, and his touch is firmer now, more demanding, more 
satisfying.   He holds my hair, grasping it.   Holding my head firmly, 
he kisses me on the lips, deeply this time; no more fleeting 
touches, this time his kiss is filled with passion, and I meet it with 
my own.

        He breaks the kiss too soon, and leaves me gasping for air.   
Now he is rubbing my body with smooth, firm strokes.   He rubs my 
shoulders, my arms, my sides, my belly.   He rubs my breasts, and 
this time when I arch toward him, he doesn't pull away.   Instead, 
he holds them, kneads them.   He grasps my nipples between his 
fingers, first lightly, but with increasing pressure.   A moan escapes 
my parted lips, but Robert doesn't seem to mind; instead of a 
warning, he pinches my nipples firmly and tugs, and I am suddenly 
dizzy from the pleasure.

        Forgetting my situation, I reach up to wrap my arms around 
him, but the strip of silk holds my hands tightly to the bar between 
the posts at the head of the bed.   Straining against the bonds 
accentuates my frustration and longing, and I moan again.

        Robert continues pulling on my nipples, till they reach a point 
just short of pain, and my back is arched as far up as it will go.   
Once again, he breaks his hold too quickly, but before I have a 
chance to feel disappointed, he replaces his fingers with his mouth 
on my left nipple, sucking it in, pressing it between his tongue and 
teeth, rolling it around with his tongue.

        My breath is quick and ragged now, as I strain towards him.  
He grabs both breasts in his hands, and shifts his mouth to the 
other nipple.   Oooooh.   It feel so good.   And then he stops.

        He pauses, just long enough for the frustration to register on 
my face, and then he resumes his broad hand strokes on my belly, 
and sliding down to my thighs.   He draws his hands down the 
outside of my legs, to my feet.   He rubs each foot with his palms, 
with just enough firmness to avoid tickling me.   He rubs each toe 
with his thumb and draws his fingers along my instep.   Then he 
moves his hands back up my legs, on the inside this time.   His 
broad, smooth hands stop inches before where my thighs meet.
 
        No, don't stop, Robert.  .  .keep going.  .  .up, up, please.   But 
I don't have to say anything.   He knows how badly I want him to 
touch me there, but instead he massages my thighs.   Each stroke 
brings him a hairsbreadth closer to my nether lips.   I strain against 
the bands on my ankles, but they hold my legs apart, making me 
feel exposed and ready for his touch.

        He strokes gently the line where my outer labia meet my 
thighs.   The touch is light and agonizing.   And now he leans 
forward, and I can feel his warm breath against my clit, stirring the 
wispy hair there.   He blows against me, and the coolness against 
the moisture there makes me jump.   I arch toward him, but he still 
doesn't touch me inside; he just keeps maddeningly stroking my 
outer lips.

        He stops.   Just as I am about to start begging him to touch 
me, he brushes my exposed clit with another one of his quick, 
fleeting touches.   The touch is an electric shock through my body.   
It is gone in an instant, but every muscle in my body tenses in that 
instant, straining for his touch.   After a moment, my breath returns 
and my muscles start to relax, and he touches again, briefly, 
sending new waves of pleasure through my taut body.   Oh God, 
how much more of this can I stand?  Please, please, keep going, 
don't stop, Oh God, don't stop.  .  .

        He stops.   Again I start to relax, and this time I feel his 
tongue, pushing its way between my folds.   Carefully avoiding my 
clit, he licks around the foreskin.   He gently sucks my labia into his 
mouth, rubbing his tongue along the underside.   Then the other.   
Then around the clit again.   Then a quick flick of his tongue across 
the tip.   I gasp, realizing that I have been holding my breath.   
Again, the same electricity courses through my body.   Another 
moan.

        After some more teasing, Robert licks my clit again, this time 
firmly.   He draws his tongue in circles around the head, and then 
sucks it into his mouth, pressing it between his teeth and tongue.   
Yes, yes!  Holding my clit between his lips, he flicks it with 
increasing tempo with his tongue.   Then he sucks again, and for a 
timeless moment I am held on the brink, as a washing, tingling 
pleasure starts to spread from between my legs up my back.

        He stops.   The tingling recedes.   No, no, don't stop!  He 
lightly pinches my thighs, and I realize that this time I've actually 
spoken.   I continue to plead with him, Robert, Robert, don't hold 
me here, touch me, touch me.  .  .   I can't see his face with my 
make-shift blindfold on, but I know he is smiling.   That's what he 
was waiting for.

        With that, he slips a finger inside me, and I start thrusting 
eagerly against his hand.   His thumb rubs my clit, lightly but with 
increasing pressure, as the rate of my thrusting increases.   He 
slips another finger in, and starts his own thrusting, faster and 
faster, pressing against my clit, rubbing it, teasing it.   I feel the 
tingling sensation start again.   Please, Robert, let it happen.  .  .  
and he keeps thrusting.   Suddenly my whole body is awash with 
pleasure.   I see white light behind my eyelids, and every muscle in 
my body convulses.   My legs strain against the soft restraints but I 
have no awareness of being tied down.   For a brief, timeless 
moment I am floating, my entire being centered around Robert's 
thrusting hand.

        And before I land, before my convulsions subside, Robert is 
on me, and in me.   He thrusts with such ferocity, such passion, 
that he keeps me floating.   Unbelievably, the pleasure intensifies.   
The entire world consists of me and Robert, pounding, thrusting, 
crying out in pleasure, floating.   I think I scream, but I'm not sure.   
The aching, insistent pleasure lasts forever, and I hear Robert's 
own growling gasps as he joins me on my exquisite plane of 
pleasure.   Yes, Robert, Robert, I love you!

        Slowly the pleasure subsides, the convulsions become less 
intense and further apart.   My body relaxes and I become aware of 
Robert's weight lying heavily on top of me, of the ties that still bind 
my wrists and ankles.   Without getting off me, Robert slips the 
blindfold off over my head.   As I knew it would be, his own faced is 
flushed, his hair in disarray.   Still staying in me, he reaches up and 
unties the strip of cloth that holds my wrists together, and I bring 
them down and wrap my arms tightly around him.

        For a long time we stay that way, my lover's weight against my 
body, my arms holding him close.   For a long time we lay in our 
beautiful new bed, recovering from its first use.   Hopefully the first 
of many.
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