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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2005.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------

Hyla
by Michael (michaelml@aol.com)
 
***

An interlude between two lovers. (MF, rom)

***

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. I am slightly damp from 
perspiration, and the occasional draft makes me shiver.

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: an 
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 so long, and bought just for this 
purpose. That's me... finally.

Absorbed as I am in the image of myself, Michael'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.

"Michael, 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. Mmmmmmm. I 
was unaware that I had actually made a sound, but 
Michael 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. An 
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, 
Michael, Michael, touch me...

"How can I resist those eyes?" he asks, with mock 
mournfulness. "You don't really want me to 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. Michael 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 Michael and the smell of me. I smile 
and relax, delighting in hypersensitivity of my body 
and the feeling of anticipation.

I am not disappointed. Michael 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 Michael 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.

Michael 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 feels 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 Michael, 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, Michael 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, 
Michael, Michael, 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 all his fingers 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, 
Michael, let it happen... and he keeps thrusting. 
Suddenly my whole body is awash with pleasure. 

His hand makes its way deep inside, my lips surround 
his hand filled with pleasure and pain. 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 on Michael's thrusting hand.

And before I land, before my convulsions subside, 
Michael 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 Michael, 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 Michael's own growling gasps as he 
joins me on my exquisite plane of pleasure.

Yes, Michael, Michael, I love you! Slowly the pleasure 
subsides, the convulsions become less intense and 
further apart. My body relaxes and I become aware of 
Michael's weight lying heavily on top of me, of the 
ties that still bind my wrists and ankles. Without 
getting off me, Michael 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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 33