From ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu Mon Mar 24 22:45:45 1997
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From: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: A+ Story: Hylla by Michael
Date: 25 Mar 1997 03:45:45 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, OH (USA)
Lines: 237
Message-ID: <5h7hp9$dru@alexander.INS.CWRU.Edu>
Reply-To: ii361@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Ray N. Velez)
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Standard disclaimer: This story contains adult language
and explicit sexual situations and is NOT intended for
minors. If you are a minor or offended by material of
a sexual nature, do not continue reading.
Copyright, 1996 By Michael. Comments to
michaelml@aol.com
=======================================
Hyla
By Michael
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: 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
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
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, 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.
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 around 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.
==============================