Showing posts with label Forced. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Forced. Show all posts

December 7, 2012

Right Here - Flash Fiction Friday

click to enlarge

When I answered the door, I didn't think it would be a problem, I invited him in and said, “Let me go pull on a pair of shorts.”

As I hurried down the hall I heard his footsteps behind me. I started to turn but he grabbed me by the back of the neck, pushing me forward. He said he was going to push me up against a wall and do dirty things to me. I said, “No, don’t!”

He seemed uncertain what to do, but finally made his decision and pushed me face first against the wall. He pressed me hard against the wall, right here. Exactly, right here, my face, see? the oil from my skin, and sweat?

I felt his hand slip down my back, his fingers between my cheeks, and, well, you know how much I love that. All I could say was, “Please. Don’t. Stop.”




This week's Flash Fiction Friday (FFF) challenge phrase (and this is the hard part): Decision. The word limit is 150 or 300 if you do the extra credit of writing both perspectives. (I will have to settle for the Extra Extra credit, but not the Extra).

Reference back to Advizor's blog for the original challenge and other contributions. I hope many of you will one day (next week?) decide to join in the fun, would that be FFFF?

March 16, 2011

Frederick - Courtyard Afternoon

Continued from Agnes makes lunch

Frederick watched her walking away, enjoying the way her body moved. There was a natural flow to the dress, it clung at her hips and accented the shape of her buttocks. The hem of the skirt flipped up to the back of each thigh alternately as she took each step and her hair swung in cadence with her arms. He watched her as she climbed her way back up the spiral stairway until she disappeared into the building.

He turned and walked back toward the far corner of the courtyard. He wanted to inspect the bushes where Agnes had been foraging earlier. He wanted to see where she had gone and what she might have seen. As he approached the shrubs he saw her footprints in the soft soil and could see where she seemed to have carefully stepped over the ground cover and flowers and moved back into the bushes. There was a trail where she had passed most of the way through the bushes and had almost reached the walkway that was hidden behind the hedgerow. Frederick walked on through the hedge and onto the walkway along the edge of the building.

Moving along the edge of the building he heard a movement and rustling inside the shed. The sound made him smile. He spoke in a calm and soft voice, “Hello sweet girl.” Then he moved on along the walkway, past the screening and onto the garden tool shed. In the garden shed he picked up a rake and went about cultivating the ground both he and Agnes had walked across. He took the knife out of it’s sheath and pruned a few errant branches away. Satisfied, he returned the trimmings and the rake to the garden shed. As he walked back he heard the rustling again and he paused to lean in and look through the screening. There she was; such a beauty. He said, “Such a sweet girl,” then moved on and followed the walkway back around the far end of the hedgerow and followed the path back into the opening.

Frederick stood still, enjoying the afternoon sun shining on his back, warming him, soothing his sore muscles. He felt good. Finally he focused his attention on the courtyard. He looked around, surveying the areas where he would need to direct Franco to focus his attention. His mind engaged, trying to calculate the size of crew that would be best for the work to be done.


Off in to the distance he spotted Agnes coming down the stairway with the picnic basket on her arm, once again struggling with the tree branches. When she reached the bottom of the stairs and got out onto the pathway she moved the load to her hand. As she walked up to Frederick he reached out and gave her a broad smile and a small greeting hug.

“Thank you very much, Agnes. I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten lost, but I see you have been very busy.”

He took the basket from her, put his arm around her shoulder and lead her over toward the grassy knoll where they could spread out a picnic spot to sit and have a bite to eat. As they walked, she put her arm around his back. Her hand went around to his opposite side and fell onto the sheath of his knife.

“What is this Frederick?” she asked, grabbing and pulling at the sheath through his shirt.

“It’s a knife.”

Just then he stopped, set the basket on a wooden bench, took out the table cloth and spread it on the ground.

“This will be a nice spot for our little picnic. There is a nice view of the big trees from here and the sun will help keep us warm.”

He took Agnes’s hand and guided her down to a sitting position on the ground, turned and picked up the basket, sat down himself and placed the basket between them. Agnes immediately started pulling out plates and glasses and wrapped bundles of food. She pulled out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Frederick to open. He was pleased that she had chosen mineral water rather than wine as he had suggested. While Agnes busied herself arranging sandwiches and coleslaw onto plates she smiled and handed the fruit to Frederick.

“Perhaps you can use your knife to cut these for us.”

Frederick peeled and sectioned the fruit, arranging pieces on each plate, along with the sandwiches and slaw.

He poured drinks for the two of them, setting the glasses on the bench behind them and then handed a plate to Agnes and took one for himself.

“This is a lovely meal you have prepared for us Agnes. This is much nicer than I imagined I had the making for in the house. Thank you very much.”

He handed her a glass, picked up his, smiled and offered a toast, “Bon appetit.” They tapped their glasses and took a good healthy drink. They both laughed, and settled quietly to eating. As they ate, Frederick talked more about the courtyard, specifically the need to have some maintenance work done. He pointed here and there as he talked, and Agnes followed his conversation and gestures, quietly taking in all of his explanation but not saying anything in response other than the occasional exclamation, indicating her attention and understanding.

After they finished eating, Agnes gathered the plates and linen and glasses and stowed them away back into the basket. Once everything was collected and put away Agnes reached down into the bottom of the basket and pulled out a little bag of wrapped chocolates she had found in the refrigerator. She offered the bag to Frederick who took it, smiling. He reached into the bag, took out a few pieces and offered some back to Agnes. She smiled in return and they ate the little chocolate dessert. When the chocolates were gone, Frederick folded the bag and put it back into the basket, pushed the basket up under the bench and laid back on the ground with his arms crossed under the back of his head. Agnes followed his lead, and laid out on her side facing Frederick and rested her head on her curled arms.


Frederick jerked his head up, not realizing he had even fallen asleep. He was groggy and dazed and disoriented. It seemed almost dark; the sun had gone down behind the buildings and the afternoon shade was heavy. He turned to speak to Agnes but she was not there.

“God damn it,” he thought to himself, “she has wandered off again.

Frederick sprung up and looked around, confused. He turning left, then right, still he could not see her. He walked down to the center of the courtyard where he could see in all directions. Still he could not see her. He walked back to the bench where they had eaten and wondered if her curiosity had drawn her to the corner again. He walked off in that direction looking here and there for her, but she was no where to be found. He reached the corner and there was no sign of her. He cursed again, and turned and headed back. When he rounded the hedges there she was, sitting on the bench, pulling the water bottle and a glass out of the picnic basket.

She stood up and said, “Oh, Frederick, there you are. This is such a beautiful place. I absolutely . . . ”

“Where have you been?” he interrupted.

She half turned and pointed off behind herself and said, “I was just looking at the little pond of koi over there.”

“This is the second time you have wandered off from me, even after I instructed you not to stray.”

“But you were napping and I wanted to let you rest. I heard the little waterfall there and went to have a look at it.”

“I am very disappointed in your behavior and am not sure what it is going to take to impress upon you the importance of following my instructions.”

“But Frederick, I just walked over there by the little pond.”

“Agnes, I told you I understand your curiosity but I cannot have you wandering off.”

“Frederick, I am sorry, I . . .” but she trailed off, lowering her head.

“I have already told you that ‘I am sorry’ is not good enough. When you are with me, you will follow my instructions or there is no point.”

“Frederick, I don’t understand why you are being so mean. Do you not want me to be here? Would you rather I leave?”

Frederick stepped forward and grabbed hold of her shoulder. She had to look up to see his face as he spoke.

“Stand here and be still. I very much want you here, but you can not just roam free. This is the second time you have wandered off, even after I told you not to. I have good reason to insist that you stay put and not go off by yourself.”

He reached down and untied the rope that was around Agnes’s waist, and stretched it out. He folded it in half, took out his knife and cut the rope into two equal pieces. He tossed the pieces over his shoulder.

“Sit down on the bench.”

Agnes just stood there, looking back at Frederick. Frederick looked directly into her eyes, with his own steady gaze. She had a defiant look, although he thought he saw her lip quivering.

“Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

“Sit down Agnes.”

“No.”

“Agnes,” and then he paused with his gaze locked onto her eyes, returning his own resolute determination, "You need to do as you are told, or you can go home right now."

Still she continued to look up at him, unmoving but her eyes were softening. Frederick stood his ground, looking directly into her eyes, his expression placid, but determined.

“Agnes, please sit down on the bench.”

Very slowly, reluctantly, she stepped back, glanced behind herself and sat down on the bench. She sat huddled, looking up at Frederick.

"Are you going to do as you are told?"

She sat and stared, silent, as if still weighing the choices. Then, she slumped in resignation and nodded her head.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Again, she was silent, just nodding her head, settling into the seat even more.

Frederick said, “Trust me Agnes, you will understand soon enough.” She just sat quietly, seemingly resigned to her choice.

Frederick removed the bandannas from around his neck and folded them neatly into a wide blindfold. He went around behind Agnes and placed the blindfold across her eyes then pulled it taut to the back of her head and tied three sound knots. He came back around and asked, “How does that feel? Is it comfortable?”

Her response was a soft and simple, “It is okay.”

“Now I am going to bind your legs and wrists.”

Agnes nodded her head.

Frederick pushed her skirt half way up her thighs then took hold of her knees and positioned them directly together. He wrapped the rope under the back of her knees, then up across the top of her thighs, and back around underneath, three wraps around. Then he wrapped the rope around the coils, down between her thighs and knees, cinching the other wrappings tighter, and tied off the ends.

“Put your hands behind your back.” She balked at this, but Frederick stood in still silence, waiting for her to respond, “Well?” Finally she did as he asked. He went around behind the bench and wrapped the rope around her wrists, and then around itself, just as he had done with her knees. He wrapped the ends of rope through one of the rails of the bench seat and tied it tight.

“Comfortable?”

She did not answer.

After a moment he said, “Sit here and be still. Do not attempt to move or change position. Sit absolutely still. Even if you hear me talking, or I talk to you, do not respond. I need you to be quiet. I will let you know very directly if and when it is okay for you to move or to speak, and until I do, be quiet. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Frederick.”

He put his hands on her shoulders, “I am going away for a few minutes but won’t be far off. If you hear me returning, do not speak to me, be still and be quiet.“

“Please don’t leave me here by myself, not like this.”

“It will be alright Agnes, trust me, you will never be out of my sight, but I need you to be silent and still.”


Frederick walked the path to the hedgerow and turned down the walkway along the edge of the building. When he reached the screening he looked in again and muttered a soft “Hello.” He took out his keys and unlocked the door to the inner room of the shed. He closed and latched the outer door and then took down a leash from the tack wall opposite the inner door. It was a short sturdy leash, perhaps 2 feet long, heavy rolled leather, with brass hardware at one end, and a wrist loop at the other. He draped the leash around the back of his neck and opened the inner door and walked in, closing it behind him.

He stepped forward slowly and bent down on one knee. He spoke in a calm and soft voice, “Hello sweet girl, how are you?” He reached out and took gentle handfuls of jowls and affectionately rubbed with his thumbs. She offered no resistance and clearly enjoyed the affection. He pulled the leash off his shoulders and clipped the brass snap to the ring on the collar. He stood, pulled up on the leash and she got to her feet and followed him to the door.

He led her through the inner door, then unlatched and opened the outer door. They walked on through and out into the courtyard, down the walkway and back toward the clearing. When they turned into the clearing, she started off to the right, almost walking in front of Frederick and nearly tripping him. He jerked on the lead and returned her to his left side and she fell back into a proper pace, at his side and slightly back and half step or so, just as she had been trained.

They followed the winding path and arrived at the clearing and Frederick could see Agnes sitting on the bench, exactly as he had left her although she had crossed her ankles and tucked her feet back under the bench. She did not look relaxed, which did not surprise him. He knew this was a challenging situation for her, for anyone really, to be contained so tightly, bound and blindfolded. He could imagine how her mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all while struggling to accept his control and instruction and accept this predicament.

Rather than sitting relaxed, she seemed hyper-alert. She turned her head in his direction as he approached. It was as if she was watching him coming toward her. When he passed in front of Agnes, Frederick turned and circled around behind the bench and stopped immediately behind her. He saw Agnes make very slight movements of her head as if trying to focus her ears to the sounds around her, but other than that she was remaining completely still and silent, exactly as he had instructed her.

“Agnes, I am going to untie your hands but I want you to keep them behind you. Do not move in anyway. Nod your head slightly if you understand.”

Agnes nodded her head.

Frederick reached down, pulled the knot loose, and unwrapped the rope from around her wrists. Agnes moved her hands to shrug the rope off, but then clasped her hands together again. Frederick pulled the rope loose and let it drop to the ground.

He circled back around in front of the bench, and stopped directly in front of Agnes. He tightened his hold on the lead, pulled it forward and they closed the distance to Agnes.

“Agnes, you are going to feel some movement. I want you to continue to remain calm and still. Understood?”

Agnes slowly moved her head up and down.

“Good girl. You will feel some movement of the bench and maybe some touch. In a minute I am going to reach out and remove your blindfold so you can see. Do not be alarmed. Everything is under control. I have the situation completely in hand.”

Agnes slowly nodded her head again.


Frederick pull the lead forward so the cat was standing directly in front of Agnes, sniffing at her knees, and putting her nose in the air. She was tasting the scent of this stranger in front of her. She was completely calm, but very curious. She turned her head and looked at Frederick and he offered her comfort and calm; more sounds than words. He stepped back and pulled up and forward on the lead. She rose up and moved closer, standing on her hind legs and putting her wide front paws on the bench, on either side of Agnes’s legs. She was eye to eye with Agnes, still sniffing the air around this new person.

She turned her head to Frederick again, and he said, “Good girl, just be calm, everything is fine.”

He realized suddenly that Agnes probably thought he was talking to her, and said, “Okay Agnes, now I am going to remove your blindfold and introduce you to my friend. Close your eyes and only open them on my command. Again, everything is fine, just relax and do not speak yet.”

Frederick sat down on the edge of the bench, reached over and pulled the blindfold up and off Agnes’s head, noticing that her eyes were indeed closed, tightly. He held off saying anything for a minute, to give everything a moment to settle down, and then, “Okay, Agnes, you can open your eyes now.”

Agnes opened her eyes and pulled her head back, startled. Her eyes opened even wider with the realization. There was shock and alarm in her eyes but she did not appear to be panicked. She sat stark still, staring up into the cats face. She was frozen and Frederick noticed that she was holding her breath. Frederick put his hand on her shoulder, massaging, and felt the tension in her muscles.

“Agnes, just relax and let your breath out. Everything is under control and there is no danger here.”

Frederick looked at the cat to affirm his control and saw that she was completely calm, but was definitely curious about this new person.

“This is Sheaden. She belongs to the man who owns the corner building. He is affiliated with the circus company here in town.”

At the mention of her name, the cat reared her head and leaned it to the side, looking at Frederick like she was expecting something. He looked at Agnes and saw she still had not moved, although she was breathing. He rubbed her shoulder and the back of her neck.

“Agnes, she is retired from the circus and was brought here to live a quiet and peaceful life. She is completely tame. She has always been very good with people, but she can be very protective of this space, her home.”

Frederick felt the muscles in her shoulder and back relaxing. He continued to rub her neck and she had turned her gaze to him, watching him speak. She seemed to be drawing calm from his words and relaxed, matter of fact manner.

“You can bring your hands up slowly now and reach out and pet her.”

But Agnes did not make a move, she just sat still, looking back and forth between Frederick and the cat in front of her.

“Go ahead Agnes,” and he slid his hand down her arm and encouraged her to move it forward. “She is familiar with you now and will not react to your attention or touch, other than perhaps to purr.” Frederick hoped this light hearted remark and a smile would help her relax even further.

Agnes slowly brought her hand up and placed it on the side of the cat’s neck, working her fingers into the cat’s fur and scratching slowly, tentatively. Sheaden tilted her head slightly in response to the scratching behind her ear and a deep rumble came from within her chest. Frederick knew the cat liked to be scratched behind the ear and was smiling in her own way.

“She is very much enjoying your attention, you are scratching her in exactly the right place, just behind her ear. She is smiling at you and voicing her pleasure.”

Agnes gave a slight smile to Frederick and continued petting her. Agnes was noticeably more relaxed now, she seemed to feel safe again.

“She is a beautiful animal Frederick, and she does seem friendly and calm. This is why you did not want me exploring on my own?”

“I assure you, if you had come up upon her in her den she would not have been calm and friendly. There is no telling how she would have reacted to you, but I can assure you she would have become very territorial. For now I have her relaxed and under control. Since you are with me, and she was allowed to get a sense of you, this is going to be okay. As long as you are in my company, you do not present a threat to her or her territory.”

Agnes smiled, and nodded. She was now stroking and scratching and caressing the cats head, neck and ears with both hands. Frederick settled on the bench next to Agnes while she played with the cat. He reached down and undid the bindings around her knees. After he was done, he sat back and watched his two girls interacting and enjoying each other. He leaned on the bench back and put his arm around Agnes’s shoulders, massaging them slightly, enjoying the feel of her skin under his hands.

Agnes seemed to take to the cat naturally now. She had lost the palpable sense of fear and was showing a great appreciation for the animal. That pleased him, it was still another interesting twist to this young country girl who seemed to be such a mix of contradictory experiences and perspectives; fascinating.

Finally, Frederick broke into the silence and said that it was getting dark and it would be best for him to return Sheaden to her shed. He told Agnes to gather everything together while he was gone so that when he returned they could go back to the apartment.

“We will get dressed and I will take you out to dinner. It has been a long day, we have been through an ordeal and the weekend is coming. I think we deserve a little celebration.”

Agnes smiled at his suggestion and seemed pleased that the day would continue onto the evening. Frederick was quietly thrilled at the way Agnes responded. As he returned Sheaden to her shed, his thoughts wondered onto just how far he could probably take Agnes. Under the right circumstances, there was probably nothing that she couldn’t do.

From Agnes's perspective

January 14, 2011

Jeans Girl - Friday Flash Fiction

(Source image: "Jeans Girl" by Reinfried Marass. Photo provided by Rozewolf.)
Becky arrived at the diner as the sun was setting. She went in, and I followed a few minutes later. I took a seat at the counter, giving me a perfect view of her in her booth. She smiled, I smiled, she blushed. She’d been my girl until last fall.

While eating her burger and fries, she repeatedly feed quarters into the old Wurlitzer, calling up soulful C/W tunes. She’d sashay across the floor, doing a little two step dance, sexy as hell, flirty as hell too.

When she finished eating, she waved good bye. I waited three minutes, and followed.


I came up behind her as she peered in wondering why the old beast wouldn't start. I wrapped my arms around her, cupping her breasts. I put my mouth against her ear and whispered in a deep gravel voice:

Wild thing, I think you move me
But I wanna know for sure
Come on, let me hold you tight
Come on, come on wild thing,
you make my heart sing.

I leaned forward against Becky’s back, bending her over the fender and reached around for her belt buckle. “Let’s give this relationship a good tuneup.” I tossed the rotor over the windshield into the front seat.


(Use the supplied photo and write a flash fiction of 153-208 words. incorporating the phrase, "...a good tuneup...")
(Click for details on FFF!)

For my birthday I was given the album, The New Bye & Bye: Four New Songs Plus the Best Of the Train Wreck Years, by Chip Taylor & Carrie Rodriguez. Driving to work I was listening to Wild Thing, which was written by Chip Taylor, and originally recorded in 1965 (a year before The Troggs). This rendition is particularly funky and guttural, and it invaded my thoughts as I was imagining the finishing touches of this story.
The album is a great collaboration and plays a lot like a jam session, very lightly produced. The whole album is a fine example of good ole Texas country music, check it out.

December 3, 2010

Always Remember - Flash Fiction Friday

(Source: "Always Remember Your First" - Mick Payton)

The fierceness of the attack took me by surprise. Who was behind me?

He yanked my blouse down off my shoulders; I struggled to push it back up. His arms were around me, unbuckling my belt and shoving my jeans down; I was losing the battle.

His urgency had me off balance. "No! Stop, please!" no reaction. He growled, "It's me, Luke," and he continued. "Stop! God! Oh Please!" I yelled, still he persisted. He hooked his chin over my shoulder, trying to contain and still me. His unshaven stubble was scratchy and roughened the skin of my neck.

I felt the cold hard pressure of his belt buckle, alongside his hot hard persistence.

Suddenly he pushed me forward over some bales of hay, pulled my panties aside, and continued.

(Using this picture, write a flash fiction of between 111-149 words, exactly between
is 130 words; and incorporating the phrase "...scratchy and roughened...")


July 15, 2010

Pinned Down, and positioned

An excerpt . . . from . . . Just Thinking About You, Well, Perhaps not Just . . .
I came into the room and found her lying on her right side, napping, with her back close to the edge of her side of the bed; her knees bent and legs curled up slightly, naked. Her arms were prayer positioned in front of her, wrists together, crossed in fact, with her hands tucked up under her cheek slightly. The depth of her sleep was evident from the sound of her breathing, mixed with the slightest little snoring sound; she seemed completely at rest and at ease.

I stepped up to the edge of the bed, watching her ribcage rise and fall, relishing the curves of her body, the shape of her hips, the way her breasts settled down toward the mattress, and the way her hair fell, almost completely obscuring her face. I placed my right knee onto the bed so that my inner thigh was pressed against the middle of her back, my ankle pressed close against the cheeks of her buttocks, spreading them a little bit apart. She stirred just slightly as my weight shifted her gently, back toward my leg and more firmly against my thigh.

To counter balance the weight shift I swung my left leg over and settled it down against her upper stomach, just below her breasts. As I settled into place she stirred even more, turning her head toward me to see what was going on, why she was suddenly "surrounded". As she looked at me I sat back with some of my weight onto her waist, nearly like settling into the saddle astride a horse, the outward curve of her hip acting much like the upward curve of the back of a saddle. She tried to turn toward me, to roll over onto her back, but she was pinned in place by my thighs and my weight sitting on her hip.

Unable to roll off of her side and face me, she attempted to move her arms, to place her left arm around my waist but I put my hand firmly on her bicep and pushed her arms back down into place, pinning them against the firmness of the mattress. She recognized the intent of my gesture and settled back down, back to that comfortable position on her side. As she settled back down, accepting my presence, I bent forward slightly at the waist, leaning my torso along the side of hers and rested my hand on the mattress loosely gripping a tangle of her hair at the back of her head, pinning her head down, and whispered in her ear . . .

June 7, 2010

On the Bed, then Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker
"Take away my sight please, then I can focus on feeling you . . ."
third -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly the same. Except, on the nightstand, tossed against the base of the lamp, was the scarf which had been twisted around her wrists when he was there last week. He picked them up, there were two silk scarves, tied together at opposite corners to form a large enough loop to twist around 3 or 4 times to provide some bulk and substance. He untied the corners from each other and laid one on top of the other forming a double thickness. He folded them in half diagonally, and then folded in thirds, a nice wide blindfold.

Folded in half, he put it on the corner of the bed next to her pillow, and walked over to the window. He twisted the blinds shut and pulled the curtains across, throwing the room into even deeper darkness. The light from the clock projecting onto the ceiling was now the only illumination. He walked around to the foot of the bed and stood and watched her sleeping. He noticed the water glass and prescription bottle were not on the nightstand. He walked into the bathroom, looked around, looked in the cabinet, and the drawers of the vanity, but the bottle was no where to be seen.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and placed the blindfold over her eyes and held it firmly in place across her face while she struggled with awakening and realization. He leaned forward, put his head down on the pillow and whispered, "It's me, relax." He held her stationary until the reality of recognition settled over her and she calmed herself. Once she recognized what was happening, a smile crossed her lips; and she lifted her head so he could tie the blindfold at the back. As he tied the knot, he noticed the ribbon was no longer pinned to the headboard. "Where is the ribbon bow?" she smiled, but did not answer. "Answer," he muttered, and in response she lifted her head up further and turned her face away from him. He could see the ribbon tied in her hair down by her neck, tied around gathered strands of hair. He took her face in his hand, turned it back toward him and softly chuckled, and kissed her eyes through the blindfold.

"And where is the hobble rope?" he asked. She kicked and flailed at the sheet which was over her legs until they were uncovered, and he could see the rope around her ankles. He burst out laughing, deeply, she was laughing too. When he stopped laughing, he said, "How long have you been wearing these things to bed?"

"This is the fifth night", she said, and they laughed again, and then she looked seriously, "I was beginning to wonder if you might not be coming back."

"Silly girl, you must know me better than that."

He got up and moved to the foot of the bed, and tended to the knots of the hobble rope, cinched them tight so her feet were bound closely together and could not be moved independently. He dragged the back of his fingernails across the soles of her feet, over the tender skin of her instep, but it drew no response. Clearly her feet were not ticklish. He wrapped a hand around each foot; his fingers were over the arches and down the inside, his thumbs pressed into the underside of her arches and the balls of her feet, a massaging motion. He felt the muscles of her feet tensing, a feeling of her trying to pull them away, and moaning and complaining as he pressed harder and deeper.

The more he manipulated her feet, the more she tried to move them. While they were bound at the ankles; she kept moving them side to side, to evade his ministrations. He paused for a minute, and made a little loop on one of the tag ends and slipped it over her big toes, holding them together. She was no longer able to wiggle her feet away from his touch. He kept pressing his thumbs into the muscles of her feet, and she continued to try and pull them away, and continued her moaning and complaining.

He took hold of her ankles and pushed them up the bed, bending her legs at the knees, then with his hands, pressed her knees outward. As her legs fell open, still bound at the ankles, they formed a diamond shape, her crotch, her knees and her ankles. He placed his hands on the bed between her knees, and crawled up onto the foot of the bed, leaning over her legs, kneeling on all fours, with his arms against her knees, keeping them spread open. He moved his head down between her thighs, kissing and nibbling at the tender inner flesh of her right thigh, as his head moved further and further up her leg.

He turned his head downward, opened his mouth and took hold of a good bite of the inner lower back of her thigh, and slowly bit down on it, focusing his senses for any reaction. First he heard a gasp, the sound of a realization of what was happening, but no sign of fear, or dread, or pain, just a gasping and moaning sound, and a reactionary tensing of her thigh muscles. As he bit down harder, he felt her leg try to pull away, but his bite held firm. He was metering his bite so as not to leave a mark, at least not yet, and he as he bit down harder, he waited for further reactions. It came only in the form of her struggling to close her legs, which was blocked by his arms in the backs of her knees, holding them open exactly as they were. He bit down even more, and heard her cry out slightly but she did not make any further attempt to escape.

He let go of the bite and moved his mouth to the top of her thigh and took hold once again. Again she tensed and moaned, but did not offer any resistance or make any move to evade or escape his assault. He bit down even harder this time, realizing he was not biting into such tender flesh, and mostly had a grip of muscle. He held the bite for another minute, working his tongue over her skin, and then let go and moved a few inches further up her thigh. Again she moaned and gasped for air, which seemed to be her only reaction. He let go of the third bite and started to move his head across to her left leg. As his nose passed close to her panties, he got the aromatic confirmation of the effect his attentions were having on her.

He paused and nuzzled his chin down against the front of her bikini panties, she immediately thrust her hips up, pushing hard against his chin. He pushed back with equal force, as he moved his chin back and forth, side to side, up and down. He could feel the hardness of her mound against his chin and lower lip, and he opened his mouth and took in a mouthful of the material of her panties, and a substantial amount of her pubic hair as well. They held each other that way, him locked onto the material of her panties and hair, and her pushing up, grinding against his chin while he moved his jaw slowly, pressing back against her thrusting.

Startled, he felt her hands on either side of his head, fingers curled in his hair, gripping him and lifting him up, and away, and he let go of his mouthful of material. She has originally had her hand tucked under the pillow, under her head, and he had neglected to bind or restrain them in anyway. He let her guide his head up and toward her stomach, and he moved his arms from between her knees, up to either side of her waist, pushing down on the bed, and crawled up so his hips were now where his arms had been, still occupying the space between her flailed out knees, maintaining the open diamond posture.

Once he had himself balanced on his knees again, he taking hold of each of her wrists, pulling them down to her side, and pushed them down under the small of her back. He held them there with his own, and balanced on his elbows. He shifted his weight forward, and pressed up to kiss her. She felt his movement, sensed his target and turn her head to meet his lips, and they kissed, long and hard. The weight of his body lay completely on hers, pressing her down into the mattress, overwhelming and nearly completely covering her.

As they continued the kiss, his hands moved to lift her legs and bound ankles, so they were wrapped around his hips, also lifting her knees up toward her shoulders. He reached down and pulled the leg band of her bikinis to the side, his fingers spread her open, and he slid in. He pressed deep, and slowly filled her completely, deeper and deeper, pressing, moving just slightly, a slow rocking motion. They kissed more passionately, both clenching their muscles, feeling each other pulsing, pressed closer and closer together, filling, accepting. Her body stiffened, legs clenched, release, and he collapsed forward down on top of her, still kissing her mouth fully. His fingers were buried in her hair as she was shook, stiffened, and clenched; hips rising, pushing up. Then easing, and relaxed, but being still, fully engaged, connected, breathing in unison.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and he shifted and rolled them onto their sides, arms and legs moving and disengaging slightly. She rolled over to her other side, with her back to him and her head resting on his arm. She shifted and pushed hard back, spooned against him, and pulled his other arm over and around her, and tucked it between her breasts, and held it firmly in place, hugging it. She was still bound at the ankles, blindfold still in place. He buried his nose and mouth into her hair and neck. He nuzzled and kissed her softly, tenderly biting into her neck and shoulder, enough to apply pressure, more for presence/comfort than challenge, and she drifted off to sleep. Listening to her soft breathing and sleeping sounds, he drifted off too.

He awoke to the light of the sun rise shining visible around the edges of the curtains and blinds, feeling very relaxed, deeply sleepy. He slowly and gently disentangled himself, kissed the back of her neck, between her shoulder blades, ran his fingers down the length of her backbone, caressed her hip and bottom, and carefully moved himself out of bed.

He walked over to the chair, pulled on his clothes, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

And then, much later, one Sunday afternoon . . .

May 21, 2010

On a Bed, Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker
second -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. Everything seemed exactly as it was previously, a place for everything and everything in its place. The night stands were the same, the bedspread, sheets, the furniture, everything looked the same. He looked at the clock projection again, and then his watch, and smiled, perfectly in sync.

He walked over to the left side of the bed and looked down at her. She was sleeping curled in a nearly fetal position, on her right side, facing him, knees pulled up, back curved, and hands down between her thighs. She was sleeping very close to the left side of the bed, not in the middle like before. He noticed with a smile that she had a scarf twisted loosely, but effectively around her wrists. It was an instruction he had issued several times and she had said she complied, but this was the first time he was actually seeing how she looked bound that way, and he found it stimulating in a strangely satisfying, "Mine", sort of way.

She was wearing a pair of bikini panties similar to last time, and again, her breasts were bare. Last time she had been laying flat down on her stomach, but this time, they were squeezed between her upper arms. Her ample breasts appeared even larger being contained in that way and her nipples were semi erect. Not hard and prominent as they were when she was aroused, but there was clear definition and swelling up from her aureoles. Her hair was tousled about her head, neck and shoulders, and it appeared to be longer. Obviously she was letting it grow longer; another "suggestion" he had made.

As he stood there, he looked around at the bed and night stand, the armoire and then at the headboard. In the dim moonlight, he noticed something at the center of the headboard, at the top edge. He leaned closer and saw that a stick pin was holding the ribbon and bow that he had fashioned in her hair the last time he visited. He reached down for the prescription bottle on the night stand and could feel it was full, and new, compared to the bottle that had been there last time. It suggested that she was using this sleeping aid on a regular, perhaps even on a nightly basis. He leaned in close, wiped her forehead and temple, hair smoothed out of your face, and looked at her eyes, looking for any sign that she might actually be partially awake.

Since she was sleeping so close to the edge of the bed, and facing in his direction, he gently settled himself on the edge of the bed, almost up against the front of her thighs, rather than down further where he might normally have seated himself, closer to her legs, her thighs and her bottom. As he sat there, lightly brushing her hair out of her face, suddenly he was startled and nearly jumped up. She abruptly stirred and shifted, she pulled her arms up and out, and placed her forearm on top of his thigh, her bound wrists hooked over his knee. She stretched out and put her head onto her arm, resting the side of her face and her temple directly against the side of his knee. Her position also pressed her breast and nipple hard against the side of his leg. This would not have bothered him much, but being spring time, with warmer weather, he had worn a pair of baggy surfer style shorts, and her warm soft flesh was pressed up against his bare leg. He was excited by the feel of her skin against his.
.
He sat there mesmerized by the feel of her breast pressing into his thigh, and the surges of warm air puffing through the hair on the back of his thigh as she breathed. As he sat there, he lightly touched her hair, decided that rather than try to move her, or slide himself out from under her embrace, he would just wait a while until she changed position again. The next time she rustled he would be able to slide his leg down off the edge of the bed as she was shifting around and extricate himself. He was in no hurry to go, and while this predicament was impeding his plans for the visit, he was very much enjoying his entrapment.

Again, like the last visit his attention was drawn to that spot near her bottom, that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. He'd always had a fondness for that shape of her body, and the contour of her bottom. He reached over and placed the palm of his hand fully on the upper part of the back of her thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin, and gently slipped the tips of a couple fingers up under the leg band of her panties. Just as he was about to move his hand further down in between and inside her thighs she started to stir again, he froze in place. She rolled toward the center of the bed, nearly on her back and drug her bound wrists across his thigh and back onto the mattress. As she moved, he pulled back his arm, and hand fell to the mattress. She pushed her hands up under her pillow, rolled back over and put her cheek on the pillow on top of her hands. She twisted her torso so she was once again nearly flat on her stomach. He sat still, waiting to see if she had settled, looking up and down the length of her lovely body, at her smooth skin and her well toned muscles. She seemed to be back sleeping soundly and settled again.

He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of soft cotton rope he had brought with him. He returned to the bed, walked down to the foot, where her ankles were lying side by side and lightly placed the center of the rope over her left ankle. He then took the tag end and passed it under her ankle, pulling up most of the slack and then made a figure eight cross over between her ankles. He wrapped the each end of the rope twice around her right ankle, made a second figure eight crisscross back to her left ankle, once around again and then between her ankles tied a double knot with the small bits of rope left. It was effectively fashioned in the style of a loose hobble. Clearly she had taken the sleeping pills again tonight, or all of the fussing with her feet and ankles would surely have woken her up. He stood back, admiring his handiwork and watched her breathing, listening to her slight snoring sound and looked up and smiled again at the ribbon on the headboard.

He walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.

As he drove off, he said out loud to himself, "Third time is a charm."
. . . continued . . .

May 12, 2010

In a Bedroom, Sleeping

The Consensual Stalker

first -
He walked into the room, sat in the large overstuffed chair in the corner, and looked all around. There was the bathroom door off to the right, and on the opposite wall, the closet door, and in between a large armoire that held some folded clothes and a television set. He thought, what an interesting place to conceal a small camera. And on the wall opposite, there was a queen size bed, with a nightstand on either side, each with a lamp, and one with a clock that shines the time in a circle on the ceiling:

12:55 A
Sunday

He looked at his watch, and noticed a difference, pulled out the stem and adjusted it to 12:57, centered the second hand at zero, and waited for 12:57 to appear on the ceiling, then pushed the stem back in; there, perfect.

He got up and walked over to the bed, and looked at the items on the far night stand, just the lamp, the clock, a couple of magazines and a paperback book. On the near night stand was the matching lamp, a cell phone, a glass of water and a prescription bottle. He picked up the bottle and read the label, Dalmane, Take as needed for sleep.

She was sound asleep, making a soft slow breathing sound, not quite a snore. She laid flat face down, arms wrapped around her pillow, head resting on her left cheek, her hair spread across her cheek, her forehead, her neck and shoulders. Her right leg was pulled up and out, bent at the knee. She was wearing a pair of bikini panties, nothing else. He put his hand on the headboard, and leaned over looking down at her, she seemed to have the slightest smile on her face, but was definitely deep in sleep.

With his free hand he began to ever so lightly trace one fingertip across her shoulders, and down across her biceps, over her elbow and down her forearm to her wrist. Then he ran the fingertip slowly back up her arm, across her shoulders and down the other arm. She did not stir or seem to sense his touch in any way. He wondered if she was that sound a sleeper, or if the sleeping pill had dulled her senses. He ran his fingertip back up her arm, to her shoulders and ran it up and down her neck, at the back first, then up the sides and back, and still there was no reaction.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he put two fingers at the base of her neck, and begin tracing then down either side of her backbone, circling it, over, back and forth, and then down to the next bone, pressing ever so slightly, a tender teasing touch. He continued working down each vertebrae, down to the curve of the small of her back, and then back up the rising slope toward her buttocks, lightly massaging her skin, up and down and then back up, an inch or so at a time. When he reached the waist band of her panties, he turned his hand and pushed the fingers under the waistband spreading her cheeks apart just slightly as his fingers slide deeper and deeper into the cleft. The waistband slipped up his fingers and onto the back of his hand, and he stopped. With his fingers resting between her cheeks, he suddenly considered how much he had touched her, with absolutely no response, what so ever.

He stopped and was very still for a moment, not moving his hand, listening for her breathing. It was still soft and steady, calm and nearly that same soft snoring sound. He slowly began to reverse his movement and trace his two fingers back up her spine, back toward her neck. When his fingers reached the base of her neck, he massaged her neck at her hairline, up the sides and back down to her shoulders, still, no reaction. He lifted his hand off of her skin and just sat, looking at her back heave and settle slowly as she slept, undisturbed. He was tempted to jostle her and awaken her, but decided better of it, thinking that he ought to leave soon.

He looked over her body, so lovely and calm, so relaxed in her sleep. His gaze went to the back of the thigh of her bent leg, and that spot where her buttock turned to her thigh. He reached over and placed the palm of his hand fully on the upper part of the back of her thigh, feeling the warmth and softness of her skin, it aroused him to touch her so intimately. He thought better of it, removed his hand, and stood up, looking up and down the length of her lovely nearly naked body, her smooth skin and her well toned muscles.

He moved back to the headboard, braced himself and leaned over again, and looked down at her face, she still had that same partial smile, partially covered by her tousled hair. With the fingers of his free hand he gently combed her hair back, off of her face, up over the side of her head and tucked as much as he could behind the back of her ear. He could now clearly see her face and the side of her neck. He walked over to his jacket, reached into the pocket and took out the length of ribbon he had brought with him. He returned to the side of the bed, combed more of her hair back into the semblance of pony tail, and tied the ribbon around the gathered strands of hair, and then fashioned a bow.

He walked over to the chair, picked up his jacket and walked out of the room, down the hall, across the living room and out the front door, locking it behind him.
. . . continued . . .

April 22, 2010

Bring Your Stalker to Work Day

The Consensual Stalker

"Designed to be more than a day camp, the Bring Your Stalker to Work Day program goes beyond the average “shadow” an adult. This will provide your stalker an opportunity to share how they envision your future and begin steps toward their end goals. We have designed the day in a hands-on and interactive manner that’s key to their achieving success. Each year, development of new interactive activities assists us in taking stalkers to the future they dream of."

I had followed her to work on several occasions, and was now familiar with her morning routine. She would pull into the parking garage, emerge and walk several blocks to the office building, and board the elevator. A very consistent routine, little variation in time or pattern. Most mornings she would talk on the phone and/or send text messages, juggling books and folders, and a purse and tote bag. For the past couple days I had boarded the elevator with her and selected the top floor, noting which floor was hers when she left the elevator.

I rode up two floors further, got off the elevator and took the stairs two flights down. I surveyed the hallways and corridors, and peeked into office areas where doors were open or ajar, and finally found her. I noted that her office space was a small odd shaped room and appeared to contain just two desks, hers off to the right, and a older man was at the desk to the left. One whole wall of the office was outside windows, but the door was solid, with no glass security panel. Once the door was closed, there was no way for intruders or visitors to see if any one was in. I had noticed that the older man seemed to be away from the office this week. Today would be different . . .
.

Today I watched her arrive at work and head into her building. I waited about ten minutes and boarded the elevator, went one extra floor up, walked back down one flight and down the corridor. As usual, the door was open and slightly ajar. I glanced through the opening and saw her busying herself with her computer, putting on headphones, swaying to some music and sipping a cup of coffee. I pushed the door open just slightly more . . . the door moved about a foot, with no noise, or apparent commotion. As I looked around the edge, she seemed oblivious to the movement, so I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open, up against the cabinet behind it, and stepped back just to be sure.

After a few moments, I stepped into the doorway, paused, and them stepped into the room. No reaction, so I quietly swung the door closed and stepped up behind her, still nothing. I moved slightly to the right when she swung her chair to the left to open a drawer, but still there was no recognition of any presence in the room, or directly behind her. As she settled back to her workstation she seemed to catch a reflection in the window or her computer screen, I knelt down on one knee behind her and her chair as she glanced around, and then shrugged.
.

I stood back up, leaned forward, and simultaneously pulled her glasses and headphones off with one hand and placed the other hand over her eyes. Then I quickly moved the first hand, covered her mouth, and whispered into her ear, "It is me, just relax." I held her as stationary as possible as she struggled, until the glow of recognition settled over her. Even as she struggled I moved my hand from her mouth, onto her throat, up under her chin, tilted her head back and placed my mouth over hers. I held the kiss, long, longer, I had forgotten how wonderfully soft and warm and pliable her lips were, how her kiss felt and the way she moved, both her jaw and her tongue. I lifted momentarily and repositioned my mouth onto hers again, and savored the sound of her breathing through her nostrils and the swelling of her breasts as she struggled for air. I lifted my mouth slightly so we could both breath through the corners of our mouths without ending this prolonged kiss.

Even as I sucked air out of her lungs, pumped it back in, I was drawn to the pulse of her breathing through the expansion and contraction of her chest, and the swelling of her wonderfully full breasts. I was captivated by the sight of her hardening nipples, pressing through her shirt and sweater, and presumably even her bra beneath them. I reached down and took a grip on one nipple through all of that clothing and pinched tightly, and felt her gasp for air, nearly sucking my breath right out of my mouth this time. I continued to twist and pull, and elicited the most wonderful, guttural groan from deep in her throat, followed by a soft humming sound. I moved my hand and tore open the top two buttons of her shirt so that the opening matched the contour of her v-neck sweater.
.
As I placed my palm on her upper chest I could feel her warm skin, and her breathing, and as my hand slid inside her shirt, I could feel her heart beating and her long deep breaths. Once again heard that guttural growl, and I detected a slight chuckle, and her mouth was moving as if she were trying to say something. I shoved my hand down inside her shirt, into the cup of her bra, forcing my fingers across her flesh, and took a solid grip on her right breast, pinching and mashing, squeezing and massaging roughly. She squirmed and wiggled in her chair, not trying to escape so much as adjust to the excitement and arousal my continued groping of her breast was provoking.

I lifted my mouth from hers, trailing my tongue across hers, teasing her lips. I continued to hold my hand over her eyes, pulled my hand out of her bra, and said, "Reach down and release the ergo-control so that the back of the chair tilts back."

"What?" she said.

"Release the chair backrest."

She nodded her understanding, and dropped her arms down between the armrests and the seat cushion, and fumbled with the control levers. Suddenly she found the right paddle and the seat back dropped to a 45 degree angle, startling us both. "Close your eyes, tight." She did. I leaned back down and kissed her forehead, her temples, her closed eyes, the sides of her nose, one cheek and then the other, then one last time, her mouth, a slow, tender, full lip kiss.

Now she was laid out with her head fully back, tilted over the edge of the seat back, almost dangling back. My thumb on her chin pushed her lower jaw down and my palm pressed her forehead down and back, forcing her mouth open further. Her body stiffened as she heard the sound of my zipper, and I stepped forward . . .

and then, at her home . . .

January 2, 2010

There You Are, Curled in a Ball

I have recently read a number of short stories by Monocle, from a collection of 100 erotic stories in an e-book, Nightmares and Visions: 100 Flashes of Dark Erotica. Most of his stories are written from the female perspective, I altered the gender from female to male, receiver to doer. From that recast wording I made the following recording.

Beware, this recording is NSFW and contains direct, harsh language, headphones would be good, close to your ears, as I whisper . . . I hope you enjoy it.

November 29, 2009

Building Supplies, part 3

The Consensual Stalker
She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, and it startled her so much that her muscles tightened, and her leg jerked out straight. "Relax, it is okay." She felt his hand move up to the back of her knee, and he lifted her leg up and toward the car door so that her foot was flat on the floor, heel against the front of the seat and her leg was against the door arm rest. She got chills as his hand moved along the underside of her thigh until the side of his hand bumped up against her panties, and his fingers were struggling between the seat and her thigh. Then she felt his fingertip push up into the hamstring muscle, and felt him slowly run his hand back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked into the muscle and the palm of his hand pressed along the abductor. She mused to herself, "what a strange and appropriately inappropriate name for a muscle in such an intimate part of the body," as his hand moved back toward her knee again, fingers digging into her hamstring even deeper.

As his hand got to her knee, she felt it move away and then the back of his hand was pressing the inside of her other knee outward until her leg bumped up against the shifter. She felt a rush of embarrassment at the knowledge of how widely her knees were now spread, recalling how short her dress was, and how likely, or at least possible, it was that he was looking straight up her dress at her panties. She could feel his hand rubbing her knee, and then felt his hand and arm lying across her leg, and again heard the rustling of the packages on the passenger seat. Then there was quiet, although she could hear his deep heavy breathing, indicating his had was likely quite close in front of him. She found herself anticipating the likelihood of another kiss? Wishing? Hopefully? Hmmm.

But still it was quiet, and she could not imagine what he was doing, so close right in front of him, but not touching her, but for his arm brushing across her leg. And then she felt his hand pushing the hem of her dress up the outside of her right leg, tucking the loose material under her leg so that the hem was stretched taut across her lap. And then she felt the same movement on the outside of her left leg. Then, nothing but complete quiet, just the sound of his breathing, no touch. As far up as he pushed her dress, and the way he had spread her knees, she was certain that he had a very clear view of her panties now, and she worried how wet they must appear. She could feel the coolness and was sure that the light colored baby blue material was now several shades darker with her dampness.
.
Then, disrupting the quiet, there was a whooshing sound, something moving through the air, and then silence again. Then the sound again, closer, then silence again. She felt something cool and rough moving across the top of her thigh, rubbing in a circular motion. Then there was a smacking sound as something slapped down onto her skin, just above her knee. That was followed by another, and a pause, and then another, a little harder, and she began to feel a slight sting in the spot where it had landed three times, or was it four? Then there was another, and she realized what she had heard, and was now feeling, was the flat smooth surface of one of the wooden paint stir sticks. As he began a steady rhythm of slaps with the flat surface of the stirrer, he moved the point of contact inch by inch further along the top of her thigh until it was nearly all the way up her thigh. There was a pause, and then he moved the point of contact down the outside of her thigh, and he started to slap her even harder, each slap bringing a sting of its own. She couldn't help herself, she started to protest, and he stopped. And it was silent again.

She couldn't help but feel a little whimper in her breathing, which had quickened as well. She felt something pushing at her lips, and he said, "Open your mouth." She opened it a bit, and he said, "More." And she felt some kind of bulky cloth pushed into her mouth. "Bite down on this." As she did, she felt his fingers pulling back from the material and she bit down harder onto the cloth in her mouth. It has the warm, earthy taste and aroma of something like a wool scarf, and she realized it was the scarf she tossed on the seat along with a light jacket, just in case it was to get cooler in the evening. As she clenched her teeth on the scarf she saw his hand come up over her face, and she cringed, what large hands he had, she had never seen them before now. He reached up and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes, and positioned it in place. Then it was quiet again, and she felt him rubbing the stir stick in that same circular motion against the inside of her upper thigh. An involuntary groan, accompanied by a "No." sound, choked up in her throat.
.
And then the slapping of the wooden stick against her inner thighs resumed. It was a steady and methodical pace, harder and harder each time as the target moved from the inside of her thigh down near her knee, upward to the more tender upper inner thigh and then over onto the top. As the intensity of the strokes increased, her breathing became shorter and shorter, until he would stop, and then there would just be the sound of her gasping at the air, accompanied by nothing but silence. Then he worked his way back down to the knee. Then he moved to the other leg and repeated the cycle; knee, up the inside of her thigh, as far as there was room to swat, then up onto the top of her thigh at the hem of her dress and then down the thigh again. Then back to the other leg. The pain was not overwhelming but was a constant stinging, and after each cycle he would stop and rub his hand back and forth up her inner thigh, bumping up against her at the far reaches of his stroking. Each time his fingers would bump up against her damp panties, he would mutter an appreciative, "Mm-hmmm," and then pause before starting again. She was alternating between the soothing feel of his hand, and then the sharp sting of the flat slaps of the paint stick, and then a few moments of nothing but a dull ache, before he repeated the treatment.

Just as she was expecting him to start again, she felt his hand on her forehead, and realized he was removing the elastic band. He pulled it up and over the top of her head, untangled it from her hair. He put his hand at the back of her neck and lifted her head into an upright position. Her neck and shoulders were tense from that cramped position, how did he know to rub her shoulder, and the base of her neck?

As she begins to settle down, her breathing becoming more steady and calm, she feels his hand curve around the back of her neck, pulling her head forward, until her lips meet his again. But this kiss is calm, soft, warm and deep, not hurried or urgent, tender but strong, almost like a thank you. And as she settled into and savored the kiss, she felt something cold and hard against the inside of her thigh. Still the kiss continued, distracting her from the presence against her thigh, but not completely.
.
She felt his hand, and something cold and hard in it, move further up between her thighs, and then there was something rubbing against the damp material of her panties, the dampness making resistance to the smooth movement of the object up and down. Then his fingers were slipping under the elastic of the leg band, pulling the material out, away, and over to one side. She gasped, now sure that what she had imagined impossible moments earlier was, in fact, true. She felt the hard plastic tip pressing against her, pushing the material of her panties to one side, while simultaneously slipping into her ever so slightly. She moaned and growled louder, sounds of both rejection and pleasure, confused by the feeling, but overwhelmed by the sensation.

As it slipped ever so slightly deeper, she heard him say, "We are going to exercise some muscles, show me some resistance." And his hand pressed it forward, inch by slow inch, rotating and twisting it slightly. "Are your muscles are strong enough to prevent this? Clench and push." Still she felt the pressure and inward movement.

"I am not sure I want to keep you out." she whispered.

"Not me, this thing, this invasive foreign object. It is difficult, even without your resistance." She felt herself shudder and start to shake, her legs stiffen, deep in her throat she growled again.

"Push against me!" And he was pushing in, twisting and twirling, and she could feel the lumpy ridges, she could not exert enough force to overcome his insistence.

"Stop please." And then she was having spasms again, and shaking, she was seeing red. She felt muscle contractions, and this time they did indeed succeed, she gasps, "Please, stop . . . rest." He relaxed the pressure, and let her breathing settle. She felt his hand on the side of her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping the moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Breathe slow, deep and steady breaths, relax," and he continued to rub the side of her face. Slowly she regained her balance, letting out slow, long, deep exhalations.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded her head, and smiled. She was calm again, her breathing settled. She so much wanted to look into this man's eyes, but she just let her head fall back against the head rest, and sighed.

As she settled back, she felt his gentle but firm push again, and she felt slight contractions, anticipating a renewed assault on her senses. Then he pushed her knees together and she felt something being wrapped around her thighs just above knees, holding her legs tightly together. And he pushed gently, deeper again, and her closed thighs held it in place. Again she felt shaky, she felt at the edge of more spasms, but then he relaxed the pressure, and removed his hand.

She felt something cold, hard and metallic against the back of her wrist. "Be still," he said. Then the sound of snip . . . and, snip, at the other wrist. "Be still, don't move your hands yet," he repeated. She sat there in the quiet, flexing her fingers, stretching them out, twisting her wrists, getting circulation back into her hands.

"Now? Can I move now?” she asked, but there was no answer, just quiet. Tentatively she pulled back her hands, nothing. Then she moved her hands to her face, and pushed the blindfold up onto her forehead, eyes squinting from the shock of long being deprived of light. She finally blinked, and slowly opened them, looked to her left, no one there.

She heard a noise behind her, looked up and saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was the large black sedan backing away from behind her car. Over on the passenger’s seat, she hears her text message chiming once again. She picking it up and read the message, "Go home. Take a long hot shower. Lie down for a nap. I will call you later."

trois et fait

October 25, 2009

Building Supplies, part 2 of 3

The Consensual Stalker
She sat there, quiet and still, breathing heavily with anticipation, head down and gripping the steering wheel, suddenly there was movement out of the corner of her eye. He was reaching in through the window and she felt something being pulled down over her head, and positioned. She realizing it was a sleeping mask style of blindfold. As he settled it into place, the darkness calmed her, and she was surprised how happy she felt to be back under this mans influence again. She instinctively trusted him. There was the sound of rustling packages, and she felt something wrapping around her right wrist, an odd feeling, until she heard the plastic zipping sound, realizing it was a zip tie, binding her wrist/hand to the steering wheel. A sense of vulnerability came over her as she realized she was being restrained in her car, in the parking lot of a building supply store by a stranger, in the middle of the afternoon. And as that thought was sinking in, a zip tie was wrapped around and clinched down onto her left hand as well. Not too tight, but close around her wrist and the steering wheel. She pulled her arms back to see if her hands could slip through, and they wouldn't.

"Yes," he said, "Test the bindings; assure yourself you are trapped here." She pulled and twisted her hands and wrists again, it was certain that she could not disengage her hands from the steering wheel. As she relaxed again, she felt his hand touching her cheek, gently holding her jaw and lifting her head up, and turning it toward him. She was now facing him but could see nothing through the blindfold. As he held her face in his hand, she felt his thumb lightly tracing her cheek, soothing her slightly, and calming her down. And then, unexpectedly, she felt his lips pressing against her. Even before she realized what she was doing, she tilted her head to mesh her lips to his. She was returning his kiss almost instinctively, not really intending to do so, more a reactive gesture, but some how it felt right to her. She was surprised how warm, and soft and comforting his kiss felt.
.
He moved his hand away from her, so he was no longer holding her to him, forcing his kiss on her, but she leaned forward, continuing the kiss, opening her mouth slightly to encourage and entice him in, closer, deeper, wanting him to kiss her more fully. He remained neither closer nor further away, his lips were still pressed lightly against her. Boldly she found herself gripping his lower lip with her teeth and pulling, hoping to draw him nearer, but he remained steady, still not moving closer, but not drawing back either. She bit down harder on his lip and pulled back even more; suddenly she felt a startling slap on her cheek, it jarred her head and she felt shock and puzzlement.

"No!" he said, in a stern and deep tone. He had pulled back away from her; she could no longer feel his breath on her lips or chin. There was a long and deepening silence, and she could not sense any movement. Finally, in a soft, slow, almost sad tone, he said, "I thought you would enjoy soft, sweet kisses, but evidently I was mistaken." She was scared, sorrowful, sad, and unsure what to do. She worried that he might just walk away.

In a very small voice, she said, "Please?"

From a distance, he asked, "What?"

Softly, she responded, "Please . . . please." But there was no response. "Oh, please." She turned her head and leaned forward, as if she could look out the window, as if to find him.

Finally she heard, from startlingly close, "Good girl, thank you baby."

She felt him take her head in both of his hands, "Good girl," and gently, his lips returned to hers. His fingers tangled into the hair on both sides of her head and pulled her to him, deepening the kiss, relaxing his lips, opening them slightly, invitingly. Calming herself, filled with relief, she relaxed and settled into returning the kiss, opening her lips to him, matching his motions, allowing his tongue to slip slowly into her mouth. She sighed.
.
She was amazed how long the kiss lasted, and then another, and another. He had never been this slow and passionate with her. Still with his hands tangled in her hair, gripping her curls tightly, she moved to reposition her mouth, wanting to feel the fullness of his lips, his nose against her right cheek. Then she shifted so it was against her left cheek, all the while, her tongue moved in and out between his lips, touching his tongue when they met, dancing hers around his. A couple times she started to use her teeth on his lips, but felt him start to pull away, just slightly, and she recalled the recent slap, and she reconsidered, satisfying herself with the tenderness of the kisses.

Faintly she heard a rustling noise to her right and realized his hand had left the side of her head. It sounded like he was rummaging through a shopping bag on the passenger seat, her bag? Or his? Not until this moment did she wonder where the blindfold and zip ties had come from. He must have had a bag also. Just then she felt him release his grip on her hair and pull back, ending the kiss. She sensed the rustling of movement around her, and then felt something on her forehead. She felt pressure pushing her head back and down, she was nearly facing straight up toward the roof of the car.

She felt a pulling back, pressuring her head back against the head rest and felt movement, pulling her head slightly this way or that, and felt hands and wrists and arms movement around her neck and shoulders. She could not figure out what on earth he was doing. Finally, everything was calm, but still she could not move her head up off of the headrest, she could barely move it from side to side, just the slightest bit. "Are you uncomfortable?" he asked? She answered. "I am okay."

There was a band across her forehead and she decided it was one of the wide, large elastic bands she had bought. It was pressed across her forehead and back, so her head was pushed against the headrest. She decided that the fumbling around the sides of her head, behind her neck, was him attaching it to the headrest somehow, so that she was fastened, leaning back, facing up, and unable to lift her head up or forward. It was not so tight as to be uncomfortable, but it held her immovable. Again, there was stillness, lack of motion but she could hear him breathing very nearby, a strange quiet, calm. But she realized again, just exactly where she was, and the "circumstances" she was in.

Then she felt his fingers brushing her face, she realized he was pushing the blindfold up onto her forehead. She was startled by how bright the sunlight was, but the way her head was restrained, all she could see was the headliner. She tried looking down her nose, to lean her head down, but could just slightly see the glass of the windshield. Try as she might, she could not see his face, although she caught glimpses of the top of his head, but no more. As she attempted to look at him she saw his movement as he reached over into the bags on the passenger seat, and heard the rustling, and wondered what he was getting out of the bag. Out of his bag? Out of her bag?

She suddenly felt his hand sliding up the inside of her thigh . . .

October 8, 2009

Building Supplies

The Consensual Stalker

She'd been chatting with her mysterious friend on Yahoo for about an hour when she decided that she really had tasks to get done before the end of the day. She excused herself, reluctantly, but full of purpose for the afternoon’s chores and the sense of accomplishment they would bring. Principal among them was completing the tiling around the edges of the "new" bathtub that had sat unfinished for far too long. As she was logging off, he had said, seemingly casually, "Good bye for now, I will be seeing you later sweetheart."

She stripped off her jeans, and socks, and then her t-shirt too; wanting to be sure she did not get any caulking or putty or other goop in her clothes. As she walked into the bathroom she saw herself in the mirror and realized she was wearing the pair of baby blue it-se-bit-se bikini panties the mysterious man had bought and sent to her. She had avoided wearing them, even avoiding the suggestion of it, until today. At his request/insistence, she had acquiesced and put them on when she dressed this morning, knowing she would be chatting with him; part of her ongoing "training" he called it, these chat sessions.

She gathered all of her tools and tubes and tiles, and quickly did a mental inventory of what she was going to need. She realized she didn't have everything she needed and was going to have to go to the building supply store and get some more bathtub sealant. It would just be a quick utilitarian trip, so she grabbed the lightweight blue sleeveless dress that was lying on the bed, just to have something on. She pulled it over her head, smoothed it down and slipped on a pair of light-weight black sandals. She grabbed her purse and cell phone, and headed out to her car.
.
After having talked with her mystery man she was feeling elated and a bit aroused. When she stopped at a light, she would trace her fingers up the inside of her thighs just slightly, thinking about the way he talked to her, encouraged her. As she drove on, the hem of her dress moved higher and higher, the loose material giving way to her pushing and moving. It was a cool fall day and she was surprised how warm she was feeling, with the windows down, even in such light clothing. In fact she was feeling a little flush and realized just how aroused she was becoming. At the light just before the turn in to the hardware center, she pressed her fingers up against her panties and was very surprised how damp she had made herself. She hoped that it would not be noticeable on the back of her dress once she got out of the car to walk into the store.

She turned into the parking lot and found herself a parking place; she was surprised that they were so busy, in the middle of the afternoon, on a week day. She had to park further away than she liked but given the lovely weather, the thought passed quickly and she strode off. Going into the store, she turned down the aisle with the plumbing supplies and began scanning the racks and shelves, looking for the bathtub sealant. She was feeling lighthearted and purposeful, and noticed herself humming an upbeat breezy tune as she moved along examining all of the different kinds of tubes of goop that she might use. After she selected the sealant, she went to the paint section, remembering she needed a couple of stir sticks for the paint she would be using after she had all the tile work done. She picked out a couple of the old fashioned flat wooden stirrers and grabbed a couple of the newfangled industrial style red plastic stir sticks also. Then, at the check-out counter she found some large, wide elastic rubber bands she had been looking for. She loved going to the building supply store, it always had so many cool utility items. She grabbed her bag of goodies and headed back out of the store, happy she would be able to move forward on her projects.
.
As she was walking across the parking lot toward her car, her cell phone chirped that "incoming text message" tone. She decided that rather than fumbling around in her packages and purse she would just wait until she got back to her car to check it. It was a beautiful bright sunny day and the heat on her back felt wonderful. She saw a young man walking toward her, and noticed he was looking right at her with a big grin. As she got closer she realized he was looking down at her dress, and then realized that she must be silhouetted through her sheer dress by the bright sun behind her. She imagined that he was focusing on the shape of her thighs shadowed through the light material. She was embarrassed by how obviously he was staring down at her but she was smiling also, at be appreciated, she loved being looked at, as he walked by she heard him make a sound, "mm-mmm". It was a strange mixture of feelings for her; it was not something she had thought about before but her "stalker" had mentioned, and emphasized her mixed feelings of embarrassment and excitement, and she was becoming more and more aware of the conflict in her mind.

Suddenly she snapped back from her reverie, sure she had walked past her car. But she realized she still had a ways to go, she did not think she had parked so far out in the parking lot. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw that the young man was still watching her walk away from him, and her embarrassment grew, she felt herself blushing. As she stood there looking at him, her phone chirped again. Aggravated by the seeming urgency of the messages, she turned and headed on toward her car. As she approached her car she noticed that there were fewer cars around than when she had arrived. She went around to the drivers side, opened the door, tossed her purchases onto the passengers seat, and dug into her purse for her phone, just as it chirped for a third time, she did not often get so many text messages in such a short period.

She unlocked the keypad and pressed the Messages button, and saw three new messages, all from Stalker, the capricious nick she had assigned to his number in her Contacts. She opened the first message, "Such a lovely blue shift dress, you look very sexy." How did he know what she was wearing? She instinctively looked around, obviously a fruitless thing to do, and saw no one, but realized she still did not know exactly what he looked like, never having even yet seen his face, just that he was a tall, of average build. She returned her gaze back to the phones message center and opened the second message, "The boy really is enjoying looking at you, what do you suppose he is thinking?" Again she looked around, now sure that he was nearby somewhere. She looked at the surrounding building, and looked into the other cars parked around her, but saw no one. She continued to look around, double checking to see if she could see him . . . nothing.

She opened the third and final message, "Perhaps you should walk back and introduce yourself to him?" Okay, obviously he was here somewhere, but certainly not within her sight. Equally obvious, the chance to even think about or explore that "suggestion" was past. She just sat there in her car, unsure what to do now. Stalker was clearly nearby. She had a feeling like things were swirling around her, dizzying, turning her head first this way, and then that, looking. Should she just drive off? Get out of the car and look for him in earnest? Just sit here and wait? She was feeling very conflicted and anxious; in fact she was feeling a bit scared, uncertain, not sure why exactly.
.
Just then . . .

. . . she saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was a large black sedan pulling up behind her car. Her text message chimed once again, and she read the message, "Put your hands on the steering wheel, and look down, and be still".

Continued . .
.