Author: Nick Scipio
Title: In Thoughts of You
Universe: In Thoughts of You
Summary: A Mat Twassel challenge to write a story inspired by the 
Jack Vettriano painting In Thoughts of You.
Keywords: MF, oral, reluc, mild bond
Revision: 1.1
Web Site: http://www.nickscipio.com/
FTP Site: ftp://ftp.nickscipio.com/
Discussion Forum: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Scipio_Forum/

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                       STANDARD DISCLAIMER

This piece of fiction is intended as ADULT entertainment. It 
contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. If you 
are offended by sexually explicit content or language, please DO 
NOT read any further.

All characters in this story are fictitious; any similarity to 
any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely 
coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone or endorse 
any of the activities described in this story.

This story may not be reproduced in any form for profit without 
the written permission of the author, Nick Scipio 
(nick_scipio@yahoo.com). This story may be freely distributed 
with this disclaimer attached.

Copyright (c) 2003-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.

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In Thoughts of You
by Nick Scipio

Jennifer stared through the gossamer curtains at the city skyline. 
She looked into heart of the pregnant, steel grey clouds; they 
diffused the light into an overall brightness as the sun came up, 
unseen. She looked but did not see, her mind wandering over the 
events of the night before. She wound her memories back, seeing 
everything in reverse, tasting the emotions as she saw the events 
in her mind's eye.

-----

She had gone to sleep with the light on and a novel propped on 
her chest. She didn't know how long she had slept, or what had 
woken her, but she had suddenly opened her eyes to find the 
curtains, so sheer and thin, blowing in the gentle wind of the 
city. It was quiet outside the window. She'd listened for a 
moment, getting her bearings, trying to discern what had woken 
her.

Had she left the windows open before going to bed?

No.

For a moment, fear gripped her, but she calmed herself quickly. 
No one could get in, she was on the fourth floor, with no fire 
escape. So she picked up her bookmark, nestled it between the 
pages warmed by her chest, and set the book on the nightstand. 
Then she reached up and turned off the light. She wanted to enjoy 
the city light as it played across the ceiling, filtered and 
transformed by the diaphanous curtains.

When she finally threw back the covers and swung her legs over 
the side of the bed, she thought she saw movement out of the 
corner of her eye. She darted her eyes around the room, but saw 
only the deepening shadows of the loft apartment.

She worked hard to pay for the loft, doing extra design work on 
her computer at home for enough money to buy a few little extras. 
Sometimes the extras were milk and bread. Other times, when the 
work was good, the extras were Prada shoes, like the ones she'd 
bought last month. Jennifer smiled when she thought of the shoes.

She stood and moved towards the window, standing and enjoying the 
breeze and the solitude of the normally busy city street below. 
It was a pleasant night, with a touch of moisture in the air. It 
would probably rain tomorrow, she thought to herself.

She had rented the loft because of the windows. They were so 
large, and let in so much light. The apartment was so bright and 
airy because of them, and despite its cramped size, it felt much 
bigger. Jennifer liked her windows. She was reluctant to close 
them, even though... Even though nothing, she thought to herself. 
No one could get in, she was on the fourth floor, with no fire 
escape. It was her mantra.

So she hugged her arms around her chest, feeling her nipples 
harden in the cool night air. The thin t-shirt she wore was 
hardly proof against the slightly damp chill, and she shivered. 
Outside the window, the city slumbered; no cars moved along her 
street, no one walked their dogs. It was quiet. Peaceful.

When she felt the shivers spread from her arms and shoulders to 
her entire body, Jennifer turned from the window and stood 
transfixed. Standing before her was a figure, impossibly close. 
She recoiled in fear, an automatic reaction to someone invading 
her personal bubble of space. When she looked at the man--it was 
definitely a man--a chill ran down her spine.

No one could get in, she was on the fourth floor, with no fire 
escape.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

No one could get in, she was on the fourth floor, with no fire 
escape.

It was her mantra.

She opened her eyes again and he was still there, still close, 
still silent. Her gaze darted around the room again as her heart 
raced. Her hands were suddenly blocks of ice, and she shivered 
again, the chill fed by her fear. She could not escape without 
moving past him. She was trapped.

When he reached out to her, it was a casual thing, almost offhand. 
She stood, rooted in place, and watched in slow motion as his 
hand came out and took hers. His hand was so warm, it comforted 
her, and she shook off the feeling with a visible effort, not 
wanting to take pleasure in the touch of a stranger, an invader. 
Yet she had no choice, her hands were cold, so cold, and his were 
warm.

He pulled her, and she came. She willed herself to scream, to cry 
out, but no sound escaped her throat. Who was he? How did he get 
here? What was he going to do with her? She tried to scream again, 
but her mouth was dry, and once again, no sound would come.

When he moved her towards the bed, her panic swelled afresh, and 
she knew his intent. No! She cried out, inside her mind, 
desperately wishing her voice would shape the screams her 
thoughts had formed. Instead, she was silent, and followed 
willingly.

At the edge of the bed, her comforter thrown back where she'd 
left it, he pulled the thin fabric of the shirt over her head, 
releasing her breasts. She shivered as the cool air washed over 
the firm, warm flesh, raising goose bumps. Her nipples were 
already erect, but they hardened further at the thought of him 
looking at them.

He tossed her shirt aside and then lowered her bikini panties, 
her plain, white bikini panties. They were her comfortable 
panties, the ones she wore when she knew she would be going to 
bed alone. She'd been wearing the comfortable ones for many 
months now, too many months. With no one to see it, why wear 
fancy underwear? And so he tossed her comfortable panties with 
her t-shirt. She stood naked before him.

The light from the city outside the window was too dim to make 
him out well, but she watched him disrobe with a detached 
curiosity that she couldn't understand. She should be screaming, 
not admiring the turn of his shoulders, with their strong, well-
formed muscles.

He was not a large man, yet still powerful and well built. If 
she'd met him on the street, she'd have admired him. She 
shouldn't have admired him now, he'd invaded her loft, somehow, 
some way. But she couldn't help herself, so she looked him over 
as he pulled his tight shirt over his head and revealed a 
hairless, muscular chest.

Jennifer was a sucker for a good looking chest, and she felt her 
juices begin to flow, despite her desire to remain un-aroused. He 
removed his skin-tight pants, and she tried to see his cock where 
she knew it had just sprung free. It was too dark, and she 
quietly lamented that she'd turned off the light.

Despite her fear, she was becoming aroused. She knew she 
shouldn't be, but she was. A man had invaded her loft and they 
now both stood naked, only a few feet apart, and her only 
reaction was a growing arousal. She was shocked, and scared, and 
beginning to become excited, although she would not consciously 
admit it. It had been too long since she'd worn the lacy 
underwear, the underwear meant to be removed by another. It had 
been too long since she wasn't the one taking off her panties. 
Too long, and her body knew it, though her mind still rebelled.

He walked towards her and she sat down heavily on the side of the 
bed, the edge catching her knees and forcing her down. She was at 
a level with his manhood now, and he reached out to put a strong 
hand on the back of her head. She wanted to taste him, but she 
knew she should resist. The pressure of his hand was inexorable, 
and she could smell his musk, taste the tang of his body: the 
body of a man.

Her face pressed into his groin and she felt his penis twitch in 
response. She shouldn't have wanted to, but Jennifer yearned to 
take him in her mouth, to make him give her what she'd been 
without for so long. Working long hours couldn't buy extras like 
this. She inhaled, and felt her eyes droop as the heady scent 
washed over her senses.

She knew she shouldn't, but she wanted to, so badly. She opened 
her mouth, then hesitated. He became insistent, and she felt her 
desire ratchet up a notch. Outwardly, she resisted as best as she 
could, but inside, deep inside where she wouldn't yet admit it, 
she wanted it, she needed it. She opened her mouth and took him 
inside, feeling the texture of his soft skin as his manhood 
slowly expanded, filling her mouth and sliding over her tongue.

Jennifer worked on him eagerly, wanting to taste him, savoring 
his flavor. Her tongue slid along the underside of his glans and 
she heard him gasp. When she took him as deep as she could, he 
gasped again, and she was soon rewarded for her efforts. She 
could smell his come before she tasted it. The acrid, salty tang 
gushed over her tongue and down her throat.

She knew he would last longer the second time. She knew there 
would be a second time, but that she wouldn't have a chance to 
taste him then, to smell him. She knew where he would spend 
himself the second time. And perhaps the third. It frightened her. 
It frightened her that she wanted it so badly.

When he pushed her towards the center of the bed, she wasn't 
surprised. When he kissed his way up her belly to the swell of 
her breasts, she was surprised. He captured a stiff nipple in his 
mouth and sucked, sending waves of pleasure radiating from the 
contact. Jennifer closed her eyes and savored the feeling, which 
she had so long been without. He switched to the other nipple and 
she shuddered in pleasure, feeling the increase in moisture and 
heat between her legs.

She reached between his legs, captured his semi-erect manhood, 
and stroked it slowly as his lips performed their magic on her 
diamond-hard nipples. He was quickly hard again, and she was 
ready for him, her juices flowing freely from the furnace of her 
pussy.

The bulbous head of his organ bumped against her thigh as he 
climbed between her legs. She felt him position himself at her 
opening and then push. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she 
relished the feeling of his length sliding into her easily. When 
she felt his pubis grind against hers, she gasped. He was so 
thick. She could feel every ridge, every vein of his manhood, 
stretching her like she hadn't been stretched in a long, long 
time. Too long, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath 
through her nose and concentrating on the feelings between her 
legs.

He moved within her and she shuddered as the first tendrils of 
her climax tickled her belly. She normally couldn't come when she 
was on the bottom, but it had been so long that her whole body 
had become one large erogenous zone, and everywhere he touched 
seemed to set her skin afire, making her tingle and tremble with 
long un-sated desire. She felt her muscles clench and release, 
and felt the gush of moisture between her legs as her orgasm 
overtook her. She arched her back and felt him thrust deeply 
within her, helping her along by grinding his hips against her, 
moving his body so that her clitoris throbbed and sent sparks of 
ecstasy shooting through her nerves.

When it was over, he moved within her again and she felt that 
drowsy, tingly, languorous, lightheaded feeling she got sometimes 
when she'd come really hard. The pressure inside her built again 
as he sped his pace, pistoning his hips against her, driving 
himself deeper inside her.

Suddenly, he rolled onto his back and carried her with him. His 
hands supported her by the flanks until she steadied herself. 
When she did, his hands, so strong, reached up to cup her breasts, 
and gently rolled her nipples in their grasp. She began to ride 
him, guided by the subtle touch of his hands on her breasts and 
her own mounting desire.

Her orgasm was building, stronger than the first, and she rotated 
her hips, rubbing her clit against the base of his shaft. When 
her climax took her, she clamped her eyes shut and rolled with it, 
letting the crashing waves of pleasure take her where they would. 
Vaguely, she felt him erupting within her, filling her with his 
semen as the throes of orgasm closed out the world around them. 
Her existence shrank to a tiny sphere that encompassed only the 
two of them.

Jennifer knew she should be frightened, or angry, but in the 
post-orgasmic haze, she couldn't muster any such feelings. She 
collapsed against his chest, sweating and heaving with their 
shared exertions. She mewled against him and felt his organ 
slowly shrinking within her. She wanted the feeling to last 
forever.

-----

Some time later, Jennifer knew not how long, she felt him shift. 
He rolled her onto her back and she felt him moving between her 
legs. His erection bumped against her inner thigh, and she felt 
her pussy turn molten at the touch. He was inside her, pounding 
hard, before she came fully awake.

When she reached up to stroke his face, he jammed himself inside 
her and held his hips steady. With the flick of his wrist, her 
arm was secured to the bedpost with silken cords. Another flick 
of the wrist and her other arm was bound as well. She pulled 
against the restraints and quickly realized that she could not 
escape them. In that moment, she began to understand who he was.

As soon as Jennifer was secured, he began thrusting within her 
again. His hips hammered into her, driving his cock deep into her 
pussy. She shuddered at the sensations and watched his face as he 
concentrated on fucking her. In moments, she felt his member 
swell within her and he held still, pumping his semen into her 
belly.

When he was done, he withdrew from her and straddled her chest, 
running his slippery dick over her lips. She opened them to admit 
it, tasting their mingled juices as she cleaned him with her lips 
and tongue. By the time he was satisfied with her efforts, he was 
growing erect again.

In a trice, her hands were freed and she was pulled to her feet. 
He led her to the small bathroom and flicked on the overhead 
light. In the harsh glare, she got her first good look at his 
face. She thought she knew who he was, but she simply wasn't sure. 
She'd never seen him close up, never seen him without his...

He turned on the water and adjusted the temperature. When it was 
perfect, he gently pushed her into the tub, climbing after her 
and pulling the shower curtain. With the water streaming over 
them, he rinsed her off. Then he turned her and entered her from 
behind. With one hand on her firm breast and the other between 
her legs, he began to thrust into her.

The hand between her legs was tripping over her clit as he filled 
her, and she felt the beginnings of another orgasm growing in her 
belly. He pumped her for a long time, letting things build slowly. 
When he finally came, his orgasm triggered her own, and they came 
together, his arms wrapped around her and his chest pressed 
against her back.

Afterward, he washed her tenderly, taking care to reach every 
part of her. She took the washcloth from his hands and returned 
the favor, marveling at the ripple and play of his muscles. She 
was almost positive she knew who he was. His physique matched all 
the pictures she'd ever seen of him, and her certainty grew with 
each passing moment.

With it came a realization. If he came back to her, back to her 
bed, she would have him. In fact, she realized with a start, she 
_wanted_ him back. For a long, lost moment, it was all she could 
think about: when would she see him again?

They finished their shower in the silence that had permeated the 
entire night. When they were dry, he went to her small wardrobe 
and began picking out clothes. She smiled when she saw the Prada 
pumps with the 3" heels. She smiled again when she saw her black 
silk bra and panty set, one of the sets meant to be taken off by 
another. She dressed for him, watching him watching her, his 
member semi-erect and bobbing gently as he moved.

In the light spilling from the bathroom, she saw his clothes in a 
pile at the end of the bed and she knew instantly that she'd been 
right about who he was. Now that she knew who he was, excitement 
flooded her at the thought, the thrill, of feeling him between 
her legs again, feeling his body move over hers and fill her with 
his come.

When she was dressed, she stood before him. The clothes he had 
picked out were all black, all silk. She had chosen a silver 
bracelet herself, to accentuate her wrists and draw his attention 
to her movements.

"I've always liked the Black Widow look," he said, speaking for 
the first time.

Jennifer smiled and pirouetted for him. His cock twitched, and 
she hoped he would have her kneel between his legs and bring him 
off one more time.

"Make us some tea," he said, startling her out of her carnal 
thoughts. "With lemon."

She wanted to suck him again, wanted to taste his essence. She 
wanted to please him. If tea would please him, then she would 
make it. She smiled at the thought of setting up housekeeping 
with him and bustled about the small kitchenette, putting the 
kettle on the small stove. When it boiled, she pulled it off the 
heat before the shrill whistle peaked. She poured the hot water 
into her two best cups, heirlooms from her grandmother, and let 
the tea bags steep, cutting lemon slices as they did.

Jennifer returned to him with the cups and saucers. She watched 
him drink his in silence, quietly lusting after his naked body. 
Her mind drifted, and she thought of him bending her over and 
taking her, fucking her, in her "Black Widow" outfit. When he 
stood and reached for his clothes, she kept that hope for another 
time. She watched him dress with something close to the fear she 
had felt at the beginning of the night. Seeing him now, in the 
outfit made famous by pictures in the newspaper, how could she 
not know who he was? Then the gnawing fear returned tenfold. She 
didn't know his name, his real name. She only knew what the 
newspapers called him.

When would she see him again? How could she find him? Her panic 
grew until he walked towards her, fully dressed at last, his face 
obscured by the famous hood. With a flick of his wrists, the 
chair between the windows was covered in a gauzy, silken sheet. 
He gently pushed her back until she sat down. Then he handed her 
cup of tea to her as he scooted the footstool up for her to rest 
her feet on.

"I know who you are," she said softly.

"I know."

"Will you come back for me?"

"Perhaps."

And with that, he was out the window and gone.

-----

Jennifer blinked and realized that the sun was now fully up. Her 
tea, untouched, had gone cold. She stared out the window and 
watched the wind whip the flags on the buildings across the 
street. It was going to rain soon, the grey bellies of the clouds 
looked ready to burst at any moment. At least he had closed the 
window behind him as he left.

Her only problem, aside from when he would return to her, was how 
to get up from the chair. The white sheet was sticky, and she 
couldn't move, couldn't stand. She felt like a fly, trapped in a 
web. She _was_ a fly, trapped in a web.

When would he return? When would he release her? When would he 
thrust himself into her and make her come so hard she passed out 
from the sensation? Her thoughts were of him and only him.

But with a growing sense of annoyance, she realized that her legs 
had gone to sleep. Her arms were trapped as well, caught by the 
sticky, silken webbing covering the chair. At the moment, she 
didn't care if he _did_ fuck her when he returned.

As long as he returned.

As long as he freed her from this infernal chair, she mentally 
snarled.

"Lousy love 'em and leave 'em wallcrawler," she said in a quiet, 
frustrated voice. "Web me into the chair, willya?! Indeed!"

She fumed for a moment and then finally decided to throw decorum 
to the wind.

"Spiderman!" she shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping someone 
would hear her and investigate. "Get me out of this chair! Do you 
hear me?!"

-----
 
Copyright (c) 2003-2005 Nick Scipio. All rights reserved.