Message-ID: <12128eli$9806132104@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/12128.txt> From: MarArch@ix.netcom.com Subject: Time Of Possession, 12/? - Wife D/s Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories.moderated Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <3582059a.12091921@nntp.ix.netcom.com> (NOTE: I have been told there is some trouble with all chapters of this story appearing on all newsgroup servers. The entire story so far can be found acrhived at: http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/jun.html Other of my works can be found at: http://ourworld.compuserve.com/homepages/jon_thompson_3/adult01.htm Thank you) Time Of Possession part twelve by MarArch Debra lay, curled, on the bed, the covers drawn up to her neck over her nude body, eyes open, staring blankly into the gloom. The only sound was the slow, even rush of her breathing, the only motion the gentle rise and fall of the soft blankets. What had she done, she vaguely wondered in some distant corner of her mind. What had become of her. She allowed her mind to drift down over her flesh, sensing it, feeling it, studying it with a kind of detatchment. She ached, her nipples gently throbbing in time to the slow, steady beating of her heart, echoed by the slight pulse in her still swollen clit. Her backside felt as if it was glowing with the warmth of the punishment it had endured during the afternoon party... it was a party, wasn't it? But parties were times when you talked to people and smiled with them and laughed and shared... something. So was it really a party? Or was it just more of the same... more of her body being set on fire by those deep, inner lusts, used and driven beyond screaming, beyond cumming, beyond.... herself. She felt infinitely tired but somehow sleep was ignoring her, had turned its back on her, was punishing her with its absence. Time seemed to be sitting beside the bed, staring at her, studying her, tormenting her with its lack of motion. But she didn't care anymore. She could lie there in the dark forever for all the difference it made. Lie there, unmoving until she aged, her skin drying, bones turning brittle. Or the sun could rise and he could come and take her and use her again, make her body betray her once more with the shuddering fire that possessed her and banished her mind and soul. It didn't matter any more. Nothing mattered. She was empty. More empty than she could comprehend. She had become what, in her dark, secret fantasies, had always been the sweet, hot, shadowy fountain of warm, wet passion that had tickled her childhood throbbings. But it wasn't like that at all. Not for her. She was a thing. An object. A machine that was fueled by a full, deeply stroked pussy and pinched, aching nipples and a filled ass and the thousand other stimulations that summoned up her lust and made her spew her soul and her heart and her cum out for him to savor and feed on. That... and nothing else. She wanted to shift herself, move her arms, draw them up and wrap herself in them, feel the warm, gentle grip of them around her, holding her in the still, dark quiet. But she didn't move. It was pointless. She would have found no comfort in her own arms. Nor in his. For they were just arms, his and hers. They carried with them nothing but lust and when the lust was spent, ripped or driven or milked from her they were nothing but arms. Why can't I cry, she wondered. Why can I do nothing but respond, moisten, tingle, shudder, swell and climax. I used to cry, she remembered. I used to laugh and smile and sigh with something other than a quiver of heat and clenching deep inside my pussy. So why can't I cry now? Cry for what I've lost... what I've gained... what I've become... She lay, staring at the shadows along the wall, and waited. Waited for him to come to her, to spread her, to bind her, to gag her, to clamp her, to fill her, to touch her and rouse her and drive her and make her scream and sob and cum. That was her purpose now. That was the function she served. And she was good, oh yes, she was very good... as if made just for that. Lovely, and hot and wet and responsive and perfect.... and empty.... He stared across the room at the bed where she lay, leaning on the open doorframe, arms crossed, unmoving, studying her aross the distance. She had been so perfect, he mused silently. So anxious, so needing, so splendid. Perfect for him, for his needs. She met his every imagination with a bursting that bathed him in her surrender and her endurance and her gift of herself to him. Of all of them, this one was beyond measure, priceless. And tomorrow, after he'd rested, after she'd rested, he would work her again... drive her, feed her even as she fed him with the blistering heat of her wantonness... practice new pleasures on her. And she would scream and weep and moan and shudder and cum for him. And he would feel her cumming and drink it in and be warmed for a little while. And it still wouldn't matter, would it. It wouldn't matter a damn. Because it never did. The sigh he expelled was a soundless growl as he straightened, reached, slowly pulled the door closed behind him and went to his own rest. Another function to be performed. Another requirement of the flesh. Meaningless.... Ralph's arm was killing him. It had fallen asleep about the time Melissa had rolled around and pressed her warm, smooth, shapely ass against his hip. But Donna hadn't moved, not since they all tumbled into the bed and wiggled tightly against each other like puppies in a basket. She stayed curled up against him, her hand thrown over his chest, her head bearing down on his arm, definitely cutting off the blood he thought. He tried to wiggle his fingers but they failed to respond, instead sending a sharp, tickling tingles down the groggy nerves into his brain. Despite himself he began to laugh, silently, his chest spasming. "What" Donna said, groggily. "I'm sorry" he hissed through the sharp clutches of his chest at the sensation that roared from his deadened fingertips "I have got to move my arm." She grunted and lifted her head, allowing him to slowly pull it free and swing it, wobbly, upwards, then dropping it between them. "Thank you" he said, bracing for the slow flood of pins and needles that would soon cascade up from it. "'sokay, baby" she muttered and lay her head back down with a heavy flop on the pillow. The silence flooded over them again and Ralph closed his eyes, actually savoring the sensation that welled up from his arm as the nerves awakened. "So" Donna said quietly, her voice now more alert "what do you think of my little pet." "Melissa? She's wonderful." "Isn't she just" Donna sighed contentedly. "And so are you" he said quietly. She reached out to stroke his cheek with a fingertip. "You're a very special man, Ralph. You know that? Your wife is lucky to have you. She really is." He grunted, an uncertain sound in the darkness of the room. "She is" Donna repeated quietly. "If she even wants me at all" he said, gloom in his tone. Donna sighed quietly. "Oh Sir..." The sound of their breathing filled the room for a long moment. "Sir?" "Mmmmm?" "Can I ask you a favor?" "Of course." A pause. "Would you please make love to me. Not work me, or play with me or try to drive me half out of my mind which you can do, by the way. Just make love to me. No one has for a very long time. No man..." Ralphs lips parted, about to speak through his growing smile, about to ask what the difference could possibly be... but the words died unformed... because he knew the difference. Knew it now as surely as he knew the feel of cool breezes tickling his neck or warm sun on his face. And he realized, at that moment, that he was, for the first time since he had met Debra, about to be unfaithful to her... and that she never had been to him. He rolled gently over, facing Donna, feeling Melissas bottom now pressed warmly against his own, gently sliding a hand over Donnas naked flesh, feeling the smoothness of her stomach, the curves of her, the softness of her, the rounded hip, the well of her breast, the growing tightness of the nipple as it gathered beneath his gently stroking palm. Leaning down his lips found hers, sliding together with them in a perfect fit, moist and soft yet firm and with a growing eagerness. Her arms slipping around his neck, pulling him against her. His cock stirring, swelling, reaching for her in its own way. His hand touching her, so gently, exploring her, wondering at her, the gift of her... sliding down between her spreading thighs to find her already wet and waiting. Lifting his body above her, nestling, their hips slipping close, his cock dragging over her stomach, feeling the moist lips of her pussy part as its length drew along them. Then the head of it against her, pausing, prayerful and reverent, her arms giving a gentle tug to his neck, urging him, pleading with him. Slowly pressing down, feeling her body open to accept him, cover and comfort him, welcome and cherish him, down into her depths. She sighed as if in some lost dream, feeling him filling her, gently, lovingly, their bodies joined, not in lust but in adoration and equal affection. And even as he began to withdraw, easing reluctantly from her, he could hear himself whispering.. "I love my wife." "I know" she whispered back, her voice choked, even as she pulled him back inside her, their rhythm slow and gentle, like the rocking of a hammock on a lazy, perfect, still day. They rode the slow swelling together, feeling the birth of the pleasure somewhere between them, never racing, never quickening, savoring every instant of the joining. And it was perfect, and gentle and not to be rushed, the slow, flickering warmth their bodies conjoured up. It was peace and love and contentment made flesh and made of flesh. Ralph could feel his cock begin to swell inside her, unfrenzied, and Donna pulled him down onto her and welcomed his deepest plunge to her very center where he pressed and blossomed and gave his moisture into her, and felt her answer with a clutch, a shiver and her own warm wetness bathing him deep inside her. They lay still, holding one another, drinking in the moment of the joining even as they slipped down from the summit of it, his sigh answered by hers in a wordless understanding. At last he lifted his head and something pulled at his attention. He turned, his expression puzzled, to see Melissa, now on her side, facing them, her cheek propped up on her fist, a wry smile on her lips, eyes fixed on them. Donna noticed his look and followed it. In the darkness they blushed, as if discovered. "That" Melissa said, quietly, languidly, her voice amused "was the dirtiest thing I have ever seen." Three voices flooded the darkness with a burst of warm laughter. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>