Message-ID: <8189eli$9802061107@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/8189.txt>
From: Mary Westbourne <mwestbourne@hotmail.com>
Subject: ASSM - Nothing Much by M. Westbourne (bond, mc, cons, true)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
Reply-To: mwestbourne@hotmail.com
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: <34DB2EFF.6121@hotmail.com>


Nothing Much. 
by Mary Westbourne.

(Contains Bondage, Mind Stuff (mildly), consensual and it's true - and
if you read this, sweetheart, tell me what you think)

This story was definitely written with an over-18 level of adult content
- if you're under 18, go away. 

If you're over 18, read, enjoy, and please make any constructive
comments to mwestbourne@hotmail.com


-----------------

Nothing Much. 
by Mary Westbourne.

This story was definitely written with an over-18 level of adult content
- if you're under 18, go away. 
If you're over 18, read, enjoy, and please make any constructive
comments to mwestbourne@hotmail.com

"Hold still" he says. 

My breath stills. My heart hushed, my muscles quivering, I wait.

In the dark I wait.

Unmoving. Bound.

Unsighted.  Blindfolded.

Clamped.  Thrilling.

Kneeling. A supplicant. I wait.

A touch. 

Nothing.

Another touch, this one long enough to feel…

Nothing.

Something. Whispering past my face, and intensely light across my
breasts. 

Sensation focuses to that indistinct undertone - and it stops.

"Don't move" he says.

A slight moan, a tremble of limbs, I wait.

Anticipating, I wait.

Leaning. Searching.

Silent asking.

Tied, secured.

I wait.

A touch.

Something.

Something sharp. A point, a blade, a . . . gone.

Nothing.

The whisper, back again.

The point, tracing my breasts.

The whisper, brushing my nipples.

I groan, the sensation flooding me.

Each move, each tremble, changing the ropes' pressure.

Each breath, each heartbeat, moving those low-placed knots.

Sensation building. Thrilling, stimulating, electrifying,  moving
towards an edge.

Point running down my belly. Whisper across my thighs. Teasing,
tormenting, pain-and-pleasure of straining towards a spectre that laughs
- then stops.

"Not a muscle" he says. 

I cry out. In frustration. In sensuality. In distress. In need.

A hand.

Fingers.

Light across my thighs, then following the ropes towards the willing
centre, the yearning void, the unfulfilled point of no return.

I spasm. Thrill. Nerves joyous with near-ultimate release, I fall
forwards to the pillows. I scream.

He covers me, one hand to my mouth, the other to my gratification. A
darkness of desire takes over as the act is completed.




His neighbour asks the next day "What were you doing to her?"

"Nothing much" he replies.



A true story from Mary Westbourne - mwestbourne@hotmail.com
Copyrighted to Mary Westbourne - feel free to copy this and repost, but
only with in full with my name and address above. Thanks.

-- 
+--------------' 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>