Message-ID: <2090eli$9707151110@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Paddy22@aol.com Subject: "In your eyes" By Paddy - REVISED Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <970715075345_-625511275@emout04.mail.aol.com> The usual disclaimers apply. Hell, what a ridiculous thing to say. Like it's a magic talisman or something that will ward off evil spirits and the porn squad. Anyway, don't read this if you ought not to be doing. That last sentence was designed to make Celeste wonder if the grammer quite correct had been. So that last one also was. Oh stoppit, Paddy! Here you go, folks. A little more romance than usual, but it seemed kinda appropriate at the time. Final note: Please remember Celeste's BJP (Blow-Job-Principle). I always do - just ask Bronwen SM - I gave her the blow of her life as thanks for her last story! Thank You. You can let 'em in now, Eli. ------------------------------------------- "In your eyes" by Paddy - REVISED ------------------------------------------- You look into my eyes as you finish the last of your wine. It's an '84Chablis, a good one, and the perfect accompaniment to our meal. I can feel your love radiating from those big green eyes, so warm, so bright they always seem to be dancing to some exotic inner rhythm that only you can hear. I know your face so well, your elegance touches my heart. You don't think you're beautiful, but I do. Always have, always will. You're mine. You were made for me, and I for you. For the hundredth time during the meal, I look at you. You smile at me as I drink in your beauty. Your hair, a glorious, flaming mass of silk, cascades down in a torrent of curls to your bare shoulders. Your strapless black dress is in stark contrast to your pale skin, which looks almost like alabaster in the soft light from the candle at the centre of our table. Adjusting my gaze downwards, I look at the beginning of your cleavage, which starts well above the top of your dress. The gentle upper slopes of your breasts can only hint at the treasures below, but I know what they are, and it is enough. I feel myself start to stiffen beneath my suit at the mere thought of those orbs of delight and what they do to me, and to you when I suckle them. My inattentiveness has not gone unnoticed. "Hey! earth to Paddy!, earth to Paddy! Come in?" you playfully tease me, but I know you know where I was looking, and the thought excites me just a little more. "Shall we have dessert?" you ask. There's only one dessert on my mind, and I tell you so, leaning over to whisper it softly into your ear. You lean over to meet me, and my eyes are once more irresistably drawn to the further show of flesh revealed by the motion. I pay the bill, and we walk out of the restuarant arm in arm. Walking briskly to your trusty steed, I cannot help but feel the swell of one heavy breast firmly nudging against my arm, and it causes me to quicken the pace slightly, anxious for dessert, hungry for you. We mount Honda's finest, your CBR600, I admire the display of thigh as you swing your long legs effortlessly over the seat, and seat myself behind you, my desire very evident thanks to the nudging in your lower back. I cross my hands over your warm abdomen, loving the feel of you beneath the silk. Hardly de rigeur for well-dressed bikers, but it does me the power of good watching your long shapely thighs as we ride the few short moments back to your place in the pale moonlight. We park the bike in the garage, and, opening the door for you, you walk past me, helped on your way by my palm on your soft, yielding backside. Again I marvel at you as you make your way up the stairs. Your legs, clad in black silk, swish together as you rise. I check your bottom for signs of underwear, and see none. My prick again begins to stand to attention at the thought of the treasures temporarily hidden under the black material. As we reach the top of the stairs and enter the living room, I pull you towards me, holding you tightly, pressing our loins together. You can feel my arousal now, fuelled by the thought that only the dress is keeping our sexes apart. Kissing you slowly and tenderly, I move from your mouth down your face and neck, planting tiny kisses all the way down. It is almost as if my lips need contact with your skin simply to continue to function. Moving downwards, I begin kissing the sides of your breasts, your cleavage, and then your nipples through the smooth fabric. I clasp the sides of them in my hands, and push them further together, still wetting them, until your nipples appear to be straining to break through. Standing back from you, I quickly divest myself of my clothes, all of them, and stand nude before you, my arousal evident by the retreat of my foreskin, now complete. I want you to be able to see what you are doing to me. The single drop of clear fluid at the tip of my penis is a testament to your sensuality. You watch me silently, knowing exactly what I'm going to do next. As expected, I move back towards you, reaching around you to the zip at the back of your dress. Clasping you towards me, I unzip the dress all the way down to the small of your back, where I am able to confirm that you are wearing no panties. I swirl my hands around, over and between your buttocks, now teasing my fingers down your other cleavage, revelling in the size and firmness of your behind. I gently repel you far enough to remove the dress. You give a little shake, and the garment falls to the floor, making a small black puddle around your feet. You now stand before me, naked except for your sheer black stockings and suspender belt. With an audible gasp, I notice that you have trimmed your pubic hair, the dark curls now shaped to accentuate the contours of your beautiful sex. Your outer lips are clearly visible, and the musky smell of your arousal greets my nostrils as I gently ease you back until you are sitting on the edge of the comfy chair. Sensing what I am about to do, you stop me with one hand in the centre of my chest. "Not here, on the bike. Do me on my bike" you whisper to me. Without a word, I reach underneath you, and with one swift movement pull you towards me and off the chair. Holding you in my arms, my stiff aching prick is under your bottom, and I so desperately want to nudge its yearning head between your silky lips, but that would be against the rules. It's your turn tonight. Once downstairs, we enter the garage again. The aroma of oil, petrol and leather as powerful an aphrodisiac as you could imagine. I seat you with infinite care on the huge mound of the black fuel tank, and instinctively, you part your legs to allow me access. Your nude sex winks at me invitingly, glistening like a pearl in a shell. Kneeling before you, the back wheel against my chest, I begin tracing a pattern of kisses up your long legs, alternating between left and right, leaving tiny patterns on the silk. Slowly, slowly, rising. The anticipation is clearly heightening your pleasure. As I approach my target, I see more moisture beginning to form there and slowly trickle down your nakedness. I can resist no longer, and hungrily lap at the droplet, greedily taking it from the bike, wanting you all to myself.. Your hips move towards me as I begin to pleasure you, kissing all around your fleshy mound, relishing the feel of your soft hairs against my nose. Easing the lips gently apart, I see my ultimate objective, and proceed to worship your clitoris, that tiny bud that is the centre of your sexuality. I run my tongue around it, over it, teasing it, then gently sucking it between my lips. Your breathing has began to quicken, and you begin to moan, quietly at first, then gradually becoming louder. Your hands move to your breasts, tweaking your nipples, pinching them harder than I would dare, but you seem oblivious to the pain, becoming lost in the world that is your approaching climax. Your moans are fast becoming exhortations to me to fuck you, fuck you, and getting louder all the time. Still frantically licking your clit, I insert one, then two, then three fingers into your accomodating hole. You're pinching your nipples harder now, hard enough even to draw blood, your back bent over the bike, your skin and the gleaming metal and leather apparently becoming one, but still you feel no pain as you begin to buck frantically against my face. Your moans are definitely screams now - the wanton howl of a woman lost in the mists of sex with her love. Higher and higher goes the pitch, and the volume is definitely along for the ride. Just as I think my eardrums will burst, you reach the crest of your climax with one last ear-rending cry, and slowly begin your descent. At the same time, incredibly, my orgasm is upon me without warning. So focused was I on pleasuring you that I was practically unaware of myself, and I find myself frantically emptying my full load onto the back wheel of the bike, watching just for a moment as one droplet falls from the tyre to the concrete floor. I look at the bike's tank, and see your arousal painted there, the moisture you secreted in your pleasure making swirly patterns against the black paint. I didn't penetrate, but that doesn't matter for now. This one was for you. I look at you, now recumbent on the bike, magnificent in your near-nakedness. Your heavy, firm breasts point to the ceiling, the spots of blood around the still erect nipples prove the extent of your passion. Your eyes are closed, your head reclined between the handlebars, resting on the console. Lying there you are every motorbiker's fantasy woman, wantonly exposing her sex to me, lost in your lust. So powerful was your orgasm that you appear only semi-conscious. You are a picture of exhausted contentment framed by the glory of your flowing dark silky hair. I realise that your breathing has slowed down, and that you are now asleep. I gently draw you once more into my arms and take you upstairs, laying you gently down on your bed. You smile, murmur something unintelligable, and shift your position slightly. I plant one final kiss at the corner of your sleepy smile, and prepare to leave. ------------------------------------------- Friday 27th June 1997, revised Monday 14th July 1997 2.35 pm! -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /