Message-ID: <8189eli$9802061107@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Mary Westbourne 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: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: 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 |