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Nine 'o' clock, the Witching Hour
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
From uwm.edu!wuarchive!uunet!quick!sumax!polari!li Tue Dec 25 17:42:59 CST 1990
Nine 'o' clock, the Witching Hour, as my husband and I call it. I
sigh and stretch, feeling my back muscles pull and shift, the soft pop of
kinks pulling out, the gentle touch of the cotten, long-sleeved t-shirt
against my small breasts. It's cold out, tonight, and we hadn't had time to
light a fire in the woodstove, so I shiver, a little, at the touch against
my cold stiffened nipples. The 501's are an ever present hug, and in my
seated position, they are tight against my crotch. I lick and stick the
last of the envelopes for the bills, and then get up to put them in the
hallway to be mailed the next morning.
The running water upstairs has stopped, as has the noises of his
activities. I sit back down, feeling the caress of my jeans, and read an
article on a new learning model. Part of my mind is with him, thinking of
the growing of his impatience, his anticipation. I check the doors to be
sure they're locked, one last time, turn down the heat, and go upstairs.
When I first move into the room, I'm a little disappointed, as it
looks as if he is simply asleep under the down comforter in the middle of
the bed. The soft light of the reading lamp is golden over the parchment
colored comforter, touching a gold shine off his dark hair. Then I see the
rope tied, tightly, to the left leg of the bed, and I smile. His eyes open,
his body turns, and I see the line of the rope as it moves with him, and the
diagonal tilt of his body. I breath deeply, and meet his sea blue gaze.
Slowly, I walk over to his side of the queen sized bed. His hands come
into view as he moves the covers away from his face, one is cuffed, the
cuffs joined, the other cuff dangles free. His eyes go to my face. I climb
onto the bed, and straddle his turned chest, one leg with much of my weight
on his lower arm. Then I wrap my long hands around the warm wrist of his
other hand. His arm resists, but I have my whole body's weight to put
against his lone arm. It yields, slowly, the hardness of his muscles move
against my mound, the tension playing his face making it beautiful in the
lamplight, and then he yields completely when the wrist touches the other
cuff. I snap it on and tie it tight, feeling his gaze on my face. I get off
the bed, pull the bindings of the cuffs and he follows, wiggling a little,
on his side, until his wrists are just over the edge of the right side of
the bed, and then I tie them to the upper right leg of the bed.
I run a hand down his arm, slowing along the sensative areas under his
upper arm, a thumb brushes his nipple, he sighs. My other hand catches his
chin, turns his face up from the pillows, and then I kiss him, slowly,
deeply, my cold lips against his warm ones. He moans and his mouth opens to
mine. I thoroughly explore his mouth with my tongue, running it along the
edges of his teeth, stroking his tongue with mine. And then I kiss him,
hard, using my teeth on his lips, his tongue, his breathing shudders. I
pull up. He looks at me, and pulls, restlessly, against the wrist
restraint, and he sighs. I feather a kiss along his arm, tuck the covers
around him, and then go and brush my teeth and pull out my contacts.
When I come back out, he looks at me. "On your front." I say as I
fasten a ropes to the other two legs of the bed. I hear him turn and move.
By the time I'm done, he is on his front. I unhook the cuff on this right
leg and tie it to the right leg of the bed. I skin out of my clothes, and
stretch, one more time, in the cold air, and then dive under the covers.
His warm, relaxed body contracts, jumps at my cold embrace. The warm,
smooth skin of his back and buttocks is like fire against my belly and
breasts, and my ice block feet clamp onto his furry calves. He yelps at the
shock, his body arching under me. I take advantage of it, and slip my cold
hands and arms around him. My hands move to his belly. He bucks, but can't
get me off of him, so he slowly settles with a shiver. And then I bury my
cold nose and mouth against the center of his back. He jumps, but then only
shudders under me.
Gradually, we both warm up. Then, with the warmth of the comforter on
top of me, I straddle a leg, my mound against the hardness of the muscles of
his thigh, and I start to kiss his back. I start with feathering kisses
along his shoulders, my fingers and fingernails working, gently between his
shoulder blades. Moving, pressing against the rolls of muscle along his
spine, scritching and scratching along the areas of his back that cause him
to start moving, under me. Slowly, I move down, pulling the comforter over
my head, and in the warm darkness, I kiss and bite my way down his back.
Licking and kissing and running my hands along his sides. His responsive
movements against my pussy start to get me wet.
At the small of his back, I feel his body tense. I run my hands over
the tightness of his buttocks. Then gently, I run two fingers, one along
each leg, slowly up his inner thighs, and then my fingernails trail up along
the soft flesh where his legs meet his buttocks. I feel his muscles clench,
the soft hiss of his breath. Hands back, along his muscular thighs, and
then I move further down, and out from under the comforter, off the bed. I
keep one hand on an ankle, as I move his right leg back to the left.
"Roll over." I like watching the awkwardness of his movement, as his
arm gets in the way, tangled with the comforter. The frustration as it
fouls his face. I massage his feet, and then, slowly, let my hands roam up
his legs, along the hard bulge of his calves, massaging, kneading. Then his
thighs slowly, thoroughly touched and explored. He shivers and his eyes
close, as I move further up, and the tension in his body slowly increases.
His hips start to roll with the rhythm of my movement, and I feel the
beginnings of a sweat raising on him. I gently put my palm against his
balls, wrap my thumb and forefinger around his shaft, and then one, smooth
slow stroke of the hand up, and then hard and fast down along the smooth
skin of his already hard cock. I watch, avidly, as his whole body arches
and a wordless cry is forced out of him.
I stop, and pull the comforter down to cover his toes. His eyes flash
sapphire in the light as he gently pants. I walk around the bed to his head.
I remove the pillows, fold the covers back to clear the top of his chest,
and then straddle his face. His tongue reaches out, and, tentatively,
begins to lick. I rub my sex against his nose, his smooth, just shaved
chin, and his whole mouth starts to work on me. I moan and move with the
sensations of his mouth as it softly probes and strokes me.
My hands start to explore his chest, ribs, and then under the covers,
his belly. I feel the cold rush of his breath as I rub my palms against
both his nipples, and again as I explore the soft, dampening hollows between
his belly and hip bones. He moans against me as I start to play with his
balls, the vibrations of his moans bring me down to my elbows, over his
body. I like them so much, I push the covers down to his knees. I get a
hold of his cock with its crystal clear drop of pre-cum forming at its tip
and start to lick and kiss the tip of it. His moaning is delicious against
my clit. Then I take the whole tip in my mouth, stroking it with my tongue.
He cries out, his hips moving, his hands pulling at the rope hard enough to
make the bedframe creak.
I stop, and rub myself against his mouth. I feel his gasping in the
breaths against my clit, and in the movement of his body under mine, as he
gets back to pleasuring me. I lie on him, my head on the top of his thigh
and hip. My hair carressing his balls and shaft. He gradually works me
into a frenzy, my legs hard against the headboard, my nails digging into
his legs. My cries, sharp and gasping, as he pushes me over into orgasm,
sound far away as the sensation takes my body and shakes it, hard. I
fall forward.
For a while I rest, on top of him, his chin against my crotch. I
lever myself up, turn around and thoroughly kiss his cum wet face, tasting
my juices and scent on him as I use my lips on his mouth, nose, and cheeks.
Then I move his bonds so that he is completely spreadeagle, and I blindfold
him. I lie next to him, my body pressed up against his, my hand starts
playing with his chest, his belly and ribs, and I start to use my tongue and
lips on his highly sensative ear. Gently taking the lobe of his ear with my
tongue, and pulling it to my teeth, running the tip of my tongue around the
edges of his ear, then along the snail shell spiral of its structure.
Slowly, thoroughly, even as my hand smooths and plays, teasing a nipple,
combing through his pubic hair, running along the smoothness of his belly,
through the thickness of the hair on his chest, dipping in his bellybutton,
and along his sides. He jerks, shivers, gasps and his cock is soon at
attention, quivering and wet, the beat of his heart mirrored in the tiny
movement of its tip.
I get up, and kneel on either side of his head. His head turns, and
his mouth gently kisses my calf. I lower my shoulders and head toward his
crotch, gently take his cock and put my mouth on it, and then shove as much
of him as I can all the way to the back of my throat. He screams, and I'm
glad he's tied down as his whole body tries to fold around it. Quickly,
relentlessly, I do 15 hard, fast, thorough strokes, using the ring of my
thumb and forefinger as a second, hard stimulus to follow my mouth, and
ignoring the rhythm his hips try to impose on me, ignoring the tied down
flailing of his body, and the cries behind me that get louder with each
stroke, and then I stop. Well, ignoring them as far as my actions are
concerned, I'm dripping by the time I stop. His moans and twitches, I feel
his face blindly moving against my leg. I tighten the ring of my fingers
at the base of his cock, and it eventually softens.
Five more sets of 15 strokes, and he is incoherent, his breathing is a
sobbing, and his body is a hard mass of tension and shivering. We are both
dripping with sweat, all the covers are on the floor. One more set and he is
so hard, I know he's just on the brink. For a long moment I just look at
him, all tensioned muscle, hard flat belly, broad shoulders, arms cabled
against the bonds, thighs big enough that my hands can't reach around them,
and over it all the soft sheen of sweat and the glint of the golden
highlights of his brown hair on his arms, legs and chest. I take off the
blindfold, and for a moment, his eyes are still blind, wild and lost in
sensation. I slide a condom over his cock, and with each stroke I use in
putting it on, he sighs and shivers. Then his eyes start to focus on me,
and as they look, I slowly, gently, slide my pussy over his cock.
His eyes roll up, showing white as his arms bulge against his bonds.
I put all my weight on my hands on his belly, pushing to keep him from
pushing up into me. "STILL." I say, and he shudders, his fists close, but
he is still. He whimpers as I ever-so-slowly move down, his head moves,
restlessly. My breath hisses through my teeth as his swollen hardness fills
me. With my palms flat against his belly, I start to move, using his cock
to massage my cunt, sometimes coming completely off it to rub it against my
clit, only to get on it again and push it to the hilt. He is very, very
good about staying still, under me, and I enjoy the cost to him, as I watch
his muscles knot and gnarl, his face slowly taking on a rictus that could be
as much agony as ecstasy. I move my hands so that they are either side of
his face. He turns and kisses my wrist. "O.K." I say and he starts to move
under me.
But then I start moving on him very quickly, too quickly for his
rhythm to build, and soon he is crying out with every stroke. My breathing
soon synchs with the strokes as well, and I'm able to use each breath for a
harder push until I'm pounding against him. His mouth opens in a soundless
scream as the tension builds until the whole bedframe creaks with each
stroke. Then he snaps, his whole body arcing, and five hard, fast, wild
bouncing strokes later, I cum as well, and I hear/feel him cry out as my
inner muscles rhythmicly milk every last drop from him. I collapse on
top of him, still orgasming. He involuntarily moves into me, and my muscles
spasm into a tight hold on him. Gradually, the exchange of involuntary
stimulus slows, and, eventually, stops, as our breathing slows. His heart
pounds under my ear, an almost sobbing sigh moves through his body.
I get up, and our breaths hiss as he leaves me. We kiss, long,
slow and deep. I stroke his cheek and his face turns to place a kiss in
the center of my palm. I tiredly climb out and untie all the ropes, pull
off his cuffs, gently get rid of the condom, get him some TP, clean myself
off, pull the covers back onto the bed, and then fall in. I curl up
against him, feel his arms close around me, and hear his deep, soft, now
sleepy voice say, "Thank you."
I kiss his cheek and happily say, "You're very welcome." And the
warm, dark oblivion of sleep takes me over.
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Hoom... I was gonna ask Stella if this was OK; but then I saw John's story
(thank you, John!! I loved it... purrrr...) and rhodes' request. I'm not
into the lifestyle... I just like what bondage can do. Grin. This is
sort of a fantasy. I don't know much about bondage, and wouldn't mind
learning more facts to write better stories. In a way, I'm sort of asking
for story ideas, 'cause I like to write. If someone wants to tell me
barebones stories, I think I can help flesh them out. And, yes, I'm
happily married. Chuckle.
Whatever. I hope someone enjoyed this.
Phyllis
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The "other" | Phyllis Li Rostykus [email protected]
account of | uw-beaver!sumax!polari!li
"Looking out on empty streets, all that she can see, are the dreams made solid,
are the dreams made real." - Peter Gabriel "Mercy Street"
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