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Going Away
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.
GOING AWAY is copyright © 1994 by Ben Ostrowsky.
...
Some presents are better than others. The memory of a wonderful
gift clings to me even today. I was a young man goofing off for four
years in college, and had spent a warm Miami summer with a beautiful
woman of my age. We were friends, though we amused each other by
flirting constantly.
Six months ago, we had been sipping strong Cuban coffee in the
spartan dorm lounge, chatting idly about fantasy novels. Inspired by
the muse of caffeine overdose and sleep deprivation, Liz told me about
her interest in bondage. I instantly regretted not owning handcuffs.
We met at odd hours for the rest of the school year, usually drinking
the thick, sugared espresso sludge.
A month before finals week, I found a note in my mailbox. Liz
had withdrawn from classes and moved 300 miles south to Miami. Numb,
I shuffled on my way. I found out the next day that her parents had
demanded she go to another public school and move back home. It was
for her own good. They said, of course, that Liz's boyfriend had
nothing to do with this. He was about five years older, out of
school, had a scruffy beard and a tendency to make bad puns, and rode
a motorcycle. Whatever the reason, I went a month without Liz.
Air from the Gulf Stream is warm and moist, and blows heavily
across Miami. It ruins hairstyles, and in it palms grow. I spent a
summer with her there before we realized I would be returning and Liz
would stay in South Florida. I was cold.
We had one final get-together the day before I left. I took her
to our favorite restaurant, where we feasted on fruit and cheese. We
shared a bottle of sparkling cider, reserving wine for the appropriate
birthday celebrations, and drove back to her home. I noticed as I
pulled into the driveway that only her car shared the front yard with
mine.
Once inside, Liz locked the door behind me and climbed onto an
ottoman to whisper into my ear. "My parents are at the mall for the
day."
This had never meant very much before, so I prompted, "...and?"
"And I've been meaning to use the handcuffs I bought. Want to
help me try them out?"
Oh, man, did I ever.
She swept a layer of assorted stuff off her bed. Bouncing onto
it, she put her hands under her blouse to tug it up and off. I
grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands out. "That's *my* right, not
yours," I said.
"What? Oh... sorry."
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"Sorry, master."
(Note: By USENET custom, the submissive partner is not allowed to
use the terms "sir/ma'am" or "master/mistress" without first
forgetting and being corrected. This is a well-known custom, existing
primarily to fill in the dialogue.)
I pulled her blouse over her head. She was wearing some maroon
contraption halfway between a bra and a girdle. I bent forward and
tasted the fabric, biting gently through its perfumed surface at her
nipple.
"May I remove your shirt, master?" Her voice was shaky. I gave
my permission. She saw my dappled chest. I reached around behind her
and undid the soft breastbag, removing it. I pushed her, and she
flumped onto the bed. Using the bra, I rubbed her calves, moving down
to her sandals, which I took off and discarded. Her knees rose a few
inches.
I slipped out of my sneakers and socks as I unbuttoned her
shorts. I pulled the zipper slowly down, and the fabric parted to
reveal a matching maroon pair of panties. She looked a question at
me, and I nodded. She reached up and opened my shorts, which promptly
obeyed the law of gravity, making two circles at my ankles.
"Ooo, look who came to visit," she said, stroking the rising
bulge in my briefs.
Putting on my best Irish accent, I retorted, "I haven't come yet,
and I'm not just visiting. But keep that up and I may stay awhile
longer."
"Don't worry, I'll, uh, keep it up." She smirked.
"Ouch. I've gotta punish you for that one."
Her eyes lit up like fire. I grabbed the handcuffs from the
floor and clacked them onto her hands, around the bedpost. She kicked
at me. I stilled her feet by yanking her shorts down around her
ankles. Reminded of my own state of undress, I stepped out of the
figure-eight shorts.
"Now," I mused aloud, "how shall I tie your feet?"
"Apart, for better access."
"Wiseass."
"Why thank you, master."
I noticed her high school honor cord and secured her ankles at
the corners of the bed.
"Uh... master?"
"What now, slave?"
"You forgot to take off my panties."
"D'oh!" I grabbed the scissors. She begged me not to... so I
didn't. I'm not a heartless bastard, y'know. I untied her feet and
put my finger into the crotch of the panties, lingering only a moment
before pulling them off. Then I tied her up again, more securely this
time.
I pinched her left nipple hard, scraping over it with my nails as
I released it. She grunted quietly as the skin on her breasts became
dotted with goose bumps. I licked her nipples, leaving my saliva on
them. Then I blew cool air onto them.
"You're wicked."
"Is that a Good Thing?"
"Of course, silly master. Are you gonna take off your tighty
whities, or are you waiting for them to magically disappear?"
At her suggestion, I took them off. (Hey, give me a break. This
master and servant business was still somewhat new to me.) My erect
penis fell out. Dangling about, I walked my fingers down toward her
crotch Before I reached her clit, I detoured to the labia and brushed
very lightly at them, stroking upward. Her hips jumped up to meet me,
and my fingers pressed into her. I removed them and tweaked her
button. She ground her teeth.
"You need something to do with your mouth, dear."
"Yes, master."
I held my penis and put it against her thigh. I dragged it
across her stomach and her breast, which she pushed upward at it. She
leaned out, offering her mouth to me, but I used the tip of my penis
to tickle her under the chin, near the base of her neck. She brought
her chin down, clamping onto me. I pulled away and rolled over her,
onto the bed, leaving us in that most famous numerical position.
Slowly, I inhaled. Then I blew my breath onto her clit. Liz
responded by nibbling at the loose skin of my penis. It was my turn
to shudder, and I nearly lost a chunk of skin as my reflexive thrust
pulled the skin free of her teeth.
"Watch it," I warned, and reached down to the floor. I found a
wooden clothespin in her laundry basket and clamped it onto a soft
lip. Liz would have gasped had her mouth not been busy on my penis.
As it was, though, she managed to inhale a good portion of my
erection. She licked at it, and I felt a drop ooze from the tip.
I licked roughly at her clit and pushed a finger into her. It
slid in smoothly. I curled my finger up, hoping to prove the theories
of Dr. Grafenberg, but found no fabled spot. She didn't seem to
mind, though. She murfled and then let my penis slide out of her
mouth. "This is going to be very messy, and soon," she said.
"Good."
Resuming my work, I bore down on her clit, pressing against it.
I reached down to pinch her nipples, and then brought both of my hands
back up. I stroked her captive calves, slowly. Her skin tingled as I
worked my way back to the node of her sex. I pushed two fingers into
her, roughly, and rasped my teeth against her clit. She tried to yell
around my penis, and came violently. Every buck of her hips drove her
clit against my incisors and my fingers deeper into her. After a
minute or so, her motion damped into a small, fast shiver.
I removed the clothespin from the lip and clamped it onto the
other. Liz surrounded me again, and exposed my penis to the cool air
again, and surrounded it again. With a steady rhythm, she sucked. I
tweaked her clit and stroked her feet and ankles. "It's my turn to
make a mess," I warned.
She stopped moving her head with only the glans in her mouth, and
sucked with all her strength. Then she brought more of me in. Her
lips welcomed me like an old friend. I resisted for twenty seconds
before my balls contracted and I rushed through canyons and up sheer
walls, hues exploding around me.
I rolled off her and knelt at the bed. Pressing my lips to hers,
I removed the clothespin and rolled her clit between my finger and
thumb. She pressed her salty tongue into my mouth and came again,
this time more of an aftershock.
Reluctantly, I untied her and helped her to her feet. I hugged
her with all my remaining strength. We dressed each other, talking
about the days and nights we'd spent that summer. Eventually, I had
to go. Giving her another hug, digging my fingers into her back, I
said goodbye. When I was outside, the door locked behind me. I sat
on the hood of my car and cried.
For every goodbye there is a hello. On Christmas break we saw
each other again, but she was seriously dating someone else by then.
We both got our English degrees a few years later. Every chance we
get, we get together, if only for an hour, and I brew a pot of Cuban
coffee. We sit and sip and flirt and talk about the paperbacks we've
devoured, and always say goodbye with a hug.
..
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