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How Mr. Grey Was Remembered
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.
How Mr. Grey Was Remembered
a story by
Mr. Grey
Oh bother: she snores. It's a hot steamy night and I'm tossing
and turning and don't feel a bit like dozing off. All part of
the nervousness of taking a new lover.
Time for a bowl of cereal - what else.
Grab a bowl, spoon, milk and cereal and sit down at the dining
room table. The doors are open to the garden. A night breeze
rustles the leaves and brings in the heavy scent of the night
blooming daturas. Moths flutter against the screens.
I pour the cereal and the milk into the bowl and start my
dead-of-the-night snack.
I hear the bed creak. I stand up as she pads into the dining
room. She squints at the light.
She says "Ah, here you are. What do I have to do to keep you in
bed, tie you down?"
"Uh, well ...." I start to say.
But, she just looks down at my crotch, and there's this fellow
standing ram-rod straight at attention and shouting silently,
though very loudly, "YES, YES, YES!"
Well, she didn't make CFO by being slow on the uptake.
"I can see what turns you on," she says as she takes me by the
hand and pulls me back into the bedroom, flicking the lights to
low as she passes the switch.
She pushes me down on the bed, looks around. All she can find is
one of my socks. She ties it to the headboard and says "OK, grab
the sock, pretend you are tied to it."
I can see this isn't going to quite make it.
"There are some ropes in the second dresser drawer," I say.
"Ropes? In the dresser?" she asks.
"Well, I keep them there. I use them for camping, things like
that."
She opens the drawer. "You do a lot of camping, I see."
How is she going to take this, I wonder.
She pulls out parachute cord, dacron 1/2" line, perline,
goldline, "Cathy's Cuffs" with the velcro all stuck together,
carabiners, tie-down straps, webbing and a garter belt, still
attached to a pair of very runny stockings.
Oh, shit. Should have checked the drawer.
"How many women have you had through here?" she asks. Then she
grabs fistfuls of the ropes and comes over to the bed. "I think
I'm going to enjoy this," she says.
She dives onto the bed, landing with a bellyflop across my body.
She hangs head down at the foot of the bed and starts attaching
ropes to the bed frame legs. Grabs my ankle and jerks it to the
corner of the mattress. Lashes my ankle. Rolls off the bed and
pulls my other leg to the other corner. Lashes the other ankle.
She grabs each of my wrists and lashes them. Threads the end of
the ropes through the headboard. "Beginning to like it?" she
asks. "And I KNOW you really want these ropes tight," she says
as she takes a turn around the headboard post with the wrist rope
and leans in and pulls at the rope with all her might. Secures
the rope. Does the same for the other wrist.
"Hey, wait a minute. That's really tight," I say.
"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" she replies.
"No, I mean TOO tight," I say as I think about my hands and feet
turning dark blue and dropping off.
"Oh, shut up," she says as she goes down.
She just licks me and licks me and takes me in her mouth. She
licks my balls, comes up my cock, takes the head of my cock into
her mouth, sucks at it, slides her mouth over my cock and sucks,
massages the head of my cock with the rough patch at the back of
her tongue, release my cock from her mouth, licks down its back
and goes back to my balls.
And she sucks and licks and envelopes and squeezes and abrades
and licks some more.
And I pull against the ropes and squirm and start to shout.
She jerks her head up. "Shut up," she says. "I'm in control
here."
"No, I WANT you. PUT ME IN YOU. PLEASE," I plead.
"Not yet," she says. "You are not ready. Keep quiet."
"No," I say.
"I'll fix that," she says. She goes over to the drawer and
extracts the garter belt and stockings. "I'll bet you bought
these for some woman that was here before, didn't you? Buy them
for all your lovers, don't you?" she says. "Maybe you need to
buy some for me, too. I think we need to go shopping tomorrow.
But for now," she balls up the stockings, with the belt still
attached, and presents them to my face. "Open wide," she says.
I clamp my mouth shut and glare at her. I have to keep up some
pretense of dignity, I feel.
She jumps up and sits on my belly. Reaches down and strokes me
with one hand. Leans over and kisses me. Puts her tongue in my
mouth. Then stuffs the stockings in. So much for dignity.
"That's it. Good boy. Eat up," she says as she stuffs the
stockings, garter clips and straps into my mouth. She takes the
ends of the belt, pulls them around my head and ties them
together.
"So much better," she says as she leans back, "this is the way I
will always remember you."
Mr. Grey -- preserving memories
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