From tuegate.tue.nl!news.nic.surfnet.nl!sun4nl!EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!ix.netcom.com!netcom.com!crane Wed Jan 18 17:00:15 1995 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Path: tuegate.tue.nl!news.nic.surfnet.nl!sun4nl!EU.net!howland.reston.ans.net!ix.netcom.com!netcom.com!crane From: crane@netcom.com Subject: Another Kind of Rain (mf, nc?) 1/2 Message-ID: Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: took me 3 weeks to think up a title. hardly organized. Date: Sat, 14 Jan 1995 02:09:14 GMT Lines: 246 obligatory warnings: 1. it's a sex story. if it offends you, go read comp.sys.mac.programmers or something. 2. this story is copyrighted by the author. you may do as you wish with it, except take credit for it. 3. feel free to mail the author, but be forewarned that i actually answer my mail. that said, direct flames, comments, fan mail and criticisms to crane@netcom.com. Another Kind of Rain--part I His hands sliding along her thigh are cool, gentle, unyielding. She closes her eyes, unbidden, and studies the backs of her eyelids, waiting. "Smooth," he murmurs, and kisses her ankle, just above the binding. "Fuck you," she answers, barely audible. He pauses. "Open your eyes," he says. She screws them closed tighter for a moment, then does as he asks. The room is filled with warm light, a dozen candles flickering. It is her own living room, but she doesn't recognize it, doesn't recognize anything in it, even though all the fabric draping the walls and all the candles along the mantlepiece, dancing and smoky, are hers. The rug beneath her bare skin is hers, bought one morning when the sky was gray and laced with rain. Idly, she remembers struggling with the carpet, trying to make it bend to fit into her car for the five mile drive home, finally leaving it hanging from the passenger side window, hoping the rain would hold off until she got it inside. It was an oriental, gray and cream and pink, hummingbirds and flowers. She meets his gaze finally. His eyes are the color of hazelnuts, rich and brown. "Say it," he orders. "No," she answers, and looks at the ceiling, knowing that is not the right answer. "No?" he asks, and strokes her inner thigh gently. I will not squirm, she thinks to herself. I will not respond to this. But she has already responded, already tumbled laughing and full of desire to the floor, to lie in his arms and follow him through his kisses. Already reveled in the feeling of his cock stiffening against her thigh, the feeling of power that his desire gives her. She likes this game; likes to arouse him with her smile and her light, hesitant touch, then send him home full to bursting, when her own desire threatens to overcome her. She almost didn't play the game tonight, because the last time she played, he refused to leave. He stopped touching her, but he sat silent and grim on her couch for some minutes, then drew her to sit nestled against him, and draped his arm lazily across her shoulders while habit and want made the decision for him, and he stroked faster and more firmly, holding her ever more tightly. She wanted to look away. He spoke only once: "Watch me," he said, as his hand flew sure and strong along the length of his shaft, pre-come glistening under his fingers. And at the last minute, he grabbed her hand and made her catch his warm sharp smelling come in her palm. She stared at it. "Get out!" she yelled at him, but he didn't move. She smeared her hand down his shirt, a shirt she had given him. Still he didn't move. "Did you hear me?" she shrieked. "Get out! Out! Out out out!" Langorously he buttoned up his pants and inspected the stain on his shirt, already drying. "Don't be a cocktease," he said finally, and left. But it had not been mentioned when they saw each other next, nor the next time, and so she had decided to play the game. Only this time not only did he not leave, he did not stop, kissing her and caressing her breasts through her shirt until she couldn't bear it. She had only two thoughts in her mind, to make him leave, and to let him do whatever he wanted to her. Habit won out. "Stop," she finally gasped out. "I want you to leave. Please leave now." To her utter surprise, he answered, "I am not leaving. And I will not stop. You may accept this and enjoy what is coming, or you may resist, and then I will tie you up." She was so surprised that her desire faded. "That's rape," she said. "Yes," he agreed. "It is. Unless you consent. So accept that you are going to have sex tonight. Whether it is consensual or not is up to you." She made a mistake, then; she laughed. "You can't be serious," she said, and went on saying it while he bound her wrists to her ankles, right there where she lay on the living room floor, and while he went to the kitchen and came back with the utility shears, which he used to cut away her clothing. "Stop saying that," he told her, as he surveyed her, naked and bound. "I wanted to make love to you. And you won't let me. So this is your doing." She stopped paying attention to him, while she considered this. She didn't know what a cocktease was, but she knew that her virginity was a commodity, and a weapon. And she used it. It was all she had. She had barely noticed when he rolled her onto her back, spreading her legs, and began sweetly kissing her belly button, the swell of her stomach, her hip joint. Her eyes came wide open when his tongue made a lazy circuit of her labia, sweeping swiftly and barely over her clitoris. "Stop," she whispered. Her heart leaped when his tongue touched her; she had never felt a desire so strong that she didn't know who she was. She was afraid that if she didn't stop him, she would never be able to let him go, never be sure any more whether her decisions were hers or his. She wanted him so badly, and for the first time, she began to be afraid of him. "I will, eventually," he answered, a ripple of humor in his voice. "But first you will beg me to fuck you, again and again, first you will come and you will think the earth has stopped moving. And I will not stop before I have had my pleasure of you." She began to cry then, soft small tears that rolled from her eyes down her temples and into her ears. They itched. She wanted to scratch them. And still his tongue moved in relentless circles round and round her clitoris, making her thighs tremble and her hips buck. His fingers played around the opening of her vagina, stroking the underside of her ass and dipping gently to caress her anus. He pulled her clitoris into his mouth and sucked, flicking his tongue over it, and she gave up. Her legs locked around his head as her orgasm crashed into her, scattering her in all different directions. When she settled back into herself, he was smiling at her. "Have you ever had an orgasm with another person?" he asked, and in a moment of defenselessness, she answered simply, "No. That was the first." She did not add that it was her first orgasm, because she was afraid that if she did, she would also add that she wanted another. He brought her a drink, holding her up so that she could swallow without the water running all over her. She asked him again to stop. He let her back down and said, "Not until we're finished. Ask me to fuck you." She shook her head, slowly, side to side, while he removed his clothes. She had never seen him completely naked, and she thought she would drown in the beauty of his body. "Say it," he said, and knelt at her feet, holding her left foot. "Say it," he said, and drew her toes into his warm wet mouth. And now she lies on her back in her own house, trussed hand and foot, naked, while he plays his hands over her body and pulls forth unwilling desire. "Do you know what I will do if you refuse again to say it?" he asks, running his finger around her inner labia. She is wet from her orgasm, open and wanting him. She shakes her head again; she doesn't know, but she knows it will be another thing that both terrifies her and sends her reeling with pleasure. His finger enters her, easily and firmly, encounters her hymen and stops, then wiggles around, elicting a moan from her before she can clamp her mouth around it. "Ask me to fuck you," he says, withdrawing his finger and inserting it again. "Not. on. your. life," she breathes, and he smiles, removes his finger, and says, "So be it." And then he scoots up between her legs, and she knows what he is going to do. His erect cock, fat and slick with pre-come, is pointing straight at her, and she wants him so much she thinks for a moment she has actually shifted herself down to meet him. But she has succeeded in holding herself still, though even yet she is unprepared for the smooth feeling of his cockhead pushing into her, stretching her vagina. "Remember this," he tells her, catching her eye. "There will never be another first time." He continues to slide himself forward, and she lifts her head so that she can watch his cock disappearing into her body. He cups her head behind her neck, holding her, watching her face as he begins to pump slowly, a little more of him entering her with every stroke. At last his cock comes to rest against her hymen, and he pauses. "This will probably hurt," he says. "Do you want it gradually or in one quick pop?" "You make a terrible rapist," she flashes at him, and just as she is drawing breath to rail at him, he gathers himself and plunges himself into her, breaking her hymen and burying his cock as far as it will go in her. Her breath comes out of her in a long whoosh, but she does not cry out. "All right?" he asks her, as if they are about to go out to eat. "Fuck you," she answers again, and he nods. "By all means," he replies, and begins to move his hips. She lets her head fall back, eyes closed, and abandons herself to a welter of new sensations. She feels full, and completely open at the same time. Her body rocks of its own accord, rising to meet him and falling back to recover. She feels the beginnings of sweat along her thighs where they meet his, she smells her own sex in the air, weighted and carried along by the smoldering candles. Unbearably, her orgasm begins to rise, and against her will, her voice breaks through her lips: "Yes. So sweet. So good." "Say it," he breathes, increasing his tempo, thrusting a little more deeply and fully. "Say it." "Oh God," she wails, and cries it out: "Fuck me. Please. Oh, please fuck me." He groans in desire and slams himself into her; she grabs him and squeezes as her second orgasm plows through her brain. In the midst of it, she is aware of a completely unexpected sensation: her body filling with his come. He drops onto her chest and holds her, laying his head against her breasts. His cock leaps and twitches inside her clutching vagina, and she falls headfirst into another orgasm. Slowly he gathers himself and withdraws from her. He unties her arms and legs and stretches himself beside her, holding her gently. She is still shaking from her orgasm, and he wipes the tears from her face and strokes her hair, absorbing her tremors into his chest. She says something, but her mouth is against his skin and all that comes out is a muffled burble. "Shh," he says. "Don't speak. Let me hold you." And she relaxes her balled up fists and twines her arms around his neck, smelling him and wondering who she is now. -- ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ Exit, pursued by a bear. ---Shakespeare, _The Winter's Tale_ ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^