Fame Doth Have


The door slammed with a loud crack as he threw himself against
it, panting from the exertion of sprinting for half a mile. He
leaned heavily against the door frame, trying not collapse just
yet. He caught his breath for a few moments while he focused his
attention on his senses. The room was completely silent save for
rasping pants of its occupant. He hadn't had the chance to turn
the lights on yet, so the room was still quite dark. The shadows
of his furniture slanted across the floor of the room, making
even blacker spots amidst the darkness. A half opened window let
the faint moonlight dribble into the house, creating the sole
source of light that allowed him to distinguish anything within
the dim room at all.

There was something about the window that bugged him. He tried to
clear the exhaustion from his brain; tried to make reason of the
nagging he felt from a small part of his mind. All he could
concentrate on was the fear coursing through his veins from being
hunted. He took a few more deep breaths and allowed some grim
humor to elbow out some of the fear. 'Fame doth have its benefits
my ass,' he thought bitterly. 'I'd like to see the damned poet
who wrote that try a month or two of being constantly stalked and
harassed by fans. He'd have never survived the first three
kidnapping attempts.'

Some semblance of rational thought returned, allowing him to move
his mental introspection from the 'glory' of being a renowned net
author to the nagging feeling he had. Was that window open when
he had left this morning? No, it was something else. He took a
deep breath and opened his eyes in surprise as it finally clicked
into place.

Strawberries. There was a strawberry scent in the air. Perfume,
or shampoo. Someone was here.

He tensed his body and spun around to open the door. There was a
sudden rustling sound and he saw a shadow move out of the corner
of his eye. The doorknob slipped from the sweat of his hands. He
felt a prick on the skin of his neck. A small wave of nausea
swept through him as the fight or flight feelings were replaced
by something far more complacent. His body seemed to lose all of
its energy and he lost the ability to stand. He heard the thud as
he collapsed to the floor, but never felt it. His last fleeting
thought before the dreamless sleep came was something about the
smell of strawberries in the air.

----

Consciousness slowly returned, but sight didn't. The room was
even blacker than he remembered it. He fought through the
complacence to do something- anything. It took a while for the
realization to trickle through his overtired brain. He couldn't
move his arms or legs; he was tied down. His lower back or rear
felt uncomfortable for some reason. He blinked his eyes rapidly
and felt the material of the blindfold tied around his head. A
groan escaped as his mind parsed the sensory data together to
form a mental picture. He was tied to a bed, spread eagled,
naked, and blindfolded. The scent of strawberries filled the air.

"Feeling better?" The voice was a rich contralto, soft as a
whisper. There wasn't another sound in the room except his own
breathing and the faint echo of that voice. He searched his
memory, trying to place it with any face he might have seen
before, or any of the harassing telephone calls he had been
receiving lately. Nothing came to mind, so he decided to wing it.

"A little," he drawled. "I apologize for being an inconsiderate
host and not offering you something to drink. It seems I'm
unexpectedly tied down at the moment. Do be so good as to help
yourself."

Her chuckle was just as rich as her voice. "I've never known
courtesy to be one of your more regarded values. And I thought I
knew you so well." There was a small shuffling sound and a creak
from across the room, then the soft, barely noticeable padding of
bare feet. The strawberry scent grew stronger. "I guess that
means I'll just have to get to know you better," the voice
crooned.

He raised his eyebrows, although the expression was probably lost
under the blindfold. "Perhaps we could get to know each other
over coffee and a danish?" He tugged against whatever was binding
his right wrist for effect. "I'm hoping to be free by tomorrow
morning."

"Oh it's possible," she returned nonchalantly. "But tell me. Are
you always so... prone to courtesy or do I just have the distinct
honor of... catching you at a particularly good time?"

The game would have been much more enjoyable if he wasn't tied
down and still recovering from whatever it was she had used to
knock him out. "I seem to find myself prone to many things off
and on. I guess it's just a peculiar characteristic of my hobby."


"Indeed," the voice purred. She must have been only a few inches
from his ear, because he felt her hot breath against his neck.
His skin tingled at the unexpected stimulus. "I'd imagine your
hobby allows you to assume some very interesting positions."
Fingernails gently scraped across his bare chest. "Metaphorically
speaking, of course."

"Of course," he said wryly. Those two words do not often
constitute a witty repartee, but he had come to his senses enough
to realize he was flirting with someone who could possibly be a
homicidal maniac. Certainly being drugged, stripped, and tied up
didn't bode well for his aspirations of freedom. 'Why is it,' he
thought, 'that all my fans have to stalk and attempt to kidnap me
in their free time? Who do they think I am, James Bond?' For the
two hundredth seventy-third time (some things are worth keeping
count of), he cursed himself for ever founding that thrice
bedamned yahoo group.

The voice interrupted his unpleasant reverie. "Well, now that
we've gotten the conversational pleasantries out of the way, we
can move on to a more... satisfying center of attention."
Fingernails scratched lightly against his chest again, creating
tingles in their wake. The nails drew slow circles around his
upper torso, occasionally reversing directions or changing
patterns to long ovals. The tingles swept across wider areas
until his whole chest seemed to be filled with the light
prickling sensation. His nipples hardened in anticipation, and on
the lower half of his body, another part began to stiffen in
response.

"Mmmmmmm..." the voice purred. "It's nice to know that you
appreciate my hobby as much as I appreciate yours." The
fingernails trailed down his chest and onto his stomach; the wake
of tingles followed. His member stiffened further at the
proximity. Something brushed the top of his left nipple and a
finger began circling the areole. The fingernails disappeared
from his belly. His left nipple was gently pinched, causing it to
harden further. Both nipples began to throb a little, and then
another pair of fingers pinched and rolled the right nipple.
Suddenly both sets of fingers disappeared. It took him a moment
to realize he was moaning.

There was a long moment where he was left alone. The tingles
slowly faded and he got his breathing under control again. The
strawberry scent was his only clue that she might still be close.
His breathing deepened and became quiet enough that he could make
out a faint echo of breath somewhere above him. All his senses
were straining to catch any telltale sign of what she might do
next. When something finally happened, it came as a small
surprise.

Fingertips touched his right shoulder and trailed lightly along
his arm. They reached his wrist, where he was bound, and reversed
to trail just as lightly along the other side of his arm. They
found his shoulder again and went across his chest. Another hand
touched his left cheek and rested there. The hand on his chest
circled a nipple for a few moments, causing the tingles and a
warm feeling to return, and then the fingertips trailed south.
They traveled across his belly and slowed as they approached his
groin. His cock stiffened in anticipation, but the fingertips
stopped, and then changed direction.

They traveled back up his stomach and circled his left nipple.
The hand on his cheek withdrew momentarily and reappeared on his
forehead, resting atop the blindfold. His left nipple was
pinched, and then the fingertips started off in a new direction.
They crossed his left shoulder, went down the inside of his arms,
and stopped at his wrist. Both the fingertips and the hand on his
forehead disappeared and there was a rustling to his side. There
was a small 'froomp' as some piece of what he guessed to be
clothing hit the floor. The bed shifted toward the same side. A
fingertip tapped the tip of his nose, then tapped his chin twice.
It caressed his lower lip, then his upper one, and disappeared.
Nothing happened for a moment, and then a hand pressed against
his forehead, pushing his head into the pillow.

A pair of lips pressed against his own, kissing him. They seemed
soft and full, and demanded all of his attention. They opened
slightly and his own parted in response. A tongue grazed his
lower lip, and he opened his lips further in invitation. The lips
disappeared, but the hand continued to press against his
forehead. The tip of her tongue caressed one of his earlobes. Two
lips grabbed the small piece of skin and he felt her nibble it.
He shivered slightly and took a deep breath. Then the lips were
gone.

There was movement on the side of the bed, and he felt the
mattress shift again as his captor moved towards his legs. His
cock pulsed from the hope of attention. A warm breeze flowed
against his sensitive head, and he twitched. The breeze flowed
around the skin of his shaft, and then blew against his inner
thighs. The familiar tingle spread across his thighs and groin.
His balls shifted a bit more into his body when the breeze blew
against his sack. The tip of her tongue licked the underside of
his head, and then swirled around it. A hand grasped his shaft
and made small jacking motions. The head was engulfed in sudden
warmth and his tip was flicked by her tongue. Her hand made a
final squeeze, then let go. The warmth traveled halfway up his
shaft, then stopped.

Her tongue wriggled against his sensitive underside for a moment,
then calmed. There was a sudden burst of pleasure as suction was
applied and her mouth began to withdraw. Her lips traveled all
the way to his head, then stopped. Her tongue flicked against his
tip again, gathering the precum he knew was there. The lips
continued off his head, and he jerked his hips forward in an
attempt for more contact. The lips disappeared, leaving the
warmth only a tingling memory. He jerked his hips forward again
in frustration and whimpered. He was so close!

The world expanded once more as his other senses began reporting
again. The bed had shifted at some point, and the scent of
strawberries was being overpowered by something far muskier. His
nostrils flared as the importance of the smell registered. "If
you want to finish," the voice crooned huskily, "you'll make this
good." And with that, warm flesh was pressed against his mouth.

----

Time lost all meaning. There were only her legs, her center, and
his tongue. He concentrated on her breathing, on the muscles
flexing in her thighs. Her sex was slick and tasted sweet. He
even caught himself imagining a strawberry taste if he dug in far
enough and rubbed one particular spot. Of course, that particular
spot got a rather large reaction from her, so he was sure to
check the taste several times over just to make sure he *was*
imagining it.

He lost count of how many times he made her come. After a while,
the quaking and moaning became one large, constant stream of
aroused reaction. It wasn't much of a relief for him sexually,
since stimulating her caused him to stay close to his own edge,
but part of him liked the tension. It would have been even better
if he had his hands free. He ached to feel her breasts. His
writer's imagination ran wild, visualizing her on top of him,
rocking and moaning and swaying and sweating. Her nipples taught
and straining for contact. He imagined her pinching and rolling
them with her own hands, holding her breasts somewhat in place
while they jiggled constantly from her orgasms. He concentrated
on the feel of her thighs; squeezing, trembling, spasming. He
heard her moans turn to screams of ecstasy through her clenched
legs, held his breath as she rode out the latest of her pleasure
peaks until she collapsed onto the bed, exhausted. He wondered if
she would have enough energy to do anything else while he
listened to her breathing deepen and slow, then speed up and slow
again. Finally he felt her move into what he guessed was a
sitting position.

Her rich voice echoed around the room as she chuckled. "You, my
dear, have one hell of a tongue," she crooned. "That was better
than I ever expected it to be. I'm not sure I'll ever look at a
vibrator the same way again." The chuckles started again, but
this time they were much darker. "I think you deserve a reward.
Something tells me you won't be able to look at a vibrator the
same way again, either."

The analytical part of his mind blanched at the melodrama, but
the rest of him focused on the implications. Either things were
about to get really good, or he was going to find new sympathy
for some of the characters in his nastier stories.

The sudden buzzing sensation in his rectum supported the second
of the two possibilities. He jerked his hips upward off the bed,
both trying to get away from and get closer to the unannounced
intruder. His mind blanked in a combination of pleasure and
shock. He barely heard the voice's next words.

"While you were out of it, I took a few liberties with you," she
drawled. "One of them, obviously, was tying you down. But before
that I gave you one of my favorite toys. It's something an
electronics nut friend of mine made for me. It's an egg vibrator,
wireless remote, with some special settings. This one will
alternate between the two lowest settings and off. The timer's a
real piece of work. It's one of my gifts for my favorite author.
Feel free to enjoy it for a while. I'm going to take a nap on
your couch. Have fun, darling." Part of him expected a cackle,
but there was nothing but the pad of footsteps as she left the
room.

Nothing but the barely perceptible sound of buzzing. Nothing but
the occasional creaks of the bedposts as he thrashed his body and
jerked his hips. Nothing but the whimpers and moans he couldn't
hold back.

Time lost all meaning once again.

----

Buzz. Stop. Buzz. Stop. BuzzzZZZZzzz. Stop. There was always
enough time in between to calm him down. The times varied, on
some sort of complex schedule he hadn't figured out yet. The
second level would kick in occasionally, but never long enough to
allow him relief, and it was always followed by long cool down
times. It was the most torturous pleasure he had ever known.

The bed was soaked. He was dripping in sweat. He cycled between
being completely out of breath and long periods of semi-panting.
Occasionally he would summon enough energy to struggle in his
bonds, but that only made his wrists and ankles sore. He had
given up on the voice ever returning when it startled him by
speaking.

"Feeling rested?" He decided it was probably best not to reply to
the bait, since any answers he might have had were not things he
wanted to say while tied up.

"I kind of hoped you'd be the type to pout cutely," the voice
continued. "Guess you're a sulker instead. Oh well, can't be
perfect." The vibrator turned off just as it was starting a new
round of buzzing. A hand gently grabbed the shaft of his cock.
The touch alone was enough stimulation to work him back up to the
edge. "Maybe I can think of a way to get you in a better mood,"
the voice whispered.

His cock was throbbing. He jerked his hips up, trying to rub
himself against her hand, but the hand squeezed harder and held
onto the same place. He decided that orgasm was probably a futile
hope and gave up. Once he stopped moving, the hand began to
lightly rub up and down. He whimpered in frustration, not even
bothering to move. The hand became a single fingertip, which
tickled its way up to the head of his member and began making
circular motions. His hips jerked involuntarily at the sensations
and the fingertip disappeared.

There was silence for a while. He imagined she was watching him,
but the only things he could watch were the altering shades of
black from the blindfold and his own eyelids. The scent of
strawberries hung in the air. He was beginning to hate that
smell.

The sound of movement alerted him just a little before the bed
shifted. She was moving on the lower half of the bed, but he
couldn't tell what was happening beyond that. He felt something
touch the outside of his right upper thigh, then a similar
feeling on his left. A hand grabbed his cock and held it. His
body was aflame with hope, but his mind was screaming denial. He
told himself there was no way in hell this vindictive bitch was
going to do what he was imagining. He reminded himself of all the
teasing she had given him already.

Something warm touched the head of his cock. He concentrated on
not letting his hips jerk. He fully intended to deny her the
satisfaction of seeing him suffer any more than he could help.
The warm skin slowly surrounded the tip of his cock and creeped
down the head. He furiously reminded himself that it was some
sort of trick, that she was using a hand or something. He
mentally screamed in denial as the warmth surrounded his head and
began to slide easily but slowly down his rod. The pleasure
started overriding the higher functions of his brain. All his
concentration was focussed on not moving his hips. He refused her
the satisfaction of seeing his hips move as the slick warmth
passed the sensitive ridge behind his head and slowly began
swallowing his shaft. He didn't move his hips as her flesh
engulfed the first inch of his shaft. He remembered not to move
anything as her slick, hot skin rubbed over his head and crawled
down the second inch of his shaft. He knew vaguely that he wasn't
supposed to move something as the center of his body turned to
fire, as the third inch of his shaft was taken. He couldn't think
and really didn't want to by the time he felt something solid
touch his pelvis bone. He lay there, enjoying the sensations and
unable to imagine anything but what might happen if the feelings
became even more intense, when the voice distracted him.

"Was it worth the wait?" She whispered huskily into his ear.
"Doesn't it all feel so much more intense? My first lover did
this for me. He tied me up and ate me for hours, but never let me
climax. When his mouth got tired, he used a vibrator. I had to
suck him off three different times, the greedy little bastard. I
later found out that he had kept me tied up and on the edge for
six and a half hours. By the time he decided to fill me, I was
practically a raving lunatic. But I'd never felt something as
good as when he finally entered me. I never got past my first
orgasm. I came so hard I passed out. When I woke up he had
already untied me. He told me that I had just experienced the
wonders of delayed gratification. After that, nobody ever had to
tie me up to keep me on the edge for hours. But just between you
and me, I kind of like being tied up. It's just not as intense if
my hands are free."

Any response he might have made turned to a moan as she lifted
herself up and came down, beginning the slow rocking motions that
drove all logic from his brain. There was only the pleasure as
her tunnel slipped up and down over his cock. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Up. Down. There was nothing else in the world for him but Up and
Down.

The rhythm became faster. He could feel himself climbing to a
height of pleasure he had never experienced before. Every piece
of his body felt super sensitive. His nerves thrummed with
energy. His heart was racing. His soul was singing. His mind was
being bombarded with wave after wave of joy all in time with the
quickening Up and Down. Her moans began to echo his own. His mind
lost control of his jerking hips, and the faint remaining whiff
of conscious thought wondered why on earth he had been holding
his hips still when moving them felt so good. It felt so good to
move them Up and Down, working in concert with her wonderful
flesh. His body melded with hers in the rhythm of Up and Down
until they began working too fast for the rhythm to maintain. Up
and Down. There was nothing else in the world that mattered but
Up and Down. His body raced hers up the rise of pleasure until
the muscles in his legs did a small spasm. Up and Down. Nothing
but the pleasure that couldn't be held back anymore and Up and
Down. Nothing left but Up and Down, Up and Down, UP and DOWN
until...

Release. Sweat, lovely, welcomed Release. His hips jerked and he
felt himself explode into her warmth. His soul sang in rising
concert with the aching joy that filled his body and mind. Far
off he heard her voice hiss a sudden "yesssss" and felt her
muscles clench around his own, heightening his pleasure. His skin
flamed, his muscles twitched and contracted and curled and
knotted. His back arched, his legs tensed, his hips came off the
bed. His penis pulsed over and over and over. His eyes saw bright
flashes of brilliant color beneath his closed eyelids. The caught
breath in his throat finally found a way through and his ears
picked up something which might have been a keen joining the
gasping cries of the voice. Eternity was suspended before him,
displaying itself in all its glory before he felt himself
wrenched and the blackness overtook him.

----

He woke to a bleary image. Consciousness returned bit by bit and
his eyes regained their focus. He stared at the ceiling of his
bedroom, wondering if it had all been a dream. He sat up to see
everything in his room just the way it usually was with three
notable exceptions. His bed sheets were soaked in sweat and other
fluids, his wrists and ankles were red and irritated, and there
was a picture on his nightstand.

He stared at his nightstand for a while and thought about
everything that had happened. He sniffed the air, hoping for a
strawberry scent, but the smell of sex pervaded the room. He
tried to decide if he wanted to ever hear that voice again. He
shrugged his shoulders, deciding that it probably wasn't going to
be his choice either way. He reached to his nightstand and picked
up the picture.

He was sprawled across the bed, untied but still in the spread
eagle position. His body gleamed with sweat in the light of the
flash. His hair was wild. His eyes were closed, apparently
asleep. His dick was still hard. His face was warped in the
largest smile he had ever seen himself display.

There was a note on the back, written in a tight, flowing script
with red ink. "Write me a story to help remember this night. I'll
always be your biggest fan." The back of the picture smelled
faintly of strawberries.

He thought back to what she had told him when she had finally
sunk onto him. He decided his next story would be titled "the
wonders of delayed gratification." Either that, or "strawberry
dreams." Maybe he would use both and let her decide.