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Be Still
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.
Copyright 1994. All rights reserved.
Be Still
"Be still," he said, and she ceased her movements.
She lay on top of her bed, the comforter rumpled beneath her. Her shoes
lay scattered on the floor next to the bed where they had fallen. Her
hair was tussled, and lay in long fine strands against her pillow. The
room was dark.
His words were close to her ear, gentle, soothing. The pale light that
filtered through the closed drapes revealed only the broadest hint of his
features: the tip of his nose, the ridge of his forehead. His breath was
sweet.
She was aware of every detail around her. Her silken blouse felt cool
against her skin. Her long skirt felt like a heavy sheet against her
legs.
Outside she could hear the far-off bark of a neighborhood dog. Inside, she
could hear the faint ticking of a clock, his soft breathing, and her own
heart beating.
She stiffened as she felt his hand touch her stocking foot, and gently
trace a whisper up her calf. "Relax," he said, continuing his touch
along her thigh and past her hip. He barely brushed the fine cloth of
her work clothes, which in turn kissed her flesh.
She tried to even out her breathing, listening to her heart beat, which
seemed to echo off of the walls. His touch came higher still, past the
swell of her breast, along her neck, up into her hair. She closed her
eyes.
His fingertips made the round trip, this time detouring to explore her
face: the contour of her nose, the softness of her lips. His touch
rounded over her chin and down her chest, rising and falling with her
breath so that she could only ever feel the slightest pressure. She
could feel her skin tingle all up and down her body, as if the goose
bumps could change the pressure on her skin.
Her head rolled against the pillow and she let out a soft moan as she
felt his fingers at the top button of her blouse. He unhooked each
button with great gentleness. She could feel the rub of the material
against her skin, every spot seeming to glow in the darkness.
When he had finished, he slowly drew the blouse away from her chest. She
could feel the air, cold, against her. He ran his fingertips across her
breasts, and she could feel her nipples stiffen and rub against the thin
material of her bra.
He traced the edges of her bra, and found the clasp between her breasts.
He unclipped it carefully, and then pushed the material aside. Again she
felt the barest suggestion of his fingertips along the side of her breast
and across the throbbing nipple. She felt herself shudder.
"Rise up," he whispered, and almost mechanically she did so, allowing him to
slip her blouse and her bra off of her shoulders.
When he leaned over her, she could feel the heat coming off of him. His
lips closed over one nipple, tasting with the faintest touch. She gasped
when he removed his mouth, and blew against the wet spot he had made.
He ran his palms down across her stomach, and then he slipped his hands
beneath the elastic of her skirt and stockings. Carefully, slowly, he
pulled them down across her hips and along her legs, until he pulled them
off entirely. His motions created the barest breeze that flowed along
the length of her body. Again she turned her head and moaned.
She felt him tug gently at her underwear, and soon they too were removed
from her body. She was now completely unclothed.
He nudged her legs apart, and she moved against him. "Be still," he
whispered, and she was still.
He stepped back for a moment. She was aware of every inch of her body
exposed to the air. She could feel her comforter brushing her leg. A
single strand of hair tickled her cheek. The rise and fall of her chest
seemed to make the air move against her breasts.
She could hear the tinkle of ice cubes in her water glass that was set,
previously forgotten, on her bedside table. She started when she felt a
drop of water on her skin, but tried to melt back into the bed when he
said, "Shhhhhh ...." Without warning she could feel the burning coldness
against her nipple, and it was as if there was a direct connection to her
most secret places between her legs. She arched her back, but he reacted
to her motions as if expected, and the ice cube never left her nipple.
A part of her heard the clinking of the ice cube as it was dropped back
into the glass, and the soft sound of the glass being replaced on the
table, but the rest of her felt only the sudden warm lips on her breast.
Slightly firmer now, his tongue explored her nipple, his lips like fire.
Her breathing seemed loud in the room as he moved up across her chest.
Soon he was using his lips against her neck. She could feel his tongue
trail up until it was behind her earlobe, and then all around her ear.
She felt his teeth against the lobe. She did not hear her own moaning,
she only heard the sound of his mouth against her ear.
He moved down her body, placing kisses against her skin. She gasped when
he kissed her stomach, then moaned when he dipped his tongue in her belly-
button. His hands were pushing against her knees, and she let him spread
her legs.
She felt his breath between her legs, and she held hers, waiting for the
inevitable. It came--the gentle touch of his tongue on her.
Again she arched her back, but his hands on her caused her to lie still
again. But she trembled. And he explored her.
His tongue was gentle at first, but it grew bolder. She felt his finger
slip inside her, and move within her. She could not control the slight
movements of her hips and her chest as she felt the passion building
inside her. The room was filled with darkness, but she was filled with
the light of the coming fulfillment. He was carrying her there, she
could not resist him. She could hear her own cry as if it were apart
from herself as the peak hit her. She rode each crest as it carried her
higher and higher, as his tongue and fingers pushed her higher still.
The tiny sound of his zipper broke through to her, and she whispered
urgently at him, simply, "Please ..." He was on her. She could feel him
hard against her. She could feel his clothing against her skin.
"Be still," he said, and he was in her. Achingly sensitive from her climax,
it was as if she could feel every ridge. He thrust within her, matching
her rhythms of only moments ago. His lips centered on one nipple, and
she felt his teeth nipping at her. The waves were returning again. She
felt herself buoyed by them. She was rising again, higher. And as he
cried out and shoved hard within her, she again was tipped over the edge.
He lay against her for a moment. She felt his breath hot beside her
cheek. Tiny muscles made themselves heard where they were still
connected. The clock was still ticking.
As she lay panting, he drew away from her, and she could hear him zip up
his pants. She could hear him moving about the room. It was too dark to
see.
She heard a strange loud snap near the wall. A moment later he was back
by the side of her bed. "That was the phone line," he said. She felt
the barrel against her temple, and the sound of the hammer snapping back,
as loud as thunder in the silent room. "Remember," he said, as if she
needed reminding, "don't do anything you'll regret." And then he was gone.
She heard the door close behind him.
For long moments she lay as if frozen. The air in the room felt thick,
like foam. She felt like she could not draw it into her lungs.
She began to tremble. She had been weeping long before she knew it, but
then her sobs racked through her body like an earthquake.
Her paralysis broken, she sat up and fumbled for the phone on the bedside
table. As she pulled the receiver to her ear, she heard that it was
dead. She pulled herself out of the bed, becoming tangled in the sheets
and falling to the floor. She crawled to her purse, abandonned by the
door, and searched it with shaking hands until she found her tiny
cellular phone hidden in its depths.
Sobbing, she dialed 9-1-1. She could barely speak, and so it took three
tries before she could sputter into the telephone, "please, please help
me, I've been raped ..."
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Comments (and constructive criticism!) are highly appreciated (by email
please). jenya 7/94
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