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Longshot's Fantasy scene 3
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.
From: [email protected] (Longshot)
Subject: Fantasy Scene III
Here is the third story I have written. As with the others, I have passed it
to a reviewer for rudimentary error-checks, and to make sure that my new-to-
B&D mind hasn't crafted something outside the realm of possibility. I will
continue to write as long as response is good (response to my first two
stories was favorable). Feedback is welcomed; constructive comments or
criticism will be taken well, flames won't even be read all the way through,
but rather deleted. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed
fantasising it.
We come home from a wonderful evening of dinner at a quiet restaurant, then
the theatre. It's nice, once in a while at least, to have a quiet evening.
After all, we don't have to play EVERY time we're out, do we? Tonight, maybe,
we can just listen to some soft music (a little Moody Blues, perhaps?) and
relax. But just inside the door, I learn, to my delight, that you are not
ready to call it a night just yet. The door is barely shut before your arms
are around my neck, pulling my lips down to yours. My mind thinks of several
mock protests that might be humorous here, but you cover my lips with yours
long before thought becomes speech.
Dinner forgotten, the movie forgotten, even the Moody Blues forgotten, we
begin to shuffle towards the bedroom, desperately trying to cover the few
yards without breaking the kiss, giggling to ourselves as we break for just a
moment while trying to navigate the corner. Through the doorway, we have only
a few feet yet to go before we can stretch out on the bed. But, while the
evening's previous entertainment may be forgotten, there are things that I
have been keeping fresh in memory until such a time a I could spring them on
you and surprise you. Have I waited long enough? Let us see if I have.
While kissing you, I cup your face in my hands. I run my hands down your neck,
over your shoulders, and down your arms. While you are expecting me to take
your hands in mine and lead you to bed, you are caught off-guard when I grab
you by the upper arms, break the kiss, and say, "Tonight, we wrestle for the
right to serve or be serviced. Lose to me, and expect to be teased and tortured
beyond your wildest fantasies. And when I win, I will include added punishment
for having resisted me." I smile evilly. I expect you to immediately begin
thrashing against me. I am more than a little surprised when you say, "Fair is
fair. Expect your punishment to be every bit as delicious when I win." Caught
unprepared by your sudden, forward remark, I am not expecting your arms to
curve upwards and break my grip. The match is on.
I scramble to regain a grip on you, succeeding only in getting a handful of
the front of your blouse. In my mind, I'm trying to remain calm as I calculate
how long I'll be able to wage a prolonged effort. I'm still not used to the
high altitude in Colorado, but I have the advantage of size. I suppose we both
have an advantage, as you demonstrate your flexibility by lowering your upper
body and literally backing out of your pull-over shirt, leaving me with the
shirt in my hand, and for the first time since we first met, uncertainty on
my face. Time to start taking you seriously, it would seem.
I step towards you, once again reaching for your upper arms. You know I am
hoping to get a grip on you, then use the extra foot of height I have on you
as leverage. You put your arms up to defend, and are a little bit surprised
to see my hands somehow appear around your waist. You wonder if what I just
did has anything to do with the karate classes you tease me about, and wonder
if you should stop teasing?
Now that we are locked in an embrace (and, were someone to see us, they would
think we were just snuggling, not wrestling), it comes down to a matter of
leg strength. My longer legs versus yours, better toned by regular exercise,
another advantage you have. We shuffle back and forth, neither getting a clear
advantage. I try to lean in to bite you on the neck, in an attempt to break
your concentration. I get bitten in the process, as you demonstrate that there
are some pluses to having your mouth just inches from my neck. All this while
we are shuffling back and forth. But when I can get you to go backwards two
or three inches, you are only able to push me back half the distance or so. As
a result, we are coming gradually closer to to the edge of the bed, though I
suspect you don't know it. You learn, however, when your ankle catches on the
edge. I press the advantage, and we both grunt as we fall, you backwards, and
I forwards.
You're losing now. You know it, and I know it. But still you fight. Between
breathes, I remind you: "If you..." "fight me like..." "this..." "it will..."
"only make your..." "punishment..." "longer." "I'll take..." "forever..."
"to make you..." "come." I get winded and collapse my whole weight on your
body. You make one last ditch effort, but you too are low on energy. I move my
hands up and grab you by your wrists. Before you can direct your remaining
energy into a counter-attack or defense, I slip the loop of rope, wrapped in a
silk sheath, over your crossed wrists. I pull it tight. Your arms are taken
care off. Now I can focus my attention on your legs. This will be the hard
part. I have to undress you before I tie off your ankles.
I slide down until my weight is on your shins. You try to fight me, knowing
that I am going for your jeans before I try to immobilize your legs. You buck
and rock from side to side, but I just sit there, letting you burn your energy.
When you pause for a moment to catch your breath, I dive forward and fix my
mouth to the crotch of your jeans, exhaling hard and hotly against the fabric.
Denim hold that warmth so well. Your eyes squeeze shut as your fight becomes
less against me, and more against yourself. Not waiting to see if you get a
second wind, I quickly get a hold of your zipper and in a matter of a few
seconds, you are renewing your resistance while I am trying to get panties
and jeans over the curves of your hips. But your are already running out of
steam, and what resistance you can muster is broken when I get enough clit
visible to apply my tongue to. It's almost disappointingly easy to get your
pants of, and the resistance to the ropes around your ankles is token at best.
Only your bra remains, and that being a front-clasping, I settle for opening
it and letting it fall to your sides. Arms over your head, legs spread wide,
this is going to be a long night for you.
You think all these things yourself while I am out of the room, rummaging
through various parts of the house. When I return, you watch wide-eyed as I
set out the ice cream, the bottle of chocolate syrup still floating in hot
water, getting hot itself, some pieces of ice, and some brushes, whose
tickling value you are extremely familiar with. As I undress, I tell you,
"For fighting me, and resisting me, I shall have, let's say, an extra
thirty minutes of you satisfying me however I request, and I will prolong your
orgasm for forty-five minutes, the extra fifteen being for giving up before
the fight was over." You bite your lower lip as my pants hit the floor. You
know it wouldn't do at all for me to see you smile.
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