From clarkson!rpi!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!cs.uiuc.edu!cs.uiuc.edu!laff Sun Oct 10 12:54:29 1993 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories Path: clarkson!rpi!uwm.edu!spool.mu.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!cs.uiuc.edu!cs.uiuc.edu!laff Message-ID: CEKK9n.LM7@cs.uiuc.edu Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Organization: University of Illinois, Dept. of Comp. Sci., Urbana, IL Lines: 94
From: archer@chatham.uucp (Walter Madsen ) >Subject: A short scene >Date: 20 May 91 06:14:42 GMT >Lines: 81
//Archive-name: a-short-scene //Author: Madsen, Walter //Title: A short scene
The room is still, and dark, except for the spotlight focused on his body. Sweat gleams from the smooth curves of his arms, lifted above his head; it sparkles on the hair curling from his chest; shimmering with the movement of his breath. Rivulets form; sweat rolls across the tight muscles of his stomach, down into the tight pelt of his crotch.
Walking around him, I see that the sweat is also running down his back. It catches momentarily on the sparse hair across his shoulder blades, then runs swiftly down the rigid expanse of flesh to his buttocks to disappear into the crack of his ass.
I continue walking around him. He is motionless; the leather straps around his wrists hold him erect, while the shackles hold his ankles in place on the floor. His head is still, too, though his eyes follow me as I walk, a shadow barely visible with the light bright in his face. His eyes, wide with expectation - and fear.
He is mine.
In my hand I hold a whip. It isn't overly long, just over a foot; I like to maintain tight control over where the lashes land. Without raising it, I can feel it pull against my hand, its smooth suppleness causing it to sway with my stride. I can feel the edges of the braided leather against my palm, the occasional brush as it gently touches my leg.
Lifting my arm, I allow the loose thongs to brush across his chest. He inhales sharply, seeing it clearly for the first time. It makes a soft hiss against his chest hair.
I lower my arm and continue to walk.
Three hours ago, he and I were in a bar a few miles from here. I was basically ignoring him, sipping on my whiskey; he'd been circling me for an hour while sucking on a beer. Getting his courage up.
Eventually he approached and sat down, starting to talk like they always do. I didn't look at him; it was too early. He had the usual questions: Do I wear leather chaps because I ride a bike? What were all of the keys for? Why did I have a leather thong wrapped around my wrist?
I gave him the usual answers: I wear chaps because I like the feel of leather. The keys are there because I have a lot of locks. The thong is there in case I need it. He knew I was feeding him a line of shit, but he was willing to play along.
Eventually, he worked up his courage, asked me about my sexual preferences. Asked me why I enjoy controlling men, why I enjoy putting them through their paces. Asked me to show him what it was liked.
I told him what he was asking; I don't take my prey unawares. I told him that if he submitted to me, that I don't play games; told him I would own him, body and soul, to do with as I please until I decided otherwise. He agreed.
That was three hours ago.
I continue to walk around him, trailing the whip across his naked skin. I bring it under his armpit, over his shoulder blade, down his spine to his ass. I pause, pushing the tip of the whip deep into the hairy crack, rubbing it across his hole. He makes a soft sound, spreading his legs a little wider and arching his back. I remove the whip.
The tips whistle a little, a crackling hiss, as the whip arches through the air to strike the small of his back. The touch so far has been almost gentle; he wasn't expecting force so soon. He jumps and squeaks, and I smile. That was just a touch, barely a beginning; my whip will whistle and sing many more times tonight, across his back, his thighs, his chest; anywhere whim prompts me to strike. Before the evening is through, the taut young body before me will be covered with red stripes, tears running down his face to mix with the sweat on his chest, begging me to release him, to let him serve me in any way that pleases me. By the time I release him, he will be eager to take my cock in his mouth, his ass; feverishly eager to do anything to stop my whip. The sight of my whip will compel instant obedience for a few days; within a few days more, he will be begging to be whipped again. I know these things, because I've done this before.
Still smiling, I raise the whip again.
--
Joshua A. Laff, email to: laff@cs.uiuc.edu I will ignore all requests for: reposts, e-mailing missing parts, archive locations, ftp sites, gif sites, and subscription requests. These stories get deleted immediately after they are posted.