Past and Present © Copyright 1997-2014 - Crimson Dragon All Rights Reserved Main Page · Short Stories · Snapshots · Novels · Contact |
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======================================================================== Snapshot #7 Past and Present (Ff, bd, ds) ======================================================================== (c) 1997 - All Rights Reserved Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) ======================================================================== She had been standing there for hours. Her legs stretched wide apart. Soft leather securely holding the ankles to the structure. Bent at the waist, her neck resting through the padded hole in the course wood. Her slender wrists securely caught in the stock. She allowed herself to fall into a time long past. Convicted of some petty crime without a trial. Secured naked in front of the entire town for her penance. Flushing as everyone, women, children, elders, warriors, all took in her exposed body with open stares. Stripped. Humiliated. Tears coursing down her face. Perhaps, later, a public whipping. She sighed in her own stocks in her own time. She felt the soft caress of her lover on her hanging breast. She opened her eyes. Tried to move herself, press her breast into the teasing fingers, encouraging the touch. Frustration, as the bonds securely held her. The touches travelling the length of her body. Brushing against the fine hair between her legs. Her whole being softly crying out; begging for attention denied so very long. It had been so long since Diane had so lovingly secured her into the stock. So long ago, felt the leather encasing her bare ankles. Then, Diane had left. Frustration. Hours. Diane had simply reappeared while she was lost in a time long ago. The gentle touch to her breast bringing her past into her own present. Teasing touches. Finally, feeling the touch of cool plastic slowly, maddeningly slowly, slipping inside of her. She found herself unable to prevent herself from moving with the slow rhythm of the invasion despite the bondage. Diane's fingers so softly touching her clitoris with the rhythm of the strokes. Crying out as her orgasm washed over her like a warm surf. Peace. |
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