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Message-ID: <27392asstr$973919402@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "H. Jekyll" <h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Anniv-Party: sub by H Jekyll (under the wire?)
Date: Sat, 11 Nov 2000 00:10:02 -0500
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"Maggie"

H. Jekyll

========================================

Copyright by H. Jekyll.  Permission is freely granted
to post on any site that does not charge for entrance,
as long as proper attribution is given to the author. 
The story should not be read by anyone under the legal
 age to read sexually explicit stories, or by anyone
in a location where it is illegal to read such
stories.  

I appreciate comments and inquiries, even criticisms. 
All authors do.  Please send them to: 
h_jekyll2000@yahoo.com.

My stories are archived in the Authors' section of the
Alt Sex Stories Text Repository, at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/h_jekyll/

I dedicate the story to Maggie McGee, my editor and
the focus  of the story.  I won't reveal if the story
is completely, or even partially, true.  I wrote it as
a vignette for Maggie some months back, and she has
insisted that I submit it for the ASSTR story
festival.

MF, BD, con.
=======================================

You have known from our earliest correspondence that I
have a dark side, that I really am a Doctor Jekyll and
Mister Hyde.  I think you were seduced by that
knowledge.  That must be why we kept returning to the
dark stories, exploring their power, edging toward
practice.  Still, how was I able to persuade you that
we should meet in person, to play a "game" of
domination?  Were we prepared for our passion to
explode when we could see and touch each other?

-------------------------------------------------

We meet, and after I tell you my fantasy you agree to
be bound, but reluctantly.  Your agreement
demonstrates the level of trust between us;  if it
weren't solid, you never would have gone through with
this, letting yourself be under my control, but you
came close to calling it off nonetheless.  

You come even closer when I get reckless.  You have
told me repeatedly that you don't find pain erotic,
but I tell you that along with being bound you have to
know that I can hurt you, that even loving you I would
find it arousing to hurt you.  This removes your sense
of security, makes the game more dangerous, makes it
more thrilling.  The thrill moves through your belly
and overcomes your judgment long enough for my
purposes.

I strip you with kisses and caresses, telling you I
love you.  You look both anxious and excited.  You
have been like this ever since I installed the hook
and chain over the closet door.  You keep glancing at
them, then back to me.  I don't think you have
considered how to remove them after I have left.  You
are breathing so fast that I fear you might
hyperventilate.  

I have a pair of sleeves that I found in a sex shop
somewhere, like nothing you've ever seen.  They are
made of black velvet.  They fit between your hands and
your elbows and all along them are eyelets intended
for lacing.  I slip them on you and they are
incredibly soft moving up your forearms, softer when
on completely, still soft as I lace them with leather
laces, all the way up, and tie them off.  I do
everything slowly.  

You say: "They're beautiful, Henry! I never thought I
could feel so sexy."  

You want to go on but I shush you, tell you not to
talk.  I tell you *are* sexy in them, Maggie, sexual,
and that you will be even more sexual and beautiful
when you are immobilized.

Your hands look so pale coming out of the velvet; 
your body too.  

Several rings are sewn into the sleeves.  There is a
mechanism that lets me latch your hands together with
the rings.  In the same shop where I had found the
black velvet sleeves, I found a length of black velvet
rope.  I use it now to tie into a ring; and then I
walk you to the closet door, thread it through the
chain, and pull your arms up.

You had thought there would be more ceremony.

You are facing out toward the bedroom, your arms
stretched over your head, almost completely off the
floor, standing on tip-toes.  I'm stronger than you
had expected, and it is easy for me to lift you.  It
is easy to see that this makes you more anxious, and
excites you more.  Anyone could tell it.  

You've read my stories and know that this is a
position I like to use for my women victims, so you
aren't surprised when I spread your legs and tie your
feet, with more black rope, to screw-rings I've
installed at the sides of the closet doorway.  This
rope is soft, too, more black velvet.  You aren't
uncomfortable, but you can hardly move.  

Now I strip.  The feeling in my penis while tying you
has become almost profound.  My dick is larger than I
can remember it growing in years.  My chest is tight,
and I have to take large breaths before I can talk.  

I step up to you and we kiss, rich and delicious
kisses, and I play with your body.  My cock is pressed
against your belly.  I hear little sounds that you
make in the back of your throat and I think: is it
time?

Yes.  I step away, go to a leather satchel on the bed,
take out a roll of black cloth, and bring it over. 
When I unroll it, you see a series of bright,
stainless steel tools: skewers, scalpels, long pins,
pliers, scissors.  They gleam beautifully.

I let you look at them for a moment.  You've almost
stopped breathing.  Finally you say:

"Wait a minute. What are you doing, Henry?  I don't
think I want to do this."

"Maggie, love, these are just in case.  You need to be
obedient and quiet.  I don't want you talking at all. 
Do you understand?"  

Your mouth is open a little.  Your eyes are large. 
You can't disguise your sudden fear, though you try to
act brave.  You don't say anything more, but you nod.

"Good.  You can make noises.  In fact, I'd like you
to.  But no words.  The other thing is that you have
to do everything I tell you.  Everything.  Do you
understand that, Mags?"

Again you nod.  You are staring at the tools, then
staring in my eyes.  I'm afraid I might come without
even touching my penis, and I've never in my life done
that.

I put the tools away and come back to you and we start
kissing again.  It takes you a moment to respond.  It
was the first time you had ever felt any fear of me,
and it is slow to evaporate.  But I'm kissing you and
caressing you and you finally decide that it is just
part of the game, and your passion returns, actually
sweeping over you like a wave.  I feel the change in
your kissing when that happens.

The doorway in which you are hung is wide enough that
I can move all the way around you easily.  I tie a
soft blindfold over your eyes, then begin circling
you.  I touch you everywhere, brushing your skin with
my nails, licking you, giving you little bites.  I
love underarms and I nibble on yours, both sides.  I
suck your nipples, then run my tongue around and
around them.  I play with your pussy.  I kneel and
lick you there. I want to get you high.  Being
blindfolded and immobile, not knowing where the
sensations will come next, brings you close to orgasm.
 Waiting.  Where next?  There.  There.

I leave you for a minute, leave you wondering,
waiting.  I return with some mentholated petrolatum
and push a greased finger up into your ass.  You gasp
and begin to twist about.  Your body thrashes, Maggie,
but your arms and legs can't move.  Oh, it is too
strong!  It burns.  No, no it doesn't.  I spread more
mentholated grease on your pussy and your nipples.  It
is hot and cold at the same time;  but you are just
hot.

You are so easy, Maggie.  You have never been tied,
never played this game, so everything is new to you,
and you get excited so quickly that you make deep
moaning sounds even when I just tongue your navel or
nip you on the waist.  You want to ask me to do
specific things, but you can't because I won't let you
talk.  Even this excites you.  I move fingers back and
forth through your slippery labia.  I'm still circling
you, Maggie, touching you at different places all the
time.

Then I stop touching your nipples or pussy.  I touch
you everywhere else, but not there.  I let my fingers
and mouth get oh, so close, but no touching.  I get
right to your areoles.  I barely caress the outside of
your labia.  You get frustrated and start trying to
move your body toward my hands and my mouth, and you
make sounds of frustration.

Finally you say:  "Sweet heaven, are you going to take
all day, Jekyll, love?"

I stand quietly for a moment, before I move my mouth
to your ear:

"Oh, that's my sassy Mags, isn't it?  Of course now
I'm going to have to hurt you, darling.  I'll try not
to enjoy it too much." 

At that you stand completely still.  No talking.  Not
even any breathing at first.  Your mouth looks funny
and I'm afraid you might cry.  I step to you and kiss
your lips, to stop the trembling.

"Do what I say, my love."

We start kissing together and you act wild for my
mouth.

Now I do touch your nipples.  I tweak then between
thumbs and fingers, thumbs moving up and fingers
moving down, making them grow.  I suck on your
nipples, then move slowly down your front, nipping on
the white of your breasts, kissing your stomach,
nibbling at your waist, going down, down to your sex. 
I hold you by your ass and hips and move my mouth into
you and slather you with my tongue.

The tension, being caught between fear and desire, is
too much for you.  You start to come and cry out
loudly.  You keep crying out.

Then I move up and enter you.  Because I am so much
taller than you I have to half-kneel to do it, and I
hold on to the black velvet rope over your head,
fucking upwards into you.  I've never seen or heard a
woman so explosively orgasmic.  When I come, and it
only takes a minute, my legs go out from under me, and
I am holding myself up completely by my arms, almost
slipping down.

------------------------------

We have a quiet dinner, touching now and then, giving
little kisses out of the blue.  

You are drawn to the little bundle of tools.  You
insist on opening it and looking at the tools and you
don't even try to hide your disappointment when you
find they are just painted plastic.  Later that
evening, because the days are long, we take a walk
along the River Road, arms around waists, hand in
hand, mouth on mouth, and I do kiss your hair like I
had written I wanted to, long ago.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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