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From: Hammon Wry <Hammonwry@SPAMTRAPyahoo.com>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Fri, 06 Dec 2002 10:46:20 EST
Subject: {ASSM} Learning her: part 1
Date: Fri,  6 Dec 2002 23:10:02 -0500
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Learning her:  part 1

(C) E. Howe  2002
All rights reserved

She sat, as I said, at my feet.  Kneeling, she sat back over her feet,
her haunches wide over her ankles.  Her hands simply crossed at the
wrist above her tailbone, and her spine a row of small bumps and
hollows down the middle of her back.  Her shoulder blades looked sharp
to me, somehow.  I wanted to run a fingernail along the blade edge of
them, and watch her reaction.  

As I passed behind her, I curved my path to circumambulate her form.  
Her head was bowed, and her hair was long enough to obscure her 
upper breasts, but not her nipples.  Her nipples were exquisite.  

I bent and pinched one, and watched her face.  She winced, and cried 
out, a soft "ooof!"   I lifted her face by gripping her chin, and
tilting her head back, fast, and severe.  Her eyes flew open wide, and
her irises dilated when she saw my expression.  

Good.  She had the sense to be afraid.  A quick intake of breath, and
her eyes shifted away from my face, strained to look at her own
cheeks.   I allowed myself a smile, and released her chin.  Her head
returned to its bowed position.  Her hands slipped from their
position, uncrossed and slid to her hips before she caught them, and
replaced them above her tailbone.  Her breasts expanded out and up as
she gasped at the failure. 

I was tempted to tie her wrists.  No.  Let her struggle with keeping
them crossed behind her.  But I might blindfold her, if she is good.  

Odd how a blindfold will quiet the most nervous ones.  But it's true.
I've seen women go from weeping and crying to orgasmic within 
minutes of being blindfolded.  Perhaps it has to do with reducing 
distractions, and heightening the sense of touch.  Enough conjecture.

Her hands stayed crossed.  How I love this moment.  She knows she 
has failed, at such a trivial and easy thing, too, and I can see her
fear of punishment grow.  Time is elongating for her right now, in
anticipation of the pain.  I inhale deeply, and catch her scent.  It
has risen, sharpened, heady.  Arousal is covered by the sharp note of
fear.  The bass is warm and rich, earthy.  She has a mid-note of soap,
an alto to the soprano of her fear.  Through all those parts is the
melody of her own unique scent.  I nod approval. 

As much as I love this moment, it will move along soon, and following 
will be the reaction.  My reaction to the hands slipping to her sides.
I decide to go easy on her.  "Do not lose control of your hands again,
slave.  You will not like the result."

I watched her release her breath and her frame sag a little.  Was it 
relief, or disappointment I was seeing?   I was sure I would find out 
eventually.  

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