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From: Hammon Wry <Hammonwry@SPAMTRAPyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Learning her: part 2
Date: Fri,  6 Dec 2002 23:10:03 -0500
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Learning her: part 3

(C) E. Howe  2002
All rights reserved

I looked across the room to her owner and master.  He sat with his
arms folded low on his torso, is mouth frowning in concentration.  If
I had not known him, it would have been a look of displeasure.  I knew
it for focus and nodded briefly.  He shifted, looked at me, and
returned my nod.  

He was known for his talents at collecting slaves, and his inventive 
mind for games and toys with which to amuse himself, and those of us 
he called his friends.  He knew I loved new slaves, and that I was
good at fathoming their very deepest secrets.  Occasionally, he would
call, simply saying he had a new toy, would I like to try it out?  

This time, he spoke with hesitation.  "I've got a special one, Helena.
She's tough to read, and I'd like your opinion."

"What do you mean?  How is she tough to read?"

"I'd rather not say.  I want you not to be influenced by my
perception."

"Fair enough.  Bring her over then."

And now she knelt at my feet, head bowed.  She panted slightly, and 
her hands were crossed behind her, but untied.  

I continued my walk around her, and stopped at her back.  Again, her 
shoulder blades enticed me.  So close to the surface, so sharp.  I
gave in, and drew a line along the edge of one with a brilliant red
fingernail.  

I expected a shiver.  I expected a twitch, or at least a sliding away
of the blade under the skin.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Testing
further, I dipped my nail into that space just under the edge of the
blade, that long curving valley that disappears as the landscape of
her back shifts. 

As I trace that space, run the nail along the unpaved valley road, she
finally reacts, and shiver rolls outward from my fingertip.   I smile.
 
I observe her back, the spine running perpendicular, a row of beads of
bone beneath her bare skin.  Lovely.  I run a finger down them, just
the pad of the fingertip, and again, she shivers, and then her skin
shows goose bumps on her back.  

So, it takes three passes to get a full reaction.  This one tries to
hold herself apart, to not react, but cannot if the stimulus persists.

Let's test this further...

I move to her front again.  I can imagine her eyes trying not to
follow my feet as they come into view, the dizzy path they make around
and around her kneeling form.  Her eyes are open.  

I insert a leather-booted toe between her knees, and nudge from side
to side.  She resists, does not move.  She does not react at all.  I
grasp her hair, hard, and push her head back, and look her in the
face.  

Defiance.  Defiance! Her eyes are narrowed, mouth a tight line in the 
palest shades of color, almost white from pressing her lips tight 
together, perhaps holding words back.  

I laugh!  Oh, this is too delicious.  This one is an enigma, all
right.  Then I too shall be an enigma to her.  Still holding her hair,
I bend and press my mouth to hers, flicking my tongue against her
tight-clasped lips. 

My hand fumbles for her breast, feel its warm weight shift, and sway
as I cup and lift.  I slide my thumb over her nipples, brushing,
brushing, in time to the flicking of my tongue over her lips still
sealed against me.  

Nothing.  No shudder, no twitch.  Nothing.  I pinch her nipple, hard, 
sharp, with no release, and count the heartbeats beneath my hand.  
Finally, she gasps, and my tongue slips between her lips, tasting her 
mouth.  I do not release her nipple.  I tighten my grip on her hair.  

Her mouth is warm and sweet.  I taste her tongue, and feel a tentative
reaction, a flicking back, and then a moan deep in her throat.  I 
withdraw, still holding her nipple.  

"So", I say, "you would open your mouth to me, but not your legs?   
You dare to offer me the most intimate part of your self, your mouth, 
your face, yourself, but not your sex?  Get up!"

By her hair, and by her nipple, I pull her upwards.  She's off
balance, ungraceful, had no say in what happens.   I do not allow her
to stand fully, but make her bend at the waist, her back arched
downward.  

I press between her shoulder blades to hold her down, and then tell
her to spread the tops of her thighs with her hands.  

Again, she resists.  This time, she shakes her head, a silent
resistance. 

I feel my face flush, heat rising, and I hear a roaring in my ears.
How dare she!  

I will not strike a slave in anger.  I remember to breathe, and feel
the tide wash out.   Another breath, and I am calm.  Taking her hands
in mine, I wrest them apart, and bracing myself, I pull them back, and
place them beside her sex, and force them wide.  Her lips part, and
the petals of her sex unfurl. 

Her knees tremble.  The tips of her hair sway, and her nipples, red
and swollen, bounce slightly as they also sway.  But her hands stay
when they belong, holding her ass and thighs apart, offering her cunt
to me.  

I take my time to look at it.  Frilled lips, dark, dusky, and soft as 
damask silk.  Her clit is hidden still, but large, and will become
larger still when it engorges, I am sure.  She is wet, and her scent
is stronger now.   I find it heady, and good.  

I reach one finger out, and press the hood of her clit back.  It
slides easily, and that tiny organ emerges, smooth, and intensely red.
As I watch, it swells, and do her lips.  

Have you ever watched a woman's erection?  I will never, ever watch 
time lapse photography of flowers in bloom without thinking of this 
process.  The lips stand up, and open outward, and the whole area 
swells.  The clit emerges, like the head of a minuscule baby emerging 
from the womb.  

I love to watch her like this, to make her do the very thing she does
not want to do, and then to see her become aroused by it.  

I want to take my time with this one.  I want to find her fears, and
play them, twist them to desires and to know her innermost wants.   I
look to her Master, and grin.  

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