Archive-name: SpecMome/indaff.txt

Archive-author: Storm

Archive-title: Indian Affairs





    We walked hand in hand down the lane at Stoney Creek Farm. I had

promised her a hayride, and tonight was perfect for it. The evening was

crisp, and a full moon was rising over the trees. I carried a blanket on

my right arm. She held onto my left arm with both hands, her head leaned

against my shoulder. We said nothing. It was unnecessary.



    I help her onto the wagon, admiring the length of leg and glimpse of

thigh as her skirt rides up slightly. Several couples are already there,

snuggled under blankets. I climb up and sit beside her. I pull the red

and white blanket over the two of us. She snuggles down into the hay,

resting her head on my shoulder. I put my arm around her and pull her

closer.



    With a soft "Giddap, horses" the hayride began.



    I whisper in her ear, "Woman, I love you." She sighs contentedly,

and kisses my neck. Under the protective screen of the blanket, her hand

finds my thigh. Fingernails scratch along my trousers, her fingers

search for and find the zipper of my trousers. She draws the zipper down

slowly.



    My hands are busy, too. The left hand snuggles under her arm and

strokes her breast. My fingers find her nipple, and roll it into

erection. My right hand finds the hem of her skirt and pushes it up her

leg, above her thigh.



    Her fingers grasp my penis, and soon bring me to a full erection.



    Her panties posed no barrier. I slip my fingers under the legband

and touch her vulva. My fingers part her lips, and enter her. I stroke

slowly, gently, insistently. My fingers touch her very soul. Tender,

stroking. Deep within her.



    She matches the rythym of my fingers in her body with her hand on my

penis. She clasps her fingers around me, and runs fingernails over the

swollen head. Down to the base and back to tip. Persistent, strong. With

a touch like velvet. Slowly. Gently. Insistently.



    I lower my face to hers. My lips brush hers. My tongue traces the

curve of her lips. I break the kiss, and stare at her. I trace her lips

with my tongue. We part. I trace her teeth, then. Her tongue darts to

meet mine. We fight one another. And I lower my lips once again to hers.

Her lips part, her tongue attacks. She thrusts it deep within my mouth,

then withdraws. I return the attack, pursuing deeply into her mouth. She

sighs, and surrenders her mouth to me.



    My hand quits her breast, but with her free hand she pulls it back.

She presses my hand against her breast and forms my fingers around her

distended nipple. "Please," she whispers as she tightens my fingers and

moves thems against her. "Oh, please!" She moans deep within her throat.



    I taste her breath, her passion. I taste her soul.



    Two breaths, two souls. One life, one love.



    Oblivious to the others around us -who are also nestled, loved and

loving- we bring one another to climaxes. The wagon bumps along the

rutted lanes, heightening our pleasure.



    Eventually, we cease. I withdraw my fingers from her, but leave them

on her moist vulva. I tease and tickle the precious mound. I gently

cover it with my hand, content to feel the warmth, the moisture. She

rises sightly, pushing against my hand. And sighs. Her hand does not

move from me. It holds me, tenderly and lovingly. Her fingernails trace

a path up my abdomen, and back to my penis. Up the length of it, gently

across its head, and back to the base. She holds me, then. No longer

teasing. Just holding.



    We lay side by side, still covered by the blanket. No words. Gentle

nuzzlings. Soft, feathery kisses along jaw and ear. Sighs. Contentment.

Passion, not spent, but honed to a fine edge. Promises of fulfillment to

come.



    Together we dream in soft anticipation.



    The moon merely smiles.







                                 * * *









   She really does sleep very soundly. Especially after a couple of

glasses of wine. She doesn't stir as I fasten the handcuffs to her

wrists, and then to the headboard of the bed. As a matter of fact, she

doesn't even stir until I have gagged her with the silk scarf I bought

especially for that purpose. But by that time, her ankles are been bound

to the foot of the bed and she is spreadeagled and helpless!



   Her eyes snap open. She can't see a thing. She can't move. Or speak!

Terror assails her as she struggles against her bonds. She knows that

someone is here. In the room. Of course there is someone in the room

with her. How else could this have happened? But it is too dark for her

to make me out. All she is aware of is a darker shadow against the

darkness of the room, and my hoarse breathing.



    She knows it must be a man. No woman would have done this to her.

Though, in a perverse way, the thought of a woman tying her up and

gagging her is somewhat erotic. Even through the terror, she feels the

first stirrings of her body as she realizes how helpless, and exposed,

she is--how at my mercy!



    She listens intently as I move through her bedroom. I am aware that

she is watching me, but I manage to keep in the shadows or, at least,

keep the light behind me and in her eyes. I bend over her and she turns

her face up towards me--and finds herself suddenly and completely blind.



    Panic, then. Absolute panic. Until she feels the blindfold being

tightened and tied behind her head. Recognizing the fact that she is

merely blindfolded and not blinded does not lessen her fear.



    And still I remain silent.



    She must hear the strange whispering noises, then, as I move about

the room, opening drawers. She must also hear the sound of cloth on

cloth, soft rustlings. Does she wonder what I must be looking for? Does

she hear a sigh? Or, an exhalation of surprise and pleasure as I find --

what?



    My hands are at her ankle. I loosen ties, and her foot is free. No,

not quite free. I hold the ankle tightly, but it is no longer tied. She

feels the stocking being placed over her foot. My hands fit it to her

leg, rolling the top up across her calf, over her knee, and up her

thigh. I lift her leg slightly as I snug the top around her thigh. My

hands wander over her flesh, to the fine hair of her vulva. My fingers

stroke lightly, and my intake of breath matches hers. I withdraw my

hands, and in seconds her ankle is firmly bound once more.



    I repeat the process with her other leg. This time, however, I

stroke her moistening slit with a finger. I caress her several times,

urging my finger deeper with each stroke. Until she writhes with a

beginning need. I stop and retie her ankle. And she is once more

spreadeagled on the bed.



    My hands grasp the hem of her nightgown and pull it slowly down her

body, providing her with a false sense of modesty. I wonder if she can

imagine the erotic picture she makes: Spreadeagled on her back, hands

firmly cuffed above her head; breasts straining against the blue

silkiness of her gown as her position thrust us into prominence; nipples

beginning to harden and distend; legs spread as if awaiting a lover, the

skirt of the gown stretched tightly across hips and thighs; legs encased

in nylons. She is helpless before her captor, blindfolded and gagged

with silken scarves.



    My hands touch her. My fingers graze lightly over her face, touching

eyes through layers of silk. My fingers trail over her lips, touching,

tracing. They follow the line of her jaw, seeking and playing with her

ears. I trace the rim of her ear with a finger, then slowly and

delicately insert the tip of it into her ear. She shivers as I play with

her ear, moving my finger into and out of it as if it were her sex and

the finger my organ. Her breath catches, and becomes labored. Her head

moves from side to side - half attempting to pull away from my fingers,

half attempting to take advantage of the emotions surging through her.



    I grasp her chin, tightly, with one hand and hold her head still.

The fingers of my other hand strokes her lips. I move them across her

upper lip, then down and back across her lower lip. I slide a finger,

then two, under the gag and seeks her tongue. She tries to bite, but I

hold her jaw tightly, threatening to hurt her if she tries to bite or

otherwise resist. I play with her lips and tongue for several minutes.



    Maintaining my grasp on her chin, I slide my free hand down her neck

to her breasts. Through the bodice of the nightgown I find her nipple. I

pinch lightly. She tries to pull away. I pinch harder until she gasps in

surprise and pleasure/pain. Her nipple rises of its own accord. I twist

it between my fingers, pulling and pinching until it is erect. She feels

my body shift. My hand tightens on her breast, squeezing the nipple into

prominence. My breath fans warmly against the rounded slope of her

breast where it rises above the confines of the gown's tight bodice. My

teeth close on her nipple through the cloth. Tongue and lips close

around it as I tease it--nipping and sucking and licking until she

writhes with passion. Moans start deep in her throat and roll around the

gag, filling her ears--and mine--with her need.



    I stop and stand. She is alone, writhing on the bed and moaning with

unfulfilled lust. She tugs at the bindings on her feet, but to no avail.

She knows that attempting to slip out of the handcuffs is useless.

Resigned, she ceases her struggles and awaits my next move.



    She certainly hears more drawers opening and closing, and the sound

of more cloth on cloth. I move about the room, searching.



    I sit on the bed once more. She hears the sound of my breathing,

deep and labored. She can smell my arousal now. A deep, musky--almost

wild-- man scent assails her nostrils. Something smooth and silky

brushes across her face, across her forehead and across her eyes. It

moves down her face, under her nose, and across cheek to ear. Almost

playfully it moves around her ear, venturing hesitantly into it several

times, then across to her lips. It traces her lips. She feels warm

fluid, small drops, being spread across her lips. Her tongue seeks my

juices but is hindered by the gag.



    I shift, and the silken probe wanders down her neck and onto her

breast. Across warm, rounded flesh, until it finds her nipple. It rubs

her nipple through the cloth of her gown.



    My hands grasp the top of her gown and pull, shredding the top like

tissue. Cool air strikes her hot breasts, further distending the aroused

nipples. I move against her, and settle my weight on her rib cage just

below her breasts. Even though I half support myself on my kness to

either side of her body, I am sitting on her! My hands gather her

breasts together and I plunge my organ into the warm channel formed by

us. My hips move, and I stroke my manhood back and forth. As my passions

take over, I shift slightly and my penis thrusts further and further

between her breasts and against her lips. She can feel the head pushing

rythymically against her gag. She shifts her head, moving it

closer--back and forth in time to my thrusts. She is straining now

against her bonds. Her lips move, as if attempting to capture me.



    Again I stop. I move away from her and the bed shifts as I raise

myself from her. She whines in frustration, gaining herself a slight

slap and a whispered wordless warning.



    I shift to by her waist. My hands slide up her stockinged legs--from

ankle to calf; teasing the soft spot behind her knee; up across to the

thigh; down across her thigh and around it, sliding under her, lifting

her slightly, allowing me to cup her buttocks. My fingers search and

find the crevice between her buttocks. I stroke her there, fingers

gently finding and massaging the slight opening.



    My hand moves from under her and slides up across her furred slit. I

cup her, and apply pressure to her vulva. My fingers move slightly. She

arches her back and presses her mound into my questing hand. My fingers

shift, probe, and enter her. Moisture wells up, allowing me easy access

to her inner reaches. My fingers seek her inner self, probing and

thrusting and moving within her. The pressures of her need threaten to

overwhelm her as she thrusts back against my demanding intrusion.



    I lightly bite her nipples and lick the cloth covering her breasts.

I suck first one then the other, nipple into my mouth. It seems as if I

am attempting to swallow her breast. Her breasts throb with her need,

painful and aroused, nipples threatening to tear through the material

that seeks to restrain them against their will.



    My fingers continue to plunge into her. My thumb finds her clitoris

and begins to apply gentle pressure on it, stroking it into a miniature

of the rection she must know I have at this moment.



    She feels my breath on her leg, and on her bare thigh. Lips touch

her, nibbling across her flesh. My tongue licks across her thigh, moving

inexorably towards her waiting body and my active fingers. Slowly, I

remove my fingers. Equally slowly, I replace them with lips and tongue.

One hand carresses her legs through the sheer nylon stockings. The other

seeks and finds her clitoris, massaging it none too gently. Meanwhile,

my tongue parts her nether lips and thrusts deeply within her weeping

slit.



    Tongue thrusts.



    Fingers tease.



    Hot breath excites.



    She moans louder. Her hips move against my face. Her body shudders.

her breath catches. She is crying and moaning now. Totally at my mercy,

overcome with need and lust. Out of control.



    My tongue abruptly withdraws. She loses all contact with me, but

her need is so great, her emotions so overpowering, that she isn't aware

I have stopped. Her back arches as she senses I am no longer there. An

inquisitive moan comes from deep within her. Only to be replaced by a

sharp intake of breath and a muffled scream as my weight suddenly

descends upon her and she is penetrated by my thrusting cock. My hands

grab her breasts, as I use them for leverage to thrust harder and deeper

within her. In and out, side to side, I thrust and plunge within her.

Merciless and demanding, unrelentless, until she is wracked by multiple

orgasms. My breath bathes her face as I bend and lick her lips. Her head

whips from side to side, fanning her hair around her face and over the

pillow. My orgasms flood her interior, filling her with what seems to be

scalding liquid--so intense is the pleasure.



    I rest briefly, then withdraw slowly, teasingly. She feels my weight

shift as I lie down beside her. I sleep. I make no attempt to loosen her

bonds, or otherwise ease her strained body.



    Resigned, the bound and well-fucked beauty tries to relax and rest.



    But several times during the night, her I awaken and have my will

with her.



    I will be ravenous in the morning. And I will have to untie her for

her to cook the breakfast of buffalo steaks and eggs and potatoes I like

so much. I will probably sleep then. I usually do. And then, it will be

*her* turn!







                                 * * *







   I sleep. I know I am sleeping because it is warm, and I am at peace.

No nagging doubts or fears. No bouts with depression and insecurity. I

am floating above a sea of billowy, white clouds. I look down and see an

eagle rising to meet me. It is she. I fold my huge wings against my body

and drop like a stone towards her. At the last moment, I throw my wings

apart. My feathers spread. My descent is abruptly checked. I bank, dive,

and climb far above her. It is a game we play, she and I. She rises to

meet me and again I drop. I stretch my neck and nip playfully as I

hurtle downward. She screams, deep in her throat, and dives after me. I

open my wings. But instead of slowing my descent, I roll onto my back.

She collides with me. I wrap my wings about her and we join in mid-air.

I feel her body on mine and enfold her within my wings. I feel her

warmth, and her body clutches mine . . .



   And I awaken. And she is there. And her body is clutching mine. She

is warm. And wet. She moans within her throat, and arches her back. My

hands rise to her hair. I unfasten it, and she shakes her head - once -

twice - and her hair falls free. I lunge towards her, raising my hips

and thrusting deep inside her. I slow the pace, then, wishing her to

arrive at her threshhold. I would not reach that joyous moment without

her. My only pleasure is seeing her pleasure. One of her hands caresses

her own breast, She thrusts the heel of the thumb of her other hand

between her lips. She bites down in a feeble attempt to muffle the

scream which escapes. I am captivated by this woman, this Flys Afar

Woman. I stare at her. I am barely able to breath. No, not with her

weight on me. That is as a feather to me. My breath is held captive by

her beauty, by her love. She is smiling now, her eyes half lidded,

smokey with her lust. Her fingers continue to assault her breast, her

nipple. I place my hand on hers, and feel the movement of nipple between

her fingers. My other hand removes hers from her lips. I cup her neck

and pull her face down to mine. I kiss her. Just her lips. Lightly. I

nip at her lower lip, capturing it between my teeth. My tongue caresses

the sweet prisoner, then invades the dark citadel of her mouth. She

bites my tongue. Then sucks it deeper into her mouth. We speak with one

another in the language older than time, itself. Shuddering, she reaches

her peak. We reach it together. I hold her close, until the delightful

spasms cease. I whisper against her hair, "I love you, my woman. You are

the sun and the stars. You are my heart!"



--