:origin()/pre00/40a1/th/pre/f/2016/252/5/6/to_touch_a_buttefly_s_wing_by_ugiel-dad4tqe.jpg)
© 2016 by ugiel (ugiel.deviantart.com)
Edited by Dannysuling (dannyuling.deviantart.com)
Picture by Thalarionyr (thalarionyr.deviantart.com)
Click....
The key works in the lock and I smoothly open the door. I enter the apartment, noticed by no one. It is 9:00 A.M., and I have plenty of time. She will be home no sooner than eight hours from now. I’m sure about that. Why? Because I know everything about her.
I’ve been observing her everyday routine for a long, long time. I know exactly when she wakes up, eats breakfast, leaves for work, and comes home. What? You call me a ‘stalker’? Please don’t be so severe. What else should I do if I can’t help loving her? Her slim yet curvy figure, her small but full pink lips, her snub, freckled nose, her smiling, glittering brown eyes and long, wavy mane of blonde hair. The way how she laughs among friends and how adorably she gets angry when something is not going as she wishes.
…Sorry, daydreaming. It happens to me sometimes. But why is my chin wet? Ah, yes, saliva. I should try to control this whole drooling thing a little more....
So, here I am, inside her apartment. Time to prepare for the show. I hide my bag inside the wardrobe in her bedroom; it’s big enough to accommodate not only the bag, and all her clothes, but also me. But let’s not jump ahead; better to focus on the current moment. Her bed is made, so I put my coils of rope beneath a thick, soft duvet. Damn, how comfortable! I can already imagine her body squirming and flailing all around it....
…Shit! No daydreaming! Bounce back, you idiot. I place a ball-gag next to the cords, and remake the bedclothes as they were, so she won’t notice anything different. I leave a piece of cloth and a small bottle inside the wardrobe, too. What’s in the bottle, you ask? Really, now. Try guessing. A hint: it starts with “chloro….” I hope that quiz was not too difficult for you, heh-heh.
Okay, then I hide few more toys under the bed. I still have a couple of hours. Great. Now, I’ll do one last important chore and then...then I guess I’ll just have to wait. But how to kill so much time?
Oh, yes! She’s got an X-box…!
Later
…The wooden planks aren’t very thick, so I can hear from the inside of my wardrobe hideout that she’s back.
“What a day!” I hear her sigh audibly. A noise tells me that she’s carelessly throwing her top and jacket away. Are we so eager to get rid of clothes and jump into the shower, sweetie? How cute... Clean and nice-smelling - you’ll be even better!
Through the narrow gap between the door leaves I can see a bed, a cabinet next to it, and...yes, here she is. Gosh, she’s so beautiful! So petite, so adorable. Just like that day when I saw her for the first time; the day I knew she would be mine. She starts removing her clothes and I can only stare, trying not to gulp, praying that my heart is not thundering as loudly as I’m afraid it is. Luckily (or maybe rather not), she turns her back to me, so as she finishes stripping I can’t see much. Only her shapely, curvy butt cheeks.... Damn it, man, stop drooling! You’re in charge of your own body, right
Right….
And the owner of that much less problematic and much more gorgeous body was currently standing just a few steps from me, completely unaware of the fact that a voyeur is currently occupying her wardrobe. Then she leaves the room - naked, barefoot, with only a towel and a pair of panties in her hands. After about twenty seconds or so I can hear the noise of a spray coming from the bathroom. She’s taking a shower. Wonderful.
Carefully I leave my hideout, approach the bedside cabinet, and put a folded sheet of paper on it. Then I return to the wardrobe, careful to remain silent. I take up the bottle and soak the piece of fabric, careful not to inhale the sweet, overwhelming fumes. Seconds last as if they were minutes, and minutes as if they were hours. Gosh, I’m so nervous! But it is worth it. All the preparations, doubts, nerves - they will all disappear as soon as I overpower and subdue this showering goddess.
She comes back into the bedroom, at last. Through the gap I can see that her skin has become pinker from the warmth of the water. Although still barefoot and almost naked, now she’s wearing a pair of smooth, slim-fit black panties. They fit her so nicely. Her head and mane are hidden somewhere beneath the layers of towel; she’s still drying them. She rubs and tugs angrily on the towel, and I can hear her murmur something about “too long hair, dammit,” and perhaps getting it cut. Oh, don’t do that, sweetie. That wonderful mane makes you even more beautiful... Finally, she puts the towel aside and stretches her tired muscles. This is the moment when she notices the piece of paper over the cabinet. Although she has turned her head so I can’t see her face, I can imagine the curiosity glittering in her eyes. You don’t remember putting up something like that, right? Come on, check it. Completely focus on that sheet of paper, so that I can easily leave the wardrobe and approach you from behind without making any sound.
She reaches for the paper…unfolds it…and reads message I left on it. What message? A really simple one: Turn around.
She does as she’s told, rapidly, led by impulse. For a brief moment our glances connect, and I can see fear glittering in her eyes along with sparkles of shock and disbelief. It doesn’t last for long, though. I can’t afford to let her comprehend the situation. I quickly wrap my arm around her and push her aside, right onto the bed. Without hesitation I jump atop her, not giving her the slightest chance to rise and run. After a short struggle I immobilize her arms with an iron grip of my free hand around her crossed wrists, and press the soaked fabric tightly against her mouth and nose. Her squeal is one of most lovely sounds imaginable.
She fights, but not for too long. Her struggling body demands oxygen, and her terrified brain doesn’t know how to distribute it properly anymore. So, she breathes shallowly and rapidly through the sweet-smelling cloth, unable to stop the fumes from getting into her lungs. That’s it, beautiful, inhale. Inhale. Soon, her muscles become weak and limp, her movements slothful and harmless. Her eyelids grow more and more heavy; she’s about to black out.
Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not happening! I want you weakened and defenceless - but conscious, by all means!
And so she’s completely unable to resist, all her pitiful efforts ending with weak moans, as I turn her limp body on her belly and cross her arms behind her back. I reach for the handful of hemp coils under the duvet. Loop after loop, I keep winding the rope around her wrists and eventually cinch and knot it tightly, enough to be sure that she won’t get free. But not too much; have to maintain good blood circulation. I spend another two minutes putting the same bindings around her shoulders, noting that she’s very, very flexible from her training in swimming and gymnastics. Then I move to tying her legs. I put them into a frog-tie: cords led around her ankles and thighs strictly fasten her calves to her upper legs. Finally, I raise her limp body to a kneeling position, remembering to help her with keeping her balance, which is difficult.
Time for the punch line. I grab the ball-gag and slowly place the rubber between her jaws. She still doesn’t resist, and her magnificent plump lips seal around the red the red orb, adorning it beautifully. I tug on the straps and buckle them tightly behind her nape. She is still moaning, but weakly, without any confidence.
And so she’s ready: bound, gagged, almost naked, and completely at my mercy.
I reach for one more little bottle from my pocket, open it, and place it right under her nostrils. The smelling salts start working immediately. As soon as the powerful scent reaches her sleepy brain, her eyes grow wide and a shiver runs across her body. As she recalls the vague events of the last quarter-hour, I can hear more terrified, muffled moans coming from her throat, and I detect dozens of questions in her look, jumping from one point to another in search of answers. She quickly sorts them all out as she focuses on me, surprised, anxious, and disbelieving. Her muscles get stiff, and her perky breasts rapidly move up and down in short, noisy breaths, as she awaits my next move, utterly defenceless.
Let’s enjoy this moment of victory. Let me celebrate the fruition of all my efforts.
“You don’t even know how much I wanted this to happen,” I say, and gently touch her face. She winces - my fingers are cold - but she does not resist, does not struggle or shake her head. So I move my fingers down, along her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and the side of her breast. What a fabulous sensation, touching her soft, tender skin. It’s like touching a butterfly’s wing - so sensitive, so fragile, so…beautiful. My fingers end their trail on her left nipple, pink, hard, and pointy. I pinch, making her squeal. The protest sounds both painful...and aroused. Finally I place a kiss on her trembling neck, eliciting another moan, and whisper into her ear, “This is merely a beginning.” Before she realizes it, I slip two fingers beneath her black panties.
“Mmmph!”
“Shhhh....” Between those fingers I hold a small, egg-like device. It’s connected to a remote switcher via a long, thin cord. I gently push it deeper, eventually placing it between her labia. “Enjoy it as much as I will be watching you,” I say, grinning, and turn the vibrator on. It starts at low power; indeed, at the very beginning, I can’t tell if she even feels it. But as the minutes pass I note first symptoms: her breath speeds up, her body trembles, and her cheeks become increasingly mottled and rosy. That’s my signal: I boost the power!
“Ummfff...!” she sighs loudly, and a drop of saliva starts streaming down her lips around the ball-gag. She clenches her eyelids and bites on the rubber, but cannot deny that she is enjoying it. So, I boost the power even more.
“Mmmmhhh!...” And more.... “NNnnnghh...!” And still more!... “Nnnhhhieeeehnn!!...”
Then off! She doesn’t need any more stimulation. The tides of orgasm overwhelm her body. A minute later, when the peak of her climax is over, she still kneels on the bed, covered in sweat and saliva dripping from her gag. I watch her observing me. Her glance is...welcoming! I approach her, place my fingers on the gag, then unbuckle the straps and help her spit out the rubber ball.
“So?” I ask, unable to stop smiling, “What do you have to say?”
“I say…” she gulps, swallowing too much saliva, but eventually returns my smile, “…that you’re completely mad. What the hell did you actually think I’d say?”
“Oh, please, don’t even dare saying that you didn’t like it!”
“I...liked it, of course,” she blushes, hating to admit it, heh-heh. “I just...don’t understand. Couldn’t you have just...asked me for a date, or something?”
“You told me you’d only date a ‘daring man’. Besides, you refused me a date. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh...yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Here we go. “I’m sorry...who?”
She gives me a hateful glance, one of those that could kill. Fortunately, it soon turns into a charming, smiling glance. “I’m sorry...Master. Gosh, this is so embarrassing! Why on earth did I ever tell you about my bondage fantasies?!”
“Hey, don’t worry.” I caress her head, which obviously works. Her grimace of anger and shame disappears from her cute face. “I think I know how to make you feel better...slave.”
She furrows her lovely eyebrows, obviously flirting with me. The little succubus... “Really?” she asks in her most charming, lovely voice. “Will you show me, Master?”
“Of course,” I grin, “but not until you return the favor. You just had an orgasm, right?”
I don’t need to speak any more. Instead, I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I pull out my cannon, loaded and ready to shoot. Seeing that, she smiles one more time. Without any further questions, she opens her mouth and lowers her head to reach it. Clever girl. That’s one more reason I love her: she can understand me without any unnecessary words.
Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have a slave girl to take care of….
The key works in the lock and I smoothly open the door. I enter the apartment, noticed by no one. It is 9:00 A.M., and I have plenty of time. She will be home no sooner than eight hours from now. I’m sure about that. Why? Because I know everything about her.
I’ve been observing her everyday routine for a long, long time. I know exactly when she wakes up, eats breakfast, leaves for work, and comes home. What? You call me a ‘stalker’? Please don’t be so severe. What else should I do if I can’t help loving her? Her slim yet curvy figure, her small but full pink lips, her snub, freckled nose, her smiling, glittering brown eyes and long, wavy mane of blonde hair. The way how she laughs among friends and how adorably she gets angry when something is not going as she wishes.
…Sorry, daydreaming. It happens to me sometimes. But why is my chin wet? Ah, yes, saliva. I should try to control this whole drooling thing a little more....
So, here I am, inside her apartment. Time to prepare for the show. I hide my bag inside the wardrobe in her bedroom; it’s big enough to accommodate not only the bag, and all her clothes, but also me. But let’s not jump ahead; better to focus on the current moment. Her bed is made, so I put my coils of rope beneath a thick, soft duvet. Damn, how comfortable! I can already imagine her body squirming and flailing all around it....
…Shit! No daydreaming! Bounce back, you idiot. I place a ball-gag next to the cords, and remake the bedclothes as they were, so she won’t notice anything different. I leave a piece of cloth and a small bottle inside the wardrobe, too. What’s in the bottle, you ask? Really, now. Try guessing. A hint: it starts with “chloro….” I hope that quiz was not too difficult for you, heh-heh.
Okay, then I hide few more toys under the bed. I still have a couple of hours. Great. Now, I’ll do one last important chore and then...then I guess I’ll just have to wait. But how to kill so much time?
Oh, yes! She’s got an X-box…!
Later
…The wooden planks aren’t very thick, so I can hear from the inside of my wardrobe hideout that she’s back.
“What a day!” I hear her sigh audibly. A noise tells me that she’s carelessly throwing her top and jacket away. Are we so eager to get rid of clothes and jump into the shower, sweetie? How cute... Clean and nice-smelling - you’ll be even better!
Through the narrow gap between the door leaves I can see a bed, a cabinet next to it, and...yes, here she is. Gosh, she’s so beautiful! So petite, so adorable. Just like that day when I saw her for the first time; the day I knew she would be mine. She starts removing her clothes and I can only stare, trying not to gulp, praying that my heart is not thundering as loudly as I’m afraid it is. Luckily (or maybe rather not), she turns her back to me, so as she finishes stripping I can’t see much. Only her shapely, curvy butt cheeks.... Damn it, man, stop drooling! You’re in charge of your own body, right
Right….
And the owner of that much less problematic and much more gorgeous body was currently standing just a few steps from me, completely unaware of the fact that a voyeur is currently occupying her wardrobe. Then she leaves the room - naked, barefoot, with only a towel and a pair of panties in her hands. After about twenty seconds or so I can hear the noise of a spray coming from the bathroom. She’s taking a shower. Wonderful.
Carefully I leave my hideout, approach the bedside cabinet, and put a folded sheet of paper on it. Then I return to the wardrobe, careful to remain silent. I take up the bottle and soak the piece of fabric, careful not to inhale the sweet, overwhelming fumes. Seconds last as if they were minutes, and minutes as if they were hours. Gosh, I’m so nervous! But it is worth it. All the preparations, doubts, nerves - they will all disappear as soon as I overpower and subdue this showering goddess.
She comes back into the bedroom, at last. Through the gap I can see that her skin has become pinker from the warmth of the water. Although still barefoot and almost naked, now she’s wearing a pair of smooth, slim-fit black panties. They fit her so nicely. Her head and mane are hidden somewhere beneath the layers of towel; she’s still drying them. She rubs and tugs angrily on the towel, and I can hear her murmur something about “too long hair, dammit,” and perhaps getting it cut. Oh, don’t do that, sweetie. That wonderful mane makes you even more beautiful... Finally, she puts the towel aside and stretches her tired muscles. This is the moment when she notices the piece of paper over the cabinet. Although she has turned her head so I can’t see her face, I can imagine the curiosity glittering in her eyes. You don’t remember putting up something like that, right? Come on, check it. Completely focus on that sheet of paper, so that I can easily leave the wardrobe and approach you from behind without making any sound.
She reaches for the paper…unfolds it…and reads message I left on it. What message? A really simple one: Turn around.
She does as she’s told, rapidly, led by impulse. For a brief moment our glances connect, and I can see fear glittering in her eyes along with sparkles of shock and disbelief. It doesn’t last for long, though. I can’t afford to let her comprehend the situation. I quickly wrap my arm around her and push her aside, right onto the bed. Without hesitation I jump atop her, not giving her the slightest chance to rise and run. After a short struggle I immobilize her arms with an iron grip of my free hand around her crossed wrists, and press the soaked fabric tightly against her mouth and nose. Her squeal is one of most lovely sounds imaginable.
She fights, but not for too long. Her struggling body demands oxygen, and her terrified brain doesn’t know how to distribute it properly anymore. So, she breathes shallowly and rapidly through the sweet-smelling cloth, unable to stop the fumes from getting into her lungs. That’s it, beautiful, inhale. Inhale. Soon, her muscles become weak and limp, her movements slothful and harmless. Her eyelids grow more and more heavy; she’s about to black out.
Oh, no, sweetheart, that’s not happening! I want you weakened and defenceless - but conscious, by all means!
And so she’s completely unable to resist, all her pitiful efforts ending with weak moans, as I turn her limp body on her belly and cross her arms behind her back. I reach for the handful of hemp coils under the duvet. Loop after loop, I keep winding the rope around her wrists and eventually cinch and knot it tightly, enough to be sure that she won’t get free. But not too much; have to maintain good blood circulation. I spend another two minutes putting the same bindings around her shoulders, noting that she’s very, very flexible from her training in swimming and gymnastics. Then I move to tying her legs. I put them into a frog-tie: cords led around her ankles and thighs strictly fasten her calves to her upper legs. Finally, I raise her limp body to a kneeling position, remembering to help her with keeping her balance, which is difficult.
Time for the punch line. I grab the ball-gag and slowly place the rubber between her jaws. She still doesn’t resist, and her magnificent plump lips seal around the red the red orb, adorning it beautifully. I tug on the straps and buckle them tightly behind her nape. She is still moaning, but weakly, without any confidence.
And so she’s ready: bound, gagged, almost naked, and completely at my mercy.
I reach for one more little bottle from my pocket, open it, and place it right under her nostrils. The smelling salts start working immediately. As soon as the powerful scent reaches her sleepy brain, her eyes grow wide and a shiver runs across her body. As she recalls the vague events of the last quarter-hour, I can hear more terrified, muffled moans coming from her throat, and I detect dozens of questions in her look, jumping from one point to another in search of answers. She quickly sorts them all out as she focuses on me, surprised, anxious, and disbelieving. Her muscles get stiff, and her perky breasts rapidly move up and down in short, noisy breaths, as she awaits my next move, utterly defenceless.
Let’s enjoy this moment of victory. Let me celebrate the fruition of all my efforts.
“You don’t even know how much I wanted this to happen,” I say, and gently touch her face. She winces - my fingers are cold - but she does not resist, does not struggle or shake her head. So I move my fingers down, along her cheek, her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, and the side of her breast. What a fabulous sensation, touching her soft, tender skin. It’s like touching a butterfly’s wing - so sensitive, so fragile, so…beautiful. My fingers end their trail on her left nipple, pink, hard, and pointy. I pinch, making her squeal. The protest sounds both painful...and aroused. Finally I place a kiss on her trembling neck, eliciting another moan, and whisper into her ear, “This is merely a beginning.” Before she realizes it, I slip two fingers beneath her black panties.
“Mmmph!”
“Shhhh....” Between those fingers I hold a small, egg-like device. It’s connected to a remote switcher via a long, thin cord. I gently push it deeper, eventually placing it between her labia. “Enjoy it as much as I will be watching you,” I say, grinning, and turn the vibrator on. It starts at low power; indeed, at the very beginning, I can’t tell if she even feels it. But as the minutes pass I note first symptoms: her breath speeds up, her body trembles, and her cheeks become increasingly mottled and rosy. That’s my signal: I boost the power!
“Ummfff...!” she sighs loudly, and a drop of saliva starts streaming down her lips around the ball-gag. She clenches her eyelids and bites on the rubber, but cannot deny that she is enjoying it. So, I boost the power even more.
“Mmmmhhh!...” And more.... “NNnnnghh...!” And still more!... “Nnnhhhieeeehnn!!...”
Then off! She doesn’t need any more stimulation. The tides of orgasm overwhelm her body. A minute later, when the peak of her climax is over, she still kneels on the bed, covered in sweat and saliva dripping from her gag. I watch her observing me. Her glance is...welcoming! I approach her, place my fingers on the gag, then unbuckle the straps and help her spit out the rubber ball.
“So?” I ask, unable to stop smiling, “What do you have to say?”
“I say…” she gulps, swallowing too much saliva, but eventually returns my smile, “…that you’re completely mad. What the hell did you actually think I’d say?”
“Oh, please, don’t even dare saying that you didn’t like it!”
“I...liked it, of course,” she blushes, hating to admit it, heh-heh. “I just...don’t understand. Couldn’t you have just...asked me for a date, or something?”
“You told me you’d only date a ‘daring man’. Besides, you refused me a date. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh...yes, you’re right. I’m sorry.”
Here we go. “I’m sorry...who?”
She gives me a hateful glance, one of those that could kill. Fortunately, it soon turns into a charming, smiling glance. “I’m sorry...Master. Gosh, this is so embarrassing! Why on earth did I ever tell you about my bondage fantasies?!”
“Hey, don’t worry.” I caress her head, which obviously works. Her grimace of anger and shame disappears from her cute face. “I think I know how to make you feel better...slave.”
She furrows her lovely eyebrows, obviously flirting with me. The little succubus... “Really?” she asks in her most charming, lovely voice. “Will you show me, Master?”
“Of course,” I grin, “but not until you return the favor. You just had an orgasm, right?”
I don’t need to speak any more. Instead, I unbuckle my belt and unzip my pants. I pull out my cannon, loaded and ready to shoot. Seeing that, she smiles one more time. Without any further questions, she opens her mouth and lowers her head to reach it. Clever girl. That’s one more reason I love her: she can understand me without any unnecessary words.
Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have a slave girl to take care of….
THE END
Something else? Ah, yeah, disclaimer: I do not approve sexual harrassment, m'kay? It's bad, m'kay? If a woman doesn't want to be bound and gagged you shouldn't do that, m'kay? Got it?
:origin()/pre00/5c3c/th/pre/f/2018/145/2/6/thunder_lady___introduction_to_the_universe_by_ugiel-dcch2fd.jpg)
Jeśli uważacie, że brak Wam dobrej literatury erotycznej na DA, rzućcie okiem - być może przez cały ten czas tuż pod Waszymi nosami czekało objawienie?
) i duuuużo zbereźności. Jestem tym strasznie podekscytowany: XVII-t
:origin()/pre00/ff6b/th/pre/f/2014/346/c/e/day_at_the_drs_by_ed3765-d89krkf.jpg)
:origin()/pre00/916f/th/pre/f/2016/228/e/a/sara_and_the_cgda_s_final_case___part_1_by_golavus-da9lkfu.jpg)
:origin()/pre00/40a1/th/pre/f/2016/252/5/6/to_touch_a_buttefly_s_wing_by_ugiel-dad4tqe.jpg)
The pleasure is all mine, I'm happy You enjoyed it so much
Cóż zrobić - cieszy mnie popularność każdego z moich opowiadań, niemniej chyba bym wolał, aby ich popularność była wprost proporcjonalna do pracy, jaką w nie włożyłem. Pobożne życzenia, wiem, ale po prostu chciałbym, aby ułanki były tak rozchwytywane, jak to głupie motyle skrzydło
Thank You, my friend, your comments are always cheering me up
I'm happy You think so. One more satisfied reader, yay!
I really enjoyed it, as I said I could easily imagine myself in her place