A Present (M/F)

[StringTheorist]

A Present (M/F)


My body said I had to. I had met him at a meeting this morning, or rather, yesterday. He sat on a seat at the side, in front of the window, as all the positions around the boardroom oak table were occupied. He said very little, listened. When he was invited to speak, he did so authoritatively, confidently, clearly.

His eyes spoke as well. To me, or rather to my body, because I can’t rationalize my actions any other way. His eyes locked on to mine briefly near the beginning of the meeting, and only returned to me when I was speaking, or he was looking for audience reaction when he spoke. My insides melted at that first glance, wanting him, needing him.

So here I was at his door, waiting for him to answer, my heart pounding, innards tingling. My mind said I was crazy, but the rest of me drove me on. I gave no thought to my husband; that would have to solve itself.

“Good evening,” I said when he came to the door. “We met today across the boardroom table. I just had to come to see you. To offer you a present. Me.”

His eyes had done it again. I was almost at the point of having an orgasm.

“Yes, I remember you,” he said, thinking that he had been attracted to her right from the opening of the meeting, and had struggled to keep from staring at her.

“I like my presents unwrapped and tied,” he stated simply.

I looked him in the eye, and smiled.

He reached for something on the shelf of his hall closet, and bade me to turn around. Soon a black scarf, folded narrow, came into view from behind. I closed my eyes with a sigh of contentment, and nodded slightly. The scarf touched my eyelids, then wrapped around the back of my head, where it was tied snugly, but not tightly. He could do anything he wanted to me and I wouldn’t see it happening; I only hoped I was satisfied first.

I felt my coat being unbuttoned then pulled back over my shoulders and down my arms hanging limply at my sides. I heard the slight click of a coat hanger as he hung it up. Then a pause before my hands were grasped and pulled behind my back, and another soft cloth, perhaps a mate to the blindfold, was tied around my wrists. Again, snugly, perhaps more so than my blindfold. He could have used spider’s silk, and my hands would have been as effectively bound as with the strongest steel handcuffs. If that’s where he wanted my hands, that’s where they would stay. My insides felt elated.

I was gently guided through the house to his bedroom; I could smell his manly odour as we entered the room. The smell that had wafted across the room at me, not an obnoxious smell. I was stopped in the centre of some soft throw rug that I could feel through my shoes, something covering the hardwood floor we had been walking on. I stood there, waiting while he vanished to some other part of the house. No fortified walls could have kept me there more than the thought of his coming attention.

I sensed his return. Several seconds passed, perhaps a minute. The wait was agony, not in fear, but in anticipation. Then his hands returned to the job of unwrapping me. First my jacket was undone, then my blouse, both pushed down my arms. He went behind me and carefully undid the double clasp of my bra, pulling the cups up over my head without touching me other than to pick up the flesh coloured material. I hoped he liked my 36Bs, there was not much I could do about that. I really wanted him to cup them in his hands, lightly caressing the sensitive nipples with his palms, supporting the mass in a hand bra. Perhaps he would pull me back into him so that I could feel his warmth, grope for his rigid manhood under his pants. But I was his Present, so wouldn’t take another step for me.

Instead, the scarf around my wrists was undone; so quickly he must have used a bow knot. He caught my clothes before they tumbled to the floor, and took a couple of minutes to properly hang them up in his closet. I was thrilled, my jacket between his suits; soon I would be between his sheets.

He used a rope, nylon by the feel of it, to re-secure my hands, quite thoroughly this time. I stood as rigidly as I could, for had given up all voluntary actions to the body that I absolutely needed so much.

Next he unfastened the button of the waist of my black skirt, and lowered it to the floor, revealing my sheer pantyhose over my cotton briefs. A finger grasped at the elastic hem and pulled it away from my skin, then the other hand got a grip and he pulled the nylon material over my buttocks, and down my legs, to cluster at my ankles. Oh, the tingle, electric trail his fingers left on my skin wherever they touched my flesh. He pulled up on my left ankle, and I raised my leg a little so he could slip off my shoe, the left leg of my stockings, and the skirt. The process was repeated on my right, till I stood there in my panties while he hung up the skirt. I hoped between another of his suits, or shirts. Personal items. Pressed, like I would soon be between his body and his bed.

He walked around me a couple of times before completing the unwrapping. Tantalizing slowly did he reveal his present. I lifted a foot to complete the disrobing. I hoped they were not soaking wet with desire; I did notice my womanly odour waft up as he pulled the panties down. Pheromones seeking pheromones. Body waiting for body.

I was guided backwards to the side of the bed, then assisted to sit on the bed.

“Lie back to the centre of the bed,” he softly commanded, with a strong hand there to guide me and prevent a fall. He swung my legs up on the bed, and positioned me on my back. I didn’t even feel my own weight on my hands; I was moving towards the climax I needed.

But didn’t get it right away. He tied my legs wide apart to the bed ends with more of his marvellous rope so my whole nether region was wide open, with a strain of pleasure in my crotch. I felt that my clit was out in the open, erect, engorged, like a little penis. It was waiting for his big machine to glide over it, tickle it, tease, caress before being passed up and down my outer and inner labia then to plumb the depths of my body, to stretch, pulsate, and pass his seed inside me. My vagina wanted to pump him dry, capture all his juices, bring his spirit inside me.

His hand passed over my thatched pubic mound. “This feels like extraneous wrapping,” he murmured, patting it and leaving.

He returned and sat on the side of the bed, and a whirring started. I felt the vibrations as some electric clipper mowed down my coarse brown curls. I quivered with delight as the heavy vibrations passed through my pubic bone to the more sensitive parts of me, continuing the fire that had ignited when he first glanced at me in the meeting. I stayed still even though I wanted to writhe with pleasure.

He stopped the clippers with their low, strong vibrations, and switched to some other, more delicate device to do a closer job. Oh, how I loved those strong hands of his as he pulled my skin this way and that to catch even the smallest hair left. When he had finished, I was pretty well on fire all over, though his fingers only had functional, not sensual, contact with me.

His hand brushed over the newly cropped region; I could feel just a little where the cut hair tugged at his skin. “Hmmm. Needs a little more work,” and got up off the bed.

When he returned and sat down beside me, there was a whoosh, then a gob of warm goo dropped onto the vee below my belly. He spread around the shaving cream, then carefully shaved me off, expertly avoiding nicking me, or irritating my skin. It had taken me a long time to be able to shave my legs without discomfort so I appreciated his care. After cleaning up, some mild salve left my nether region as smooth as a baby’s bottom. His touch was exquisite. I waited for the next move, hoping for a quick climax, but knowing this master would extend my anticipation, slowly bringing me to the brink of climax, holding me there to maximize our pleasure. When the time was right he would fill me, and fulfil me.

He rolled me partly to one side to free my wrists. He had known that I was not in pain or discomfort; I rather liked the captivity. But I was his to do with as he wished, and what he did was to tie my wrists to the headboard, so I was stretched out like a big X. He walked around and further snugged up the bonds on my feet till I was stretched taught; just like my inner sensations wanting him.

I felt something rest lightly on my chest, between and just below my breasts. It was one of his hands, the right one, encased in something. As he began to caress me, I realized that he wore a glove of some soft, sensuous fur, and he was giving my chest a rub, around my mounds and over my belly, over and over. Finally there was a complete pass over my sensitive nipples, and I felt a mini tremor deep with my body, a promise of more powerful events to come.

In the end, he brushed all the way down my legs, up my arms, inside my thighs, over the newly smoothed patch. It didn’t matter how I might explain it away.

He leaned over and kissed me on the lips, softly. I raised my head to meet him, perhaps the only overt action I had done up to now, for I wanted him to know he should hurry. His kiss had started another series of minor tremors, and I feared the major event would be premature; it was absolutely essential we come as one.

After several kisses and tonguing’s, he backed off and came on the bed from the bottom between my outspread legs. His face closed in on the newly bared vital region, and his tongue felt for my start button which had been waiting for his attention for many, many hours, without losing hope.

A tingle and a semi major tremor as he licked at it, and it swole even more, coming completely out of its fold to get as much of him as it could. His finger gently spread my nether lips, spreading the copious juices I was creating, running through the various folds.

Then he backed away, excusing himself for a minute. I heard water running; probably he was making himself very clean for me. “It doesn’t matter,” I thought, “hurry up and make love to me.”

He returned, and climbed over my body, not touching. I felt the heat radiating from his chest and arms where they held him poised over me.

He shifted forward a little and his big organ touched against my crotch, just above my clit. By moving backwards just a little, he made his machine glide over my magic button, over and over and over. Then it slopped a little lower to rest against my opening, which I felt, from my position was super open, super ready to receive his monster appendage. Contact.

Slowly his shaft pressed aside my lips and entered into my body, deeper, deeper, deeper. One hundred percent of my nerves were focussed on this small part of me. I sensed its head brush against my cervix, and the base of his penis contact my clit.

“Hurry. Take me. Fill me,” I shouted.

I opened my eyes. My husband was poised above me, naked, rod gently rammed into me.

I grabbed ahold of his head and pulled him down on top of me, swung my legs up over his back to have him fill me completely, and began to buck.

A 7.0 on that open-ended scale.

When we had subsided, my husband whispered, “I got up to go to the bathroom. When I came back you were thrashing there, crying for me to make love to you. You were insistent.”

“Oh, I had this crazy dream. I dreamt I met a man at work today, and he was going to make love to me. But he wouldn’t complete the follow through. Then there you were,” I exclaimed to him, giving him a hug and a kiss. “The perfect ending to a nightmare.”

Her husband rolled off his wife, content, bathed in their sweat. The right hand of his wife reached down between them to feel her smooth patch.

“Rats.”

---



Evan:

A C+ as a short story. It lacks a couple of the essential elements we talked about in class - conflict and resolution, though you might argue that there was conflict between her body and her mind.

There are a couple of places that you had material that did not directly tie into the story in the sense of having some later follow-on. Particularly, the one place the “he” was given an opinion. How was she to know, as you were writing in the first person. His absence the first time.

As well, the second last paragraph changed focus from her narrative to an impartial observer point of view - a lack of consistency.

Many sentences began with “he” or some connective with “he” as the subject, a bit tedious. If you had given them names, perhaps you could have added variety. You did use passive voice as a way to break up the monotony.

Not very much dialogue.

Some good points -

Little bit of character portrayal - his competencies; your mind’s loyalty to your husband just below the surface, subordinated by some more basic drives.

Good use of several of the other senses - smell, feel, sensation, hearing. A little colour - black scarf leading to the darkness of being blindfolded.

Some good turns of phrases - “pheromes seeking pheromes”, “fill me and fulfil me”, “unwrapped and tied”, “spider’s silk”. The phrase “boardroom oak table” was an economical way of conveying location, significance of meeting, a sense of colour and grandeur.

Interesting metaphors and similes - pubic hair as some sort of crop to be mowed, the common earthquake analogy, stretched taught just like her inner feelings, jacket between his suits just like she would be.

Personification of parts of the body - what the vagina and clitoris wanted.

Good twist at the end, though dreams are a common technique. The last lines show how vivid the dream must have been.

Actually you have written a fairly good erotic story; unfortunately we don’t have a course on this topic. I sense that this is not your first attempt.

It’s too bad you could not get the assistance of a woman to be a little more explicit on “her” body reactions, sensations, feelings, thoughts. A little more spice could make this a great erotic story.


Estelle E.
Short Story Specialist.
Adult Education Program

PS, where do you live? I’d like to come over and present you with this critique. E.

ST.