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within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead.  No 
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's 
imagination.  Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only.  It is not to be published 
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Delta.

                          MUSE
                 By Delta (c. 1999) delta @ nym . alias . net

     Our worst mistakes generally come from believing we know
someone better than we actually do.  How far, really, can you
trust another?  How well, really, do you ever know another?
     These thoughts, and others, ran through Karen's mind as
she contemplated her situation.  How well do I really know
him, she wondered, then grimaced to herself.  She had better,
she thought, know him well enough, for it was now too late to
think better of the situation.  No, that time had passed and
she had done nothing.  It was far, far too late to do anything
now.  Madness.
     There was nothing to be heard in the room except the soft
music and the clicking.  That and her breathing.  She could hear 
herself breathe.
     The clicking stopped and she strained her ears to hear
something, anything which might give her a hint of what was
happening.
     "Oh!"  The quiet gasp came unbidden to Karen's lips as she 
felt fingers lightly touch her thigh and trace their way down to 
her ankle.  They disappeared and she tried to relax.  She waited.
Nothing.
     The clicking resumed and she breathed again.  Until that 
moment she hadn't realized she had been holding her breath.
Madness.  Utter madness.
     No safe word, the phrase echoed through her head, no safe
word.  How had she gotten herself into this?  She laughed
silently--for she was forbidden sound--and ruefully.  Wine and 
bright ideas don't always go together.  In fact, they rarely
go together.  They only seem good at the time.  Later one
usually just laughs at what had seemed so brilliant the night
before, pleased that one hadn't gone through with whatever plan
had seemed so right.  Usually.  Not this time.  Karen wished
that she could have the time back; could change her decision;
could just laugh.  She couldn't.
     More than anything, though, she just wanted to close 
her legs.  It was almost an obsession.  Not that closing her
legs would alter anything substantially, she simply wanted to
close her legs because, well, because she couldn't.  And that 
annoyed her no end.
     The clicking ceased once more and she heard him sigh.
There was a sound, one which she identified as him leaning back
in his chair.  She stiffened at the touch.  Thumb and finger,
she decided, rested about three inches apart in the small of
her back.  Slowly, lightly, they traced their way up, over
the hump that was her ass, and down her buttocks, one to either
side.  They stopped and disappeared and she relaxed once more.
Too soon.  A light touch on her labia sent a shiver through her.
Softly, oh so softly, the outline was traced and retraced.
Again she attempted to close her legs, again she failed.
    They had laughed through the meal, through the wine, through
the talk.  They had laughed and laughed, enjoying the games of
'what if'.  She wasn't laughing now.
     She couldn't see, the blindfold prevented that, yet she knew 
precisely how she appeared, how she must appear to him, and 
realized, not without some dismay, just how vulnerable she was.  
No safe word.  Insanity.  

     "Ready, Karen?" he asked as she'd stepped into the 
room--*his* room--wearing nothing but the bath robe and the
gifts he'd given her.  Her gaze had fallen on the big, wooden, 
double pedestal desk where he did his work.  Everything was, she 
noted, in readiness.  She looked a little more closely, then 
gazed at the small lamp table in the far corner.  Yes, everything.  
She swallowed hard, not really sure if this was such a good idea 
after all.
     "Ready, Len," she confirmed, her voice confident, not 
betraying the uncertainty she felt.  She stepped closer, within 
his reach.  She had agreed, had given her word.  For her it was 
now too late to back out.
     The big desk had been cleared of its usual paraphernalia.
All that remained of the clutter was the computer monitor.  It 
was an old desk, one which featured a drawer for a typewriter.  
The typewriter had long since disappeared, and a keyboard now sat
in its place.  Both it and the monitor were off to one side, 
leaving most of the desk for the newcomers.
     For his back, he'd told her, the bastard!  The big pillow
was for under his knees as he lay down, to rest his back.  She
hadn't batted an eye at that explanation, for that was exactly
the purpose for which it had been designed.  It was a foam 
pillow, about 10 inches thick at the peak, sloping down fore and 
aft at different angles, sharp for the thighs, gentle for the 
lower legs.  She had even tried it herself and, though it was a 
little too big for her, had admitted that the purchase had been 
a good idea.  It now lay upon the desk, just above centre drawer.
    Behind it she could see a cord, one which was, no doubt,
attached to the rear legs of the desk.  Cords were also attached
to the front legs.  This was looking to be less and less of a
good idea all the time, she grimly thought.  Just in front
of the monitor lay the blindfold he wore when napping during 
the day.  Karen swallowed once again, then untied her belt and 
allowed the bathrobe to puddle upon the floor.  
     Len glanced approvingly at the wrist and ankle cuffs she'd
put on in preparation, his presents to her.  He locked the wrist 
cuffs together, stood behind her and lifted her.  She was, as 
she'd expected, set belly down upon the pillow, her ass now well 
presented for anything he wished to do to it.  Her feet didn't 
touch the floor and the first wave of anxiety hit her.  She 
didn't like feeling so helpless.  In a moment he had finished 
tying the cord to her wrist cuffs and that was that.  She not 
only felt helpless, she *was* helpless.  There was no backing 
out now, not even if she wanted to, and she was beginning to 
think that she wanted to.
    His fingers, softly and teasingly, slipped down her right
leg til they came to the ankle cuff, where she felt him thread
the d-ring with the cord and begin to pull.  Her leg opened
and he tied it off.  The same process occurred with her left
leg.  Now she was open to him, or to anyone, for that matter.
Open and defenseless.  Open, defenseless and lewdly positioned.
     Turning her head, she gazed into the mirror which he'd
set up.  There she was, her ass the highest part of her, what
with her hips folded over the crest of the pillow, legs hanging
down one side now tied open and her body sloping downward on the 
other, down until it reached the desk top, where her breasts 
pressed into the soft blanket which cushioned the cool polished 
wooden surface of the desk.  Above that, her hands were cuffed 
together and tied, her wrists just over the edge of the desk,
the tie going straight down.  
     He could use her at will.  But there was a price to be
paid for everything and she swore that, no matter what, one
way or another, he would pay the price as well.  Easy to say, 
she mocked herself, for one who could no longer exercise free 
will.
     Karen looked at Len in the mirror.  As he caught her gaze 
his smile changed a little, became . . . what?  More arrogant?
Cruel?
     "You look very pretty, Karen," he said wickedly, "very
pretty indeed."  He reached forward and allowed his hands
to caress her back, fondle her hair, drift down and rub small
circles on her buttocks.  "Do you like what you see?" he asked,
bringing her attention back to her own body.  
     She looked again.  Yes, she did.  Were she a man, or even
a woman of different orientation, there would be no doubt but that 
the helpless woman on the desk top would be well used before she 
finished with her.  However, there was also no doubt but that she 
would be gentle, well, reasonably gentle.  Looking at Len's naked 
hunger, she could no longer count on that from him.  No safe 
word.  Protests would be ignored, deemed to be only a ploy to 
incite him.  How well *did* she know him?  How far *could* she 
trust him?  Karen was no longer as sure as she had been even an
hour earlier.
     Power corrupts, she recalled the old aphorism, and absolute
power corrupts absolutely.  He now had absolute power.  A shiver
went up her spine and he laughed.
     "I'm pleased you like what you see," Len chuckled, "but
you'll see it no more."  He picked up the blindfold and fitted
it to her.  His hands withdrew.
     Darkness.  Quiet.  Nothing.  Fear?  How long had it been?
One minute?  Five?
     The quiet music came on and Karen breathed a sigh of relief.
Anything was better than the nothing she'd just experienced.
Not even knowing if Len was even in the room.  When one has 
nothing, even the smallest sound is a boon.
     The chair scraped along the floor and she heard the
computer turn on.  Soon the clicking began as his fingers roamed
the keyboard.  There were pauses now and again, some long, some
short.  Each pause awakened anxiety in her.  Would he use the
pause or not?

     Karen no longer wondered.  Len was using the pauses all
right.  She tried to twist, to avoid his fingers, but couldn't.
Bastard.  He was teasing her, getting her ready for what she
knew was coming, sooner or later.  She was getting wet, she 
was . . . . Bigger bastard!  He had stopped.  The clicking
resumed, leaving her hanging, open, frustrated.
     Now, more and more often, Len's hands were roaming.  The
clicking never stopped for long, but the teasing continued, as
if he were now doing it deliberately.  His fingers were moving
faster now (on the keyboard) than they had been at the beginning,
so it seemed safe to say that there was no longer the necessity
for 'The pause that inflames', but those pauses became more and
more frequent.  And his fingers were moving more slowly (on her),
caressing her inner thighs, the side of the breast which was 
within reach, her ass--anywhere she was sensitive.  The 
frustration grew.

     "Oh!"  This time the gasp was not a quiet one.  Len had
pressed his finger right into her.  She welcomed it, wanted
to thrust back onto it, but couldn't.  She damn well couldn't
do anything.  The finger worked itself back and forth within
her, then disappeared.  She heard the sound of him sucking
it clean before the clicking resumed.  "Bastard," she whispered
before she could catch herself.
     "What?" Len was outraged.  "What did you say?"  The anger
in his voice was undeniable.  There was, however, a subtle
overtone of excitement.  Absolute power . . . .  She remained
silent.  "You know the rules."  Cruel, wicked joy filled the
words and Karen couldn't suppress the shudder which went through
her.  There was a strange dragging sound.  Something on cloth.
     Karen cringed as the doubled over belt came down with a 
vicious crack on the desktop beside her.  Fear dried her mouth,
pushed at her to apologize, beg forgiveness, but she dared not.
It would only inflame him, perhaps excite him to a level which
she would regret.
     She gave a sudden yelp as the belt cracked on her ass.
It stung.  She waited, silent.
     "No," Len said quietly, "I don't think you've learned your
lesson yet."  
     It was funny how one could tell by the voice that he was
smiling when he said it, even though the tone said that he was
angry.  She tensed.
     Crack!  Crack!  Crack!  Karen bore the strokes in silence.  
They, too, stung.  Stung, yes, but didn't hurt.  It was more 
sound than fury, she had quickly realized, and her body seemed,
perversely, to enjoy the experience.  He was only having a little
fun and, hell, it simply added spice to the experience.  Relief.
     Just the four strokes, then back to that damned clicking.
     Frustration.   
     Time passed.  Now, more than anything, she just wished that
he'd fuck her.  She'd been up there, open and inviting, for who
knew how long, getting teased and touched.  The hell with making
love, she just wanted to be fucked.  She groaned her dismay as
the clicking never ceased.  She whimpered a little, deciding to
see what she could get away with.
     The clicking stopped.
     "Getting bored, are we?" Len asked maliciously.  "Well, I
have just the thing for you."
     Karen felt something pressed between her nether lips.  It 
was hard, unyielding, and soon slipped inside her.  "Oh god!"  
Her body jumped as the vibrations began.  
     Len worked it in and out of her a few times, then left it
to quietly buzz away as he returned to the keyboard.  Bastard,
bastard, bastard.  The buzz was enough to excite her, but 
probably not enough to bring her off.  Dirty, rotten son of a
bitch!
     Lemon.  She smelled lemon.  He'd put a drop of lemon
essence in the burner.  The whole room smelled so wonderfully
of lemon.  And the vibrator was so wonderfully alive within her,
where he should be.  "Please," the word was almost too low to
be heard.
     Sudden silence.  The vibrator was pulled out.  Silence.
     "Oh!"  The bastard pressed the slick vibrator against her
anus.  Slowly, very slowly it stretched her and then slipped
in.  He turned it up a notch then returned to the keyboard.
The 'punishment' escalated with every offence.  She wondered
if she should offend again, quickly.  Surely to god, this must
be having some effect upon him as well.  Surely he would tend
to her soon.  Surely?
     Then it began.  He was no longer content with leaving her
to suffer in silence.  Every minute or two he reached over, 
slowly pulled the vibrator out, then pressed it back into her
ass.  Each time the widest part of the slim vibrator stretched
then released her, she gasped.  With each gasp, he chuckled.
    Each period of waiting was interminable.  The discomfort 
she felt, locked into this position, stretched out over his 
desk, though somewhat alleviated by the lovely vibration within, 
was distracting, keeping her from being able to move to any
sort of completion.  Still, if she concentrated . . .
     Her hips were starting to sway to her internal rhythm,
the vibrations taking her to the start of the wonderful
journey.
     The clicking stopped.
     The chair scraped against the floor as he moved it 
back and away from the desk.  She could hear faint sounds.
A swish of cotton against skin--his shirt?  A snap.  The
characteristic sound of a zipper.  She smiled.  At last.
She could feel the heat of him behind her, the breath on her
ass.  On her ass?
     Two quick clicks and she realized that her legs were
free.  Thank god!  
     Before she could move them together, though, he was there,
between them.  His hardness was against her, pressing, pushing
into her.
     "Oh," Karen cried out softly as he pressed into her to the
hilt.  She was ready for him, as ready as she could be, and she
thrilled at his movement.  About fucking time!
     Len moved back, withdrawing slowly, agonizingly slowly,
until the head of his cock was just parting her pussy lips.
Then, equally slowly he pressed back in again, penetrating her
once more.  She groaned as he pressed into her, coming up 
against the vibrator with his belly, causing it penetrate her 
just a little more deeply.
     Helpless, she thought.  Having her legs free, just dangling, 
but unable to close because of the man between them, enhanced the 
feeling of helplessness.  She was being fucked, and there was not 
a thing she could do.  There was something wildly erotic about it.
     Giving herself up to the helplessness, Karen found that her
body responded all the more quickly to Len's ministrations.  
When he traced patterns on her back with his fingers, every
square inch of skin seemed alive to his touch; when he thrust
in she felt the impalement all the more keenly.   There was
nothing she could do, no words she could say, so why not just
give in?
     "Oh my God!" she cried out.  
     After one particular thrust, Len had grasped the end of 
the vibrator and held it against himself.  When he withdrew, 
the vibrator withdrew as well.  When he thrust, it thrust.
     He slowed and stopped.  Karen tried to gain some purchase
in order to thrust back at him, to start the internal
massage once again, and failed.   She moaned her frustration
as he chuckled.  Then it began again, him moving faster and
faster.  One hand circled around her hip and slipped in to
find her clit.  He began rubbing it in slow circles even as
he thrust. 
     It was too much.  Karen started tossing her upper body
around, bucking, her legs kicking out as he drove her over
the edge and into orgasm; drove her into an orgasm that *he* had 
decided she would have, when he decided she should have it. 
     There was nothing she could do.  At that moment she hated
him, hated what he'd done to her; loved him, loved that he had
not done what he could have done.  She had, she knew, agreed.  
Love, hate, everything was banished as the room filled with her 
cry, then with silence except for the breathing.  The gasping.  
     Len was now pumping into and out of her like a madman and 
she was being driven with it.  She wanted him to stop so she 
could enjoy the afterglow, but was helpless to do anything.
No, not quite helpless.  She began to mewl with each thrust,
to wiggle her hips in the way she knew he loved.  He would not
be long, she knew.
     He roared out his triumph and held himself close to her.
Karen smiled her victory.  Slowly their breathing returned to 
normal.  Len, now shrunken, slipped out of her.  He patted her 
on the behind, then was gone.
     The scrape of the chair.  The clicking of the keyboard.
     Karen felt herself coming slowly down, the buzz in her
ass slowly fading as the batteries ran down.  At least now she 
could close her legs.  She did so.  Then she waited, receiving 
small caresses every now and again, absurdly grateful for the
touches.
     Finally the clicking stopped and Len breathed out a sigh.
"Done," he said.
     The cords were untied and the cuffs removed.  The blindfold
came off.  She could once again see!  Blinking in the light, she
looked at his face.  His expression was one of anxiety, wariness.
     "Read it," she ordered, as she carefully withdrew the
vibrator and cleaned it off.  She looked at it meaningfully.  Len
swallowed hard, then sat down and began to read aloud:
  
      "Our worst mistakes generally come from believing we know
  someone better than we actually do.  How far, really, can you
  trust another?  How well, really, do you ever know another?
      These thoughts, and others, ran through Karen's mind as
  she contemplated her situation.  How well do I really know
  him, she wondered . . ."
  
     Len finished.  He looked up at her hopefully.  She 
condescended to nod.
    "Not great, but it'll do."  He sighed with relief as she 
set down the vibrator.
    Karen moved over to the lamp table in the far corner of 
the room.  She picked up the key and walked back over to him.
Bending down, Karen placed the key in the ankle cuff which held 
him to the desk.
     "I don't mind being your muse," she told him, "but if it
is *I* who is inspiring you, I expect better."  She smiled at 
him, removing the sting of her words.  "It's a beginning.  Now, 
let's not hear anything more about writer's block."

The End of "Muse" by Delta  delta @ nym . alias . net