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From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero,alt.sex.stories.d,alt.sex.beastiality
Subject: story: "MINDSCAPES" 1
Date: Thu, 24 Aug 2006 16:11:48 -0700
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mind1.html
story: "MINDSCAPES" 1
He sometimes watches her as she sits in the Math Lounge, a
place she seems to always be between classes, or during
spare hours on campus; often, she is even there in the
evenings, sometimes alone, sometimes in the company of
groups of men who, for the most part, treat her in a warm,
friendly, but platonic manner. There is nothing
specifically striking in her appearance, but she seems
enclosed within a sphere that hints at something much more
intriguing beneath its surface. She remains apart from the
crowd, though there is no hint of aloofness in her manner.
Yet there is something in her which smoulders, that seems
to draw the notice of others, always somehow managing to
disturb their peace of mind. It isn't that there are no
other women in the lounge; many of them are far more
attractive than she, or better dressed; rather, her casual,
comfortable clothes, and the dishevelled look of her hair
instead suggest the attitude and glow of someone recently
come from the bed of a lover. That smouldering sensation
is one of complete, innate sensuality, brindling
occasionally to a full-blown, but not tawdry, sexuality.
Such dynamicism must surely be felt by every male - and
even by more than a few of the females - within the
confines of the lounge, even though they may be unable to
pinpoint the source of the effect.
As he watches, she shifts, from time to time, alternately
stretching her long body from the seat to the table, or
curling, feline-like, into a tight corner of one of the
lounge couches, feet tucked under her body. To watch her,
one would not necessarily agree that anything she did in
particular could be called "graceful"; there was, however,
an undeniably attractive elegance in her sense of motion.
It was easy to see that her movements were unconscious; she
moved to ease stress, or make herself more comfortable in
the same casual, unthinking way a cat would, unconcerned -
even unaware - of the efect she had on others.
There are times when he cannot take his eyes off her,
despite the card wars raging among his friends around him;
he finds his mind follows tracks for which his normal
studies leave lamentably little time. He is by no means
uneducated in the subtler, more pleasurable, human
sciences, but approaching an unknown out of nowhere is
usually not his style, though he admits to himself that it
has its own interesting connotations. So patiently, he
waits, and watches for something - anything - that would
allow him the slightest opportunity to engage in a more
intimate interaction. Sometimes the waiting becomes a
spectrum of delicious frustration. Illicit thoughts come
to his mind, unbidden, and block out the white noise and
sights of the room and crowds around him. He sees
scenarios of approaches and more. He pictures doing things
to her body, and of places he could take her, many of them
within the same building. He formulates countless plans,
and counts formless ideas, marking his time until
everything falls into place with an almost amused,
mysterious expression on his face.
She knows the power she could have over men if she wishes.
Granted, she has never been one to consider herself a
beauty, but given the interest or the inspiration, it would
not be difficult to have any man who appealed to her. Most
of the time, however, she didn't think of herself as being
in the hunting mode; rather, she preferred to pick a target
and manipulate him into making the advances. That way, she
never had to take the upper hand, which suited her just
fine.
He is watching again, she notices, though she makes no
attempts to initiate some sort of recognition. As always,
her face is impassive, with neither invitation nor rebuttal
in her expression. For the moment, she has chosen to
ignore him; hunting is not a high priority for her this
day, so the seat she has chosen in the lounge, which is now
emptying just prior to another class, is with her back to
him, several seating-groups away. With a small, private
smile, she acknowledges to herself the fact that his eyes
are hot on her head, and then turns her thought to other
matters.
Time passes; denizens and regulars file in and out of the
lounge throughout the day, as do they themselves. Towards
the middle afternoon, he watches her come in from the cold,
to sit down across the room, with her back to him. She
takes off her boots and coat, pulls a book out of her
knapsack, and settles in, in no particular hurry to be
anywhere. It is a Wednesday; he knows she will be around
until sometime near six. His friends notice his
distraction, but when questioned, he only laughs and says
to them that he is working on a new project in his mind.
The afternoon wears on; soon there are only a dozen or so
people around the lounge, including the two of them. He
has worked himself up to a keen tension, a certain level of
arousal which would soon begin demanding a release. For
sometime now, he has been waiting to act, and with pressure
mounting, he becomes certain that the time is at hand. He
watches, marking time with the pages of an engineering
textbook he has barely looked at all day, the weight of
which has become tantalizingly uncomfortable against his
lap in recent hours. He waits, until ...
She has reached the end of a chapter in her book, and sets
it aside, glancing out the wide windows, shifting
restlessly. Rising, she crosses the room to the pop
machines for something to do, and taking the cold can it
gives her, returns to her seat, but she does not pick up
her book. Instead, she shuffles through the contents of
her pack, fidgetting, feeling almost bored, and waiting for
time to pass, so that she might move on to her plans for
the evening. She stretches, a luxurious feeling that
brings every muscle in her back and shoulders and arms back
to life. At full reach, she wiggles her fingers, then
throws her feet across the coffee table to stretch them
also, wiggling her toes as well. Wriggling into a more
comfortable position, with her feet now tucked up beneath
her, she stretches her arms along the back of the couch
until the strain across her shoulders becomes too much,
then brings her arms back to clasp her hands behind her
neck, fingers laced under her hair.
She is somewhat startled by a firm grip enclosing on her
joined wrists. There is an irrepressable, instinctive
twitch of her pleasure centres; the contact is unfamiliar,
but the potential meaning of the contact is not. Given her
current position, she becomes very aware of a sense of
vulnerablity, and something far more intense: an immediate
sense of arousal. Without turning to look, she is aware of
a head approaching her own, and instantly there is the feel
of breath at her ears, and lips, gently tickling the hair
that covers her ears as it is brushed aside. The whisper,
the unexpected but anticipated approach that would seal her
fate, caressed her senses as it spoke: "You have a dilemma
here. You are vulnerable, and I have control," it says, a
bare smile almost audible in its tone. "Does this bother
you?" "That depends on your definition of 'bothered'", she
replies. He gives her wrists a sharp squeeze; she must
squirm to keep from gasping aloud. "I can't allow that
kind of attitude," he muses. "How should I discipline
you?" When she does not respond, he crushes her wrists in
his grip almost brutally, feeling her body both tense and
radiate heat in response. "What should I do?" he repeats.
As the familiar trembling starts, she replies, "As you
wish." The grip releases her, but something compels her to
leave her arms where they are; nor does she turn to look at
the one who commands her. "Gather your things," he orders,
standing up behind her. Obediently, she puts her book
away, and picks up her coat and gloves. In her periphery,
she sees him well enough to be satisfied with obvious
physical details, but she makes no attempt to either regard
or confront him outright. She has given without question
thus far, and would see it through. When she is ready, she
turns to him, eyes downcast as is proper. He motions for
her to proceed him from the lounge, and once out into the
grand hallway, he turns her in the direction of the
elevators. All during the wait for the elevator, he takes
the time to admire her long, muscular legs, rounded
buttocks, the curve of her back beneath her sweater; he
likes the way in which her hair seems to spread across the
top half of her back in soft, layered waves, and has to
give himself a stern warning so as not to run his hands
through that lovely mane. Not yet, at least. The car
arrives, and they get in. There are no other passengers as
he punches the button for the sixth floor, noted for the
maze of professors' offices and twisting, turning hallways.
She stands inside, uncertain of what to do. Roughly, he
reaches out as the doors close, grabbing a fistful of her
hair and pulls her to him, kissing her with something
bordering on fury. He opens her mouth with her tongue,
pleased and aroused by her acquiesance, but refusing to
allow her any response. As her tongue moves shyly towards
his own, he breaks the kiss and shoves her roughly away.
"Face the doors," he orders, and as she turns, he delivers
a stinging spank to her undefended rear. She cringes
slightly, but does not break the posture.
There is no one in sight when they step out of the
elevator. Taking a quick look around, he satisfies himself
with the emptiness of the hallway, then turns to her. "You
will take off your sweater," he tells her as he runs his
hands over her breasts, squeezing them gently, "then you
will get down on all fours and follow me. You can carry
you pack in your mouth." Her eyes widen at this command,
and she glances apprehensively down the lighted hall. The
delay in responding to his command is met with a sharp slap
across her right cheek, causing tears to obscure her
vision. In spite of this, she feels a wet warmth coursing
through her groin, and knows that she would not disobey,
even had she wanted to. He compells her, and she is his.
She drops what she is carrying and slips the sweater over
her head. Getting everything into an easily carried bundle
is a more difficult matter, and further delay brings
further spankings. Granted, the cloth of her pants is
enough to take away most of the shock, but enough comes
through anyways to cause fresh tears to mark her face.
When she is ready, he turns and walks briskly down the hall
and turns a corner; she must scurry to follow him, lest she
get lost in the labyrinth on offices. As it is, he has
waited for her around the corner. He has taken off his
thin belt, and now brings its leather tongue down across
her lower back, hard enough to sting and leave a welt, but
nowhere near hard enough to break the skin. He has no
intent of causing any serious or permanent injury to a body
he admires so much.
In this way he shepherds her far from the elevators, until
they finally come to a stop before the door of a corner
office. They have encountered no one in the halls.
Ignoring her, he pulls a small set of keys from his pocket
and unlocks the door, steps inside, and closes the door.
She is left alone in the hall, and now she can hear distant
voices approaching. Her fervent if silent prayers are left
unheeded as two men walk past the entrance to her hallway.
One of them glances in her direction; his step falters, and
he stops, as does his friend, who, following his stare,
also now sees her.
"Are you all right, miss?" asks the first, taking a
tentative step towards her. She nods and smiles, holding a
finger to her lips, hoping they don't come close enough to
see her back and ask uncomfortable questions. She decides
to take a risk in speaking, even with her commander on the
other side of the door.
"It's a surprise," she explains in a stage whisper. "It's
his birthday, and you kind of caught me off guard in
mid-preparation." The two men suddenly go very red, making
many excuse-mes, and leave, wishing her luck. Once they
have gone, silence returns, and she forces herself to wait,
in spite of the ache in her back, the bruises on her knees,
and the fire between her legs.
After several more minutes, he finally opens the office
door.
"Come in and get up on the desk," he says simply. "I
suspect that you know which position to adopt when there."
She follows his orders, settling back on her heels, knees
spread an almost uncomfortable distance apart, fingers
laced together behind her neck. She does not meet his
eyes, keeping her gaze instead fixed upon the door beyond
his head. He walks around her, taking her in with his
eyes. Tension seems to be building to an unbearable point
as he faintly runs his fingertips down along her spine,
smiling as she flinches from the contact with the reddening
welts. From behind, he reaches to cup her breasts,
kneading them almost roughly as he brings his lips to her
shoulder blades, feeling her press into him ever so
slightly. With one hand, he reaches down between her legs,
feeling a low pulsating in the cup of his hand, which comes
away warm with her humidity. He pulls away now from her
warm body, and pulls a chair out in front of the desk.
Seating himself, he motions for her to step down from the
desk.
"Get undressed," is all he says. She obeys without the
slightest hesitation, her movements slow and fluid, gauged
to entice the watcher's eye to every curve of her body.
When she has finished, and her clothes are folded in a neat
pile on the floor, she stands quietly before him, hands at
her side. He stands and approaches her, and with no
warning, pushes a knee between her legs and kicks her feet
apart, at the same time sliding two fingers into her wet
vagina. Unprepared, she allows herself to fall forward
against him, her lips on his neck. He pulls out of her
abruptly, pushes her upright, and slaps her. Feeling that
perhaps a simple slap might not be enough, he turns her
roughly and bends her over the desk, positioning her hands
in a grip of the opposite edge. A small soft-cover book is
selected from the book-shelves to serve as a paddle, which
he applies repeatedly to the soft flesh of her rear-end,
until her whimpering convinces him of her atonement.
Before she can get her thoughts together, she is turned,
more gently this time, onto her back, the cool surface of
the desk soothing against both old and new welts. He uses
her socks to bind her ankles to the legs of the desk,
leaving her spread wide for his inspection. Her hands
still remain locked at the edge above her head, and she
closes her as she feels his fingers probing gently at her
clitoris. She is unprepared for the sudden sting of the
belt on the inside of her thighs.
"You will keep your eyes open and you will watch me," he
growls, pinching the tip of her clit until she gasps out
her obedience. Their eyes, now locked together, never
waver from each other as he lowers his head to kiss the
welt on her thighs. She makes no sound, but fidgets with
the edge of the desk with her fingers, and tries not to
strain against the bindings on her ankles. Watching her,
he runs the very tip of his tongue over the slightly
swollen strip of flesh on her leg, intrigued by her
self-control. She does not fight him, but she makes it
clear that, at this moment, he does not control her. With
an almost casual slowness, he touches his tongue to tiny,
random points on her upper thighs and lower abdomen, his
eyes twinkling in a smile his mouth is too preoccupied to
provide. He is rewarded; her breathing catches in her
throat when he finally brings himself to the taut lips of
her inner sanctum; the smell of her instinctive eagerness
fills his head as it fills the room, but he ignores the
silent challenge in her eyes and pulls away.
Caught by her own, beginning frustrations, she sighs, but
has no time for much else as he returns to her, invading
her before she is aware of the fingers thrust deep into her
vagina. Almost angrily, she arches from the desk, the wind
knocked from her lungs by the force of entry, caught back
only in sobs timed to his thrusts before he pulls away
completely.
He smiles to himself. He has caught her off-guard, and now
she is unsure of herself. Bringing the chair closer to the
desk, he leaves her feet bound where they are, but pulls
her forward, off the top of the desk, to be bent forward
over the chair. It is an uncomfortable position for her;
her feet are still almost flat to the floor behind her,
stretching the muscles in the backs of her calves and
thighs almost unbearably. Gently, almost reverently, he
touches the fading welts on her buttocks, before releasing
a mighty swing that connects the palm of his hand with her
reddened flesh with a sound that echoes between the four
walls of the office. Another falls, and another; she loses
count of both the barrage and the number of tears which
respond to her pain. It is perhaps a dozen or so spanks
which have fallen, and in the brief moment of silence which
settles afterwards, between the sounds of her own crying
breath, she hears the unmistakable rustle of denim being
pushed down along skin. She grasps the edges of the chair
in preparation, waiting.
But he is smarter than that; he has seen her tense in
anticipation, and knows that penetration is what she wants.
It is too soon for her to be satisfied, he thinks as he
folds his own pants on top of hers. With one strong hand,
he supports her as he removes the chair, settling her on
the floor, feet still tied behind her. She still regards
him coolly through damp eyes; he may still command, but he
does not yet possess. He grabs her hair in two handfuls
andpresents himself to her, pressing his hardness against
her lips. She refuses. He forces her head back with one
hand, delivering a stinging blow with the other. She
whimpers, but refuses again. He switches hands and strikes
her again. Swaying on her knees, she raises her face to
his member, for the moment giving up, if not giving in.
Only barely does he wait for her, thrusting deep into her
mouth as soon as he feels the willing contact, and with
both hands, he forces her head into place, feeling her
struggle to breath and swallow, fighting the gag reflexes.
Instinctively her hands come up his own naked buttocks, but
he grabs the wrists in one hand and stretches them over her
head; his other hand return to the insistent grip behind
her head as he begins a fast thrusting motion with his
hips. Her throat is tight, wet and warm, and he feels her
tongue running over his swollen dick as he plunges into her
mouth. He begins to rock on his heels with each push,
disregarding the occasional contact with her teeth as she
struggles to match his motions. He feels his own tension
beginning to peak, and starts to ram hard into her mouth,
knowing that she is being thrown off balance, but not
concern for her comfort as he feels his crotum constrict in
the inevitable climax. His own laboured breathing explodes
in an almost agonized groan as her throat swallows around
him, accepting as much as she can without setting off
gagging reflexes. He releases her, pulling out of her
mouth as he reaches for his pants. Unbidden, she wipes her
mouth, risking a moment to settle back on her heels to rest
the muscles of her legs. There is no reprimand for this
behaviour; rather, he seats himself on the edge of the desk
behind her and reaches out to stroke her hair. His bare
leg brushes lightly against her bare shoulder, and she
shivers at the tingling sensation that trails along behind
it. There is a delicious feeling to the goosebumps that
swell on patches of already red and welting skin, and she
sighs, concentrating on the pleasure. This reaction does
not go unnoticed by him, and with a single tug he releases
each of the bindings in turn. With gentle but unyielding
hands, he positions her on the floor, on her stomach,
spread-eagled. There is nothing to hold her in this
position except his will and her whim, but she accepts his
fether-touch without question as he strokes her skin,
toying periodically with the sensitive areas left in the
wake of her whipping for the sake of seeing her squirm in
pleasure or agony. Sometimes he uses the tips of his
fingers, sometimes the smooth surface of his palm, but
always he has the contact with her, touching her feet or
arms, legs,back or neck. He discovers the sensitive spots
along her spine or sides, and the charming rippling effect
he can evoke with light touches across the base of her
neck. Her head is turned to one side that she may breathe,
and he criss-crosses the exposed side of her face with the
touches, until she turns slightly to kiss his fingertips.
Slowly, he brings from behind him his belt, but this time,
it is not meant as a weapon. Instead, he reaches out, and
gently draws both of her arms together abover her head,
binding the wrists with the supple leather. He does not
speak as he pulls her to her feet and leads her to a space
on the wall between the door and the bookshelves, hooking
her bound hands over one of the shelf struts, and firmly
separating her feet. They lock eyes again as he runs his
hands, somewhat more insistently this time, over her body,
cupping her breasts and bring the nipple of each in turn to
his warm mouth. She moans slightly as his teeth nip them
to an enticing hardness over which his tongue dancing.
Distracted, he slowly progresses the attentions of his
mouth towards her neck and ears, as his hands independently
move to her hips, squeezing them in a slow rythm that soon
encompasses the kneading of her buttocks as he pulls her
unprotesting body against his willing own. She feels him
waiting for her; she is aware of how desperately she wants
her own release, but resigns herself to patience, knowing
he will do as he wishes when he is ready. Her own
excitement has been steadily climbing, and this new,
gentler interaction is almost enough to send her crying
into her own orgasm.
His lips meet her own, and this time, he does not refuse
her active participation, accepting her tongue's contact
with his own. Strong hands lift her hips slightly, forcing
her up on her toes, and she feels him slip his dick between
the outer lips of her vagina. He lifts her again, and with
incredibly slow precision, settles her down over top of his
erection, only allowing her tiny fractions of penetration
at a time. She quirms against him, but his legs are bent
just enough, his body is just far enough below her own to
frustrate her. With just the head of his member, he
strokes the entrance to her vagina in slow strokes,
listening to the sound of her breathing as she strains to
catch him. Her head rolls forward as she struggles but
there is no punishment this time. Crushing her mouth, he
feels her body tense for his next stroke, and, wrapping one
arm around her shoulders, and the other around her waist,
he breaks the tension with one thrust all the way into her,
smiling as the sound of her cry of victory washes over them
both. With his second slow, powerful thrust, she brings
her legs up to wrap around his waist, supporting all of her
weight from the binding on her wrists as she throws her
head back against the wall. Even his breath is rasping as
he buries himself in her, forehead pressing against her
neck, licking the sweat from her body. The pressure has
almost reached its zenith; she is grasping at each of his
thrusts with the muscles of her vagina, holding each throb
just a little bit tighter, each breath just a little bit
more like that final groan of release. She is almost
pleading now, almost crying, almost screaming. His fingers
are almost clawing at her back, digging almost painfully
into already tender skin. The motion has become
animalistic, tribal, baser than any other known to man, a
rhythmic pumping that has no other meaning. Her legs
tighten on his waist, and the convulsion forces them both
over the edge. She slams her body back against the wall,
pulling him and his final thrust with her, driving it deep
into her as he releases his own orgasm with a cry and a
violent shuddering, his arms clinging tightly to her slick
body as he churns the last few thrusts, emptying himself.
At last, there is only silence. Both of them catch their
breaths; heart rates slip into more familiar rythms, and he
finally pulls away from her, lowering her legs gently to
the floor. Her head is still back against the wall, but
now she opens unfocused eyes to watch as he gets dressed.
He has everything he came with ready to go before he
unhooks her hands from the shelf and undoes the belt.
"Be in the lounge at the same time tomorrow," is all he
says as he leaves, shutting the door softly behind him as
he goes.
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