Quem ganha?

[Qyron]

Ele ía de BICICLETA.

E apanhou-me desprevenido.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Desculpas...

 

[Qyron]

Não te vejo a fazer nada para descobrires para onde foi ele...

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Não sou eu quem anda à caça...

 

[Qyron]

de gambosinos, não de elefantes.

Já viste o saco que eu ía ter de levar para trazer a criatura?!

 

[Lauren Hynde]

O gambozino ou o elefante?

 

[Qyron]

nem um, nem outro!

Para te enfiar a ti lá dentro!

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Bolas. Pronto, fica lá com a bicicleta.

 

[Qyron]

para quê? não viste como o elefante a deixou?

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Eu não estava cá, não vi nada.

 

[Qyron]

Vais sempre em frente, aí uns 100m, viras á esquerda, passas a árvore derrubada, contornas o monte de estrume, espreitas para o braco no chão e lá está ela, toda torcida...

 

[Lauren Hynde]

OK. Entretanto também vou tratar doutras coisas que esta vida não são só elefantes e bicicletas.

 

[Qyron]

E está alguém a amarrar-te ao poste?

Mas acho que se devia investir numa mordaça e numas algemas aqui para o lit-tuga...

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Não te sabia tão perverso.

 

[Qyron]

Perverso?

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Mordaças, algemas...

 

[Qyron]

Já experimentaste?
Pelo menos as algemas?

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Já experimentaste?
Pelo menos as algemas?

Mordaças, algemas, cordas...

 

[Qyron]

As últimas, espero que não ao pescoço...

Mas as mordaças não têm piada.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

As últimas, espero que não ao pescoço...

Mas as mordaças não têm piada.

É preciso saber o que se está a fazer com as cordas. Aqui estão dois excertos do meu conto The Literotica Olympics Day 24:

SHIP'S LOG
Open 49er | #155 - Team Canada | Charley H., skipper; Rebecca Leah, crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:30:00 [Final Regatta]
Position: 37° 48.188' N 23° 40.030' E

The truth is this was something I had been meaning to try for a while. So, when I moved to go past Rebecca to the prow of the boat and she leaned against the mast, I stopped and turned to her, effectively trapping her in place. I said nothing for a moment, just stood and looked into her eyes.

'Afraid of me?' I asked.

'Should I be?' she replied in a hesitant but almost defiant tone.

'Planning to answer all my questions with more questions?'

'Am I doing that?'

I had to laugh. She's spunky, I thought as I played a length of deep ruby coloured rope hanging from the mast, twirling and unfurling it with my left hand. I leaned in closer, pressing my breasts to hers.

'I need you to help me with something,' I said, my lips almost brushing across hers. My voice was at once low and firm, sweet and commanding. My knee pushed between her thighs, and I pressed it against her pussy.

'Yes?' she gasped at the sudden contact, her breath ragged.

I could feel the heat of her sex through the fabric of her thin baggy pants. Her eyes closed for a second as she unconsciously started to roll her hips, grinding against my thigh.

I smiled. Just as I thought the day I selected her for my team, a natural born slut. I pulled my leg back a bit and she slid slightly down the mast, trying not to break our contact. She closed her eyes again and moaned softly when I pressed my leg back between her thighs.

'Yes,' I said calmly and carefully lifted her yielding arms over her head. 'Don't worry, I won't bite. Much.'

In a swift motion, I bound her wrists together in a taut coil. Before Rebecca could realise what was happening, I had reached for the overhead rig and hooked one of the strong ropes through the ruby wrist wrap. With a quick tug, she was forced up onto her toes.

She opened her eyes, suddenly aware of her vulnerable situation as I covered her mouth with my hand and held her body in place with my own.

'Don't fight it,' I said. 'If the boat flips over, it won't be fun.'

She nodded slowly, a sense of panic briefly flashing in her eyes. She was straining to keep balanced on her toes, to ease the tension off her wrist restraint.

I smiled and reached in my pocket for my sailor's knife.

'For what I have in mind,' I said as I traced the thin straps of her white tank top with the short, cold blade, 'these will have to go.'

Slowly, I tore her top open all the way from the collar to her waist, and then jerked it off her. Her perky breasts were accentuated by the awkward stance brought by the ropes. She tried to look away, but couldn't stop moving her hips almost imperceptibly, just as she couldn't stop her nipples from hardening when I covered them with my mouth, grazing them with my teeth, biting them.

She moaned.

When I pulled open the cord that wrapped around her pants, unbuttoned and unzipped them, and finally peeled them past her swaying hips and down her thighs, I had to step back just to take in the tremendous effect. Against a backdrop made of the most serene sea I had ever seen, the sheer tension the ropes subjected Rebecca's body to was incomparably beautiful.

I picked another length of rope and caressed her body with it. Along the curve of her neck, her full breasts, down her body, holding back across the moist and puffy lips of her shaved pussy, and finally tugging at her silver clit ring.

'Now,' I whispered in her ear, 'I'm going to teach you all you will ever need to know about ropes and knots.'

SHIP'S LOG
Open 49er | #155 - Team Canada | Charley H., skipper; Rebecca Leah, crew

- Wed 1 Sep 2004 16:55:00 [Final Regatta]
Position: 37° 48.864' N 23° 40.124' E; mainsail and jib; 27.5 kt 21º T

A breathing, living sculpture. That's what Rebecca became with her body at my mercy, bound by coils, intricate patterns, and successive layers of rope that worked together to refashion her form, her poise, her awareness.

Each new layer intensified the overall effect.

She stood en pointe, her limber body set on a delicately strained equilibrium, her legs forced apart by ropes that coiled in layers just above her ankles, weaved over her legs, and hooked to the overhead rig. A different length of solid rope curled elaborately around her waist and left upper thigh, at once accentuating the shape of her ass and providing a breathtaking frame for her pussy, visually balancing the purity of her light pink lips, the gleam of her silver clit ring, and the teasing effect of the small beauty mark on her right labium.

Another rope lay across her rib cage, and past her shoulder blades, carefully wrapping around, lifting, and pinching her breasts. She let out a deep moan when I let the rope slide through my palms, and then tugged and secured the harness with cinching knots that hugged the sides of her body and tied to the rope at her waist.

I smiled from my vantage position at the prow, as I adjusted the main rig, and watched the rope that held her arms slide across the top spreader. It spiralled around her wrists several times, turned around itself, and slid under the binds, in a dynamic arrangement that added an arch to Rebecca's back, forcing that ideal stance. I admired the web I had woven, and glowed in the knowledge that before me stood art at its greatest.

Symmetry, balance, tension. Above all, the feeling of the transcendental wholesomeness of the geometry, of the movement, of the flesh. The ropes flowed, strong and taut, breathed, slacked and stretched in unison with every intake of air.

Completing the aesthetic composition, I released the mainsail and pulled it tight to its full wind position. I could feel my clit pulsing as I watched, in awe, the ropes slide onto Rebecca's yielding flesh. My heart drummed through my veins.

The sun was gently descending across the sky, and its light reflected off the sea to envelop the scene in a warm pink radiance that matched her moist lips. The translucent pane of the sail draped about Rebecca's body, casting the ghost of a shadow across her skin, announcing her new condition of romanticised figurehead at the prow of my ship.

'You're beautiful,' I said in a soft whisper, meaning it.

She closed her eyes, endearingly. Her cheeks blushed noticeably. She relaxed, letting her body be moulded to my will, as it would always have been, with or without ropes in place.

And then, something happened. An almost imperceptible breeze rippled through the sail. My heart missed a beat.

I stepped up to the mast and caressed the mainsail with the palm of my hand, feeling the vibrations. At a distance, I could see light surf starting to form, gaining speed.

Rebecca followed my eyes. A look of confusion and fear crossed her face again, but it dissipated when I turned back to her smiling, and slowly leaned in to kiss her lips. A lingering, deep kiss, smooth, confident, and dominant.

'Don't panic,' I told her, and pulled the jib sail free.

In a fraction of a second, a strong gush of wind inflated it with a loud bang, and Rebecca cried out when her body was pushed forward and suspended in the air. The entire boat sprung into action.

I slid under the boom and quickly hooked the mainsheet and readjusted the four line bridle for the upcoming thrust. The boat was already overpowered. I had to act on instinct. I grabbed a rope from the main rig and furled it around my forearm just in time for the shift of direction. With my body projected to starboard as counterweight, I pulled the cord with all my strength, and released the asymmetrical chute at the optimal moment.

The boat seemed to stop completely for two whole seconds and turn on its axis, and then shot forward to planing speed.

I swung under the mainsail to port and grabbed two other ropes off the main rig to balance the boat, and they slid across the bottom spreader, displacing one of the ropes that held Rebecca's body suspended.

It loosened the stress of the whole composition for an instant, and then the thick nylon rope whipped into place across her pussy. She moaned and her body shook as the rope slid in between her puffy pink lips and a knot pressed directly against her clit.

All the other ropes responded to her motion as a single, organic entity, overstimulating her body with sadistic intensity. As they tightened around her and bit into her soft flesh, her nipples hardened.

In mere seconds, we stormed heading for the gold, past the other teams that were caught off-guard by the sudden windstorm.

The jib flogged with tremendous strength, and the bonds gained added tension that forced the arch of Rebecca's back. Another, more powerful blast, and something snapped on the secondary rig. The rope at her inner thigh slid at high speed, burning across her skin, and then stopped abruptly.

Her loud cry, a mixture of the most acute pain and of incommensurable pleasure, echoed through my body to my clit.

I smiled, straining to control my breathing and heart rate, and felt the texture of the rope I held in my right hand, the tension of each individual fibre. Then, vigorously, I pulled it.

Rebecca's cry came in response, as the rope that dug into her slit glided back across her flesh and a series of knots rapidly slid over her clit, wave after wave crashing into her body, successively bursting and dipping and curling and pressing against the entrance of her pussy and her ass.

Another tug, another desperate whimper. Her body trembled, powerless to stop the cascade of erotic stimuli that overloaded her senses.

Powerless to stop the flow of her orgasm.

Powerless.

 

[Qyron]

Sem ofensa, mas espero que o teu estilo de escrita em tuga seja mais fluido.

Deste-me a semsação de quereres induzir no leitor uma cadência de leitura quase de poema.

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Bem, neste caso específico o narrador é uma pessoa real que eu estava a tentar emular. Mas gosto de injectar uma boa dose de poesia e semiótica na minha prosa.

 

[Qyron]

então foge da minha escrita como o diabo da cruz

 

[Lauren Hynde]

Até parece que tenho tido alternativa. Há sei lá quanto tempo que estou à espera da oportunidade de a conhecer...

 

[Qyron]

Vai á fava! (´´;