DunyainWolf
Experienced
- Joined
- Jan 10, 2014
- Posts
- 35
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Michele sat up in her bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Another dream. One hell of a dream. Still feeling unsettled, she swung her legs out of bed, and padded down the hall to get a glass of water to drink. Ah. As usual, it did little to calm her nerves, but at least dealt with the raging desert sandiness in her throat.
Every single night. And they're getting worse.
They had started a few weeks ago, ever since she started teaching class. Michele Murawski, only thirty-odd years old and already a professor of psychology, kept dreaming of spiders. Of being caught in a web. A sticky, gripping, strong and tense web. A web that bound her wrists and ankles and kept her limbs spread in an X-position. Her flesh nude, bare in the black infinite of space in which this net was impossibly suspended. The spider was coming. Something was coming. The net trembled under delicate, but heavy limbs. Something was coming, and it was going to bite her. And touch her with its terrible, long claws. Scrape sharp blades slowly over her breasts, without breaking the skin, jabbing at the nipples until they became as taut as the web that bound her.
And every time she dreamed it, the dream became more terrible, and more exciting.
------------
Michele was a fairly ordinary-looking girl. A little geeky in appearance, with a tendency to laugh nervously to break any tension. Her hair was short and brown, pulled back from her eyes into any "practical arrangements" that almost belied the prettiness of her curly locks. Her face was somehow inquisitive. No-one was surprised to hear that she was engaged in academia professionally. She had "that look", they said.
She had a good figure, under all the sweaters and loose jeans. She had pretty green eyes, under the needlessly thick lenses. Like one of those dreadful high school movies, she was the swan who needed to realize she was not an ugly duckling. She was this Hollywood fantasy come to life, and badly in need of awakening.
But sex made her nervous. She had had boyfriends, and they had only fueled the problem. All those fumbling, nervous hands on her bra strap. Michele had gone "all the way" before a few times, but never to any satisfaction. Slowly, she had associated "sex" with "pity" - pity for the poor guys who did not know what to do with her. Eventually she figured out her own satisfaction, and that was when the fun began.
It was called 'Self-Bondage'. Basically you tied yourself up, put yourself 'in a bind' just as though some 'master' had put you there, provided yourself some kind of sexual stimulation, and just...waited. Michele had come across it while searching the web one day on an entirely unrelated manner, and immediately it had snagged her attention. Why not just...take care of herself, sexually? She was smart, and she did really want to try to enjoy sex for a change.
It started simple. Just false imprisonment - tying her hands behind a chair, and putting a small vibrator against herself, inside her panties, while she sat there in her best lingerie. It was easy enough, afterwards, to pull her arms up from the pretend-bondage. Buzzing away, the vibrator became a good friend in the sessions to come. Things became more complex.
Nervously, wearing sunglasses each time, she visited sex shops for a few new items. Eventually, she obtained a considerable collection. Vibrators, dildos, handcuffs, blindfolds, ball gags, penis gags, love oils, locks, keys, ropes, straps...the whole works.
Then she started filming. This also began by accident, having caught herself accidentally on web-cam one day when forgetting to turn the silly thing off after a Skype session. Luckily, the feed was just recording to her hard drive and did not 'go' anywhere. It also just caught her head, and revealed nothing of what had been going on a frame or two below. But she decided she kind of...liked it, in a way that made her rather nervous, and a little giggly in that familiar, defensive way of hers.
So she did more recordings. And their complexity matched her growing interest in the 'hobby'. She gave up on pursuing boyfriends. This was much more fun. She put herself in 'dilemma positions', where physical strain had to be maintained to avoid being impaled on dildos, or even bringing her closer to a little candle-flame. (She had experimented thoroughly before trying anything like this, and always with a safety valve of some kind.)
A typical scene. Lights, camera, action. Michele Murawski on her bed, completely naked, limbs spread widely to all four corners of the bed. In each hand, a small ice cube, exquisitely painful as it slowly, leisurely melted, inside of each was a key. A vibrator pushed up almost to her tight pussy, buzzing against her in a not-quite-satisfying position. So that her hips had to slowly rise and fall against it in its fixed position, craving satisfaction - made better watching, later, if she had to move to earn her treat. A ball gag clamped between her succulent lips. Her small patch of brown pubic hair in plain sight. Her large breasts revealed, with a pair of small silver claps gripping each nipple and chaining them together. Moaning. Moaning like this was the greatest moment in her life. Moaning as an orgasm built. Almost screaming out loud behind the gag as orgasm finally fell upon her, and swept her away.........
Later, to free herself nimbly with the key that was finally in her hands. To shower and dress again. Perhaps to go to class, or to a small restaurant to eat supper alone. Always alone, poor Michele.
------------
One fine day, she was visiting Command Prompt, a small computer-repair shop with some half-dozen employees, to get her desktop computer checked out. The damn thing simply refused to power on, and when it did manage to choke out a basic amount of life, it refused to load the operating system. All of her files, professional and personal, were on the boot drive together, and so she was rather panicking. She did not want to lose all the hard work she had put into preparing course lectures for the term. It was a huge part of her life, this computer.
The very same computer that had all of her self-pornography files in a 'secret' folder that was simply a folder-within-a-folder-within-a-folder. Michele was many things, and most of them good, but tech-savvy was not among them. She was, too, a tad naive about the world, and especially men and their sexuality. Accustomed to push-overs who had proven entirely unsatisfying, the idea that a man might not only look at the computer's full contents, but react to the photos and videos of her self-stimulation, in a way that was...unethical...simply had not occurred to her.
Entering the store, she left the PC with a desk clerk, explaining the problem briefly and a tad rudely. Michele was not an unpleasant woman, but she was rather worked up about this technical problem and the amount of work potentially deleted if the hard drive was indeed responsible for her issues. And a stray feeling, one she did not dare confront, whispered that she was not being wise, dumping a computer full of her sexual self-bondage materials with a group of effective strangers. But people in the tech industry were professionals. It wasn't like they would go 'rooting around' in a hard disc, right? Surely, they would stop if they got it to 'power on'.
Right?
Michele sat up in her bed, covered in sweat and breathing heavily. Another dream. One hell of a dream. Still feeling unsettled, she swung her legs out of bed, and padded down the hall to get a glass of water to drink. Ah. As usual, it did little to calm her nerves, but at least dealt with the raging desert sandiness in her throat.
Every single night. And they're getting worse.
They had started a few weeks ago, ever since she started teaching class. Michele Murawski, only thirty-odd years old and already a professor of psychology, kept dreaming of spiders. Of being caught in a web. A sticky, gripping, strong and tense web. A web that bound her wrists and ankles and kept her limbs spread in an X-position. Her flesh nude, bare in the black infinite of space in which this net was impossibly suspended. The spider was coming. Something was coming. The net trembled under delicate, but heavy limbs. Something was coming, and it was going to bite her. And touch her with its terrible, long claws. Scrape sharp blades slowly over her breasts, without breaking the skin, jabbing at the nipples until they became as taut as the web that bound her.
And every time she dreamed it, the dream became more terrible, and more exciting.
------------
Michele was a fairly ordinary-looking girl. A little geeky in appearance, with a tendency to laugh nervously to break any tension. Her hair was short and brown, pulled back from her eyes into any "practical arrangements" that almost belied the prettiness of her curly locks. Her face was somehow inquisitive. No-one was surprised to hear that she was engaged in academia professionally. She had "that look", they said.
She had a good figure, under all the sweaters and loose jeans. She had pretty green eyes, under the needlessly thick lenses. Like one of those dreadful high school movies, she was the swan who needed to realize she was not an ugly duckling. She was this Hollywood fantasy come to life, and badly in need of awakening.
But sex made her nervous. She had had boyfriends, and they had only fueled the problem. All those fumbling, nervous hands on her bra strap. Michele had gone "all the way" before a few times, but never to any satisfaction. Slowly, she had associated "sex" with "pity" - pity for the poor guys who did not know what to do with her. Eventually she figured out her own satisfaction, and that was when the fun began.
It was called 'Self-Bondage'. Basically you tied yourself up, put yourself 'in a bind' just as though some 'master' had put you there, provided yourself some kind of sexual stimulation, and just...waited. Michele had come across it while searching the web one day on an entirely unrelated manner, and immediately it had snagged her attention. Why not just...take care of herself, sexually? She was smart, and she did really want to try to enjoy sex for a change.
It started simple. Just false imprisonment - tying her hands behind a chair, and putting a small vibrator against herself, inside her panties, while she sat there in her best lingerie. It was easy enough, afterwards, to pull her arms up from the pretend-bondage. Buzzing away, the vibrator became a good friend in the sessions to come. Things became more complex.
Nervously, wearing sunglasses each time, she visited sex shops for a few new items. Eventually, she obtained a considerable collection. Vibrators, dildos, handcuffs, blindfolds, ball gags, penis gags, love oils, locks, keys, ropes, straps...the whole works.
Then she started filming. This also began by accident, having caught herself accidentally on web-cam one day when forgetting to turn the silly thing off after a Skype session. Luckily, the feed was just recording to her hard drive and did not 'go' anywhere. It also just caught her head, and revealed nothing of what had been going on a frame or two below. But she decided she kind of...liked it, in a way that made her rather nervous, and a little giggly in that familiar, defensive way of hers.
So she did more recordings. And their complexity matched her growing interest in the 'hobby'. She gave up on pursuing boyfriends. This was much more fun. She put herself in 'dilemma positions', where physical strain had to be maintained to avoid being impaled on dildos, or even bringing her closer to a little candle-flame. (She had experimented thoroughly before trying anything like this, and always with a safety valve of some kind.)
A typical scene. Lights, camera, action. Michele Murawski on her bed, completely naked, limbs spread widely to all four corners of the bed. In each hand, a small ice cube, exquisitely painful as it slowly, leisurely melted, inside of each was a key. A vibrator pushed up almost to her tight pussy, buzzing against her in a not-quite-satisfying position. So that her hips had to slowly rise and fall against it in its fixed position, craving satisfaction - made better watching, later, if she had to move to earn her treat. A ball gag clamped between her succulent lips. Her small patch of brown pubic hair in plain sight. Her large breasts revealed, with a pair of small silver claps gripping each nipple and chaining them together. Moaning. Moaning like this was the greatest moment in her life. Moaning as an orgasm built. Almost screaming out loud behind the gag as orgasm finally fell upon her, and swept her away.........
Later, to free herself nimbly with the key that was finally in her hands. To shower and dress again. Perhaps to go to class, or to a small restaurant to eat supper alone. Always alone, poor Michele.
------------
One fine day, she was visiting Command Prompt, a small computer-repair shop with some half-dozen employees, to get her desktop computer checked out. The damn thing simply refused to power on, and when it did manage to choke out a basic amount of life, it refused to load the operating system. All of her files, professional and personal, were on the boot drive together, and so she was rather panicking. She did not want to lose all the hard work she had put into preparing course lectures for the term. It was a huge part of her life, this computer.
The very same computer that had all of her self-pornography files in a 'secret' folder that was simply a folder-within-a-folder-within-a-folder. Michele was many things, and most of them good, but tech-savvy was not among them. She was, too, a tad naive about the world, and especially men and their sexuality. Accustomed to push-overs who had proven entirely unsatisfying, the idea that a man might not only look at the computer's full contents, but react to the photos and videos of her self-stimulation, in a way that was...unethical...simply had not occurred to her.
Entering the store, she left the PC with a desk clerk, explaining the problem briefly and a tad rudely. Michele was not an unpleasant woman, but she was rather worked up about this technical problem and the amount of work potentially deleted if the hard drive was indeed responsible for her issues. And a stray feeling, one she did not dare confront, whispered that she was not being wise, dumping a computer full of her sexual self-bondage materials with a group of effective strangers. But people in the tech industry were professionals. It wasn't like they would go 'rooting around' in a hard disc, right? Surely, they would stop if they got it to 'power on'.
Right?
