French Resistance

This is a transcript of a short story I wrote with the help of a real cyber-friend in France -- you know who you are!! Her responses are the paragraphs beginning with #

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In heat of the day you rest in your room, half asleep, half awake. You feel the slight brush of silk across your face. You open your eyes just in time to see a slim female figure slip out of your room. You rub the sleep from your eyes and run out of your room. You look up and down the hallway but you see nobody.

Suddenly you hear a sound behind you but before you have time to turn around, strong hands take the scarf from you and quickly, confidently, tie it across your eyes as a blindfold.

# I raise my hands, trying to untie the scarf with a little shout; afraid

The knot is too tight. But you feel a gentle hand take yours and lead you down the stairs and out into the garden.

# 'Who are you ... what's ...where do we go... please who are you?' and I feel the grass under my feet. 'What is it ... where are we ...what do you want?'

You are disorientated even though you are at your own home. The air outside is warm and you feel the strong sun on your naked body. You listen for familiar sounds that might help you to work out where you are, but there are none. You listen carefully in case your unseen, unknown companion should reveal his or her identity by saying even one word.

You do not even know if he or she is alone. What if there is more than one person, seeing you nude, exposed, desirable and vulnerable?

A hand takes hold of one of your arms. It feels like a woman's hand. Strong and decisive, but smooth and soft.

# 'Who are you' in a trembling voice, afraid

# I feel fresh air running all over my body, my skin shivers like goosebumps

Its owner is standing very close to you now and you smell the same perfume as on the scarf. But the smell of a perfume is altered by the chemistry of the wearer's skin and this time you discern the most beautiful scent you have ever smelt.

# Leather? is he or she wearing something made of leather?

The hand holds your arm still. You feel something around your wrist, like rope, but soft and smooth.

# Thoughts run through my mind

It is being wrapped around, 2 or 3 times, then tied in a knot.

# Who can it be? What happened to me?

Now the unseen hand grasps you other arm and again you feel the rope being tied firmly around your wrist.

# I try to escape 'please please let me go' in a low voice, almost a whisper

But you soon realise it is futile to struggle.

# A strange feeling grows in my body; I feel the sun on my skin, the hardening of my nipples, the moistness of my pussy

And the feeling that maybe you do not want to escape!

# What happened to me. 'Please no no let me go' in a baby-like voice, trembling

It seems to your captor that you only pretend that you are in distress

# I feel strange (ho my god, are ... are we in the garden? yes ho my god ... )

You feel tension in the ropes.

You arms are being lifted

Pulled upwards.

# I tense my arms, trying to resist

The tree! You work out that you are standing under the old tree in the garden of your mother's house and your arms are being tied to the overhanging branch, high above your head.

Your heels are only just on the ground, your arms stretched tight, the muscles in your belly are taught and pulled flat. Your gorgeous hot breasts are lifted high on your chest. If you stand on tip-toes it relieves some of the tension but you can only stand like that for a short time.

Finally, when you are captive, helpless, unable to escape, a hand touches your body.

# I shiver... silently...

Feeling the soft touch of fingers, palms over my sensitive skin. It is a tender, woman's hand, but still you jump with excitement and expectation as it caresses your shoulder

Now you feel warmth, hot breath on your face

# My breathing accelerates; she is close to you now. I whisper 'no no not here ... the neighbours ...', my mouth half open

Finally you hear a voice, whispering in your ear. Yes, it is a female voice. You recognise it. She speaks French but with an English accent. "Je serai de retour plus en retard."

# I groaned... 'please please don't let me alone please'. But no answer comes

You are alone

# 'Are you there? please please don't go'. I try to relax... Taking the rope in the hands, trying to upraise my body

You do not know how long you will need to wait. Minutes? Hours? Trying to relieve the weight of my body. It seems to be hours... eternity...

The heat of the mid-day sun warms your body, exciting you. And you have to admit to yourself that, actually ...

# Tied in the sun, with all the neighbourhood sounds...

You enjoy being tied

# I am excited...

You enjoy being made to wait. You enjoy being a captive

# I feel as if my body was more sensitive

Is someone watching you?

# Humiliated by the idea that I am bound in full display

You hear footsteps approaching, soft steps on the grass, getting closer. You assume, of course, that it is the same English woman, but you cannot be sure. Warm breath on your face again.

"Tu semble magnifique" she whispers.

A hand touches the side of your face ... fingers running down your cheek and the side of your neck, down to your collar-bone, then onwards, down to the soft curve of the top of your naked breast. Then they stop ... your mouth searching for contact, hoping for a kiss, some contact, anything to confirm her identity. Your breasts aching for the fingers to continue their journey; your nipples hardening and growing in anticipation of a welcome touch

When will it come? Will it happen at all? You cannot be sure whether there may be more than one person looking at your delicious, attractive, twisting, captive body.

Then fingers touch your other cheek. The fingers track down your face and neck, slowly, only just touching your skin. You shake and shudder with intense concentration, this time the fingers do not stop. They approach your nipple, getting closer, across the small but beautiful roundness of your breast. The fingers slow when they reach the darker outside circle of your areola, then they stop. She keeps you waiting.

# 'Please, are you there? Please, please speak to me don't leave me like that' - begging, almost panting with frustration.

Suddenly, a touch, then another. Two hands, one on each breast, roaming over them, feeling, brushing, scraping and then, drawing circles around your nipples so that they can gently touch the tips of your hard, aching, erect, throbbing nipples.

You stand higher, stretching, pressing harder against the fingers, now the fingers and the thumbs pinch quickly, then pull away, then pinch again, harder this time, both nipples, pulling them, pulling very hard, gripping tight, the pain is enjoyable at first, but then it becomes unpleasant.

You try to step forward to reduce the pulling but you cannot as you are tied to the tree. You hear someone laugh, quietly. Is it the woman whose fingers hurt your nipples? Or someone else watching! Then the fingers let go suddenly. The blood rushes back into your nipples.

The voice laughs again, then she speaks:

"Oh my poor baby, are your nipples hurting, my sweet cherie?"

You feel hands lifting your breasts, cupping them, taking their weight, then you feel the welcome, soothing warmth of lips on your right nipple, wet, soothing, licking and gently sucking.

Now you feel lips on your left nipple; your head is filled with delicious feelings and emotions, and you drift away for a moment, until you come round with a sudden realisation that now you can feel ... mouths on both nipples at the same time!!!!!