Hayling

bymike z.©

Hayling's methods were a little unusual, but amazingly inspiring. Tying me at the stake was poetically subtle. Cutting off my air was...thrilling. I was suffocating, and I loved it.

Her silk binds were wrapped around me a hundred times; over my chest and around my arms; over my mouth and over my nose; tied at the back so that if I squirmed I'd still be unable to reach her knots. The expensive silk, fresh from the spider, binds me without gentleness to the hard metal pole. It is an unfinished support in her basement, her dark basement...our favourite love making spot. The cold metal tickles my rear as I press my back against it. Inklings of arousal, of impending lovemaking, cause my big toes to twitch.

When you're suffocating, you begin to see light. It starts softly. The first hints of it are mere sparkles and bursts of pixie dust. When you look at your lover and they shine with a bright corona, they become God. You believe in them utterly. You adore them. You trust them. You love them more than you love yourself.

You give them control. The effect is absolute.

Hayling moves all over me. She nibbles on my ear and pushes her breasts against mine. I am down on my knees on the cold concrete floor; my thighs are spread shoulder-width, with her strap-on softly probing my ripe underbelly.

Not yet. Not yet. My lungs aren't burning just yet.

Hayling understands the value of time and foreplay. She wants me to squirm and shiver as much as I want to feel it and please her. She'll fill the next three minutes with as much intensity as she can. She loves hard. I enjoy it rough.

It is her desire that I inhale her scent before being bound, for her to sit on my face and push my nose up her moist folds so that the last thing I will taste, breath even, is pure undiluted Hayling. My lips are still wet with her juices, her honey still snaking it's way down my throat. I swallow her deliciousness.

Beautiful, godly, Hayling.

She dances like a panther and can thrust with the best of them. She fucks more tirelessly than a machine. She is a tiny woman, but here ferocity belies her size. She is so incredibly fierce in the bedroom. In the bedroom, she loves nothing better than to control absolutely; manipulate me -- mind, body and soul. She craves unconditional dominance.

She gets it.

One minute.

Her ruthlessness is...breathtaking. She smiles at me, her lips curled to one side with a lustful sneer. Sweat forms on her lips and drips from her nose, liquid mementos that bring to mind memories of tireless foreplay. The night's almost over and it's time for the flourish.

I love her so much.

If I even wanted a choice, I'd choose for her to substitute my will with her own. She is omni-present, all over my body and running through my mind. The suffocating bindings keep her inside of me and infuse my body with her seductive influence.

The air of Hayling's scent held in my lungs.

The smell of Hayling trapped in my nose.

The taste of Hayling left on my lips.

The sound of Hayling's voice in my ears.

The feeling of Hayling driving hard between my legs.

Take me Hayling. Control me. I want to be caught in your unstoppable routine.

Nothing I can do can communicate to her; I am cut off and bound and tied. She does what she wills with me, and I place myself in her hands. I watch her with blind eyes. That is, I feel her sexual presence on my skin. I can't see anymore, my eyes won't open. It's so intense already.

Two Minutes.

I've practiced.

She is in me now and holding my hips, stoking and feeding her desires with me, the fly wrapped in her spider's web. She ground her body against me, placing her thighs between mine so that I straddled her hips, was impaled by her phallus. Her bindings are crossed over my chest and around the pole. They hold me tight as my lungs begin to burn with her incense. The sexed air in me seeps into my blood and runs through me like a narcotic. It turns my blood to wine and delirium. My chest feels ready to explode, my heart throbs, my pussy convulses with every suffocating spasm, clenching strongly around the shaft of her dong. Hayling runs like a hot knife though my buttery hole. In and out. In and out.

I don't need the in and outs of oxygen. I have her.

Now I feel it, the tremendous weight, the ruthless gravity pulling me down, bringing fatigue and the sense of pushing the envelope, pushing my body harder against the unsympathetic ticking of time. Three minutes now...about end time. Blinding light sparkles in my blinded eyes. Her fingers tiptoe over my body like subtle footprints tickling my eros. She is delicate with her hands, hard and forceful with the shaft. Hayling nails me to the fucking pole. In and out. In and out.

Hayling is insatiable. She doesn't like to listen. This is good, as I don't like to tell. She's fucking me into oblivion, suffocating me, sucking me dry with her spider's urge. Convulsions begin rifling up my spine, smacking my brain with one rich orgasm after another. It is not my role to act, just to feel, just to love the experience.

There is so much of it to love.

She restrains my mind until I can think only of the pleasure she brings me. Her dominating presence is so powerful that it sucks at my attention, commands the directions of my thoughts. Pleasing her is what I want to do; it is all I can think about. Hayling's pleasure is mine. Tied to the pole with an airtight scarf over my mouth and nose, blinded by the light, she becomes all that I can feel. My wet sex is stuffed full to the brim with her strap-on rod, pumping in and out, my pussy draining its oily arousal down my thighs. She quickens her pace. My vagina becomes my lung and Hayling the air I breathe. For three minutes, I deny myself of everything, just for her. I give myself to her completely.

But not before she takes another orgasm, sucking it from the deepest part of me. The groaning from the base of her throat communicates her ecstasy. It gets deeper, more primal. She lets out her breath and her voice in one great climax.

I begin to writhe and shake as my body fail-safes engage. Involuntary breaths with breathless lungs; I've learned to control them. I fight off the rebellion. With each attempt at breath, I feel my sex squeezing tighter against the shaft of her strap-on-dong. Everything begins to seize and lock up, pushing the friction higher. My thighs grow tired, spreading me even more for her. I feel pain in my knees as they slide on the concrete wider than my shoulders. I slide slowly down the pole, sink into Hayling's lap, and I settle onto her driving phallus. My own weight pushes down on it and increases the pleasure, deepens the connection.

The convulsions become more intense, and I start to tremble. I quiver against my bindings and the pole, jolting from the rhythm of Hayling's fucking, eyes bursting with colours, lungs on fire, and nerves flickering with sensation. As suffocation threatens to pull me under, I feel more alive than ever. I lose control...

I have exactly the same dream, each time...

The sky yawns at me; it's endless lengths holding me in the arms of an up-current as I fall boundless like a feather on the wind. Looking up through the glare of the sun, I can see the dark plane of the high atmosphere. A yellow plane streaks across it, leaving trails of white whispers in its wake.

The air of freedom in my lungs.

The sound of velocity in my ears.

The sense of the big empty in my mind.

The taste of air and ice on my lips.

The feeling of the sky in my flapping hair and the wind through my outstretched fingers.

Spiralling and falling to the ground like a stone, pulled down by ruthless gravity, staring death in the face and kissing it on the lips, I smile. I embrace the thrill of defiance, the joy of gravity's merciless pull.

So strong.

So unsympathetic.

So thoughtless in wanting.

So ruthless in ending.

So thrilling in escape.

The closer the ground comes, the higher I feel. Adrenaline fills my veins, and I relish the reality of brushing consequence with my fingers and then pulling away, to pull the cord, the arm of my love.

The same, exact dream...every time.

Just before I hit the rocks, I wake up in her arms, without fail, and the force of attraction between us is even stronger. She knows where the line is, but never allows me to cross it. She will let me tip over the edge of the cliff, but never let me go. She knows my body better than anyone ever has; better than I, even.

Our true intimacy is not just formed by her knowing how I love. She has of mine the ultimate in acknowledgements, the most intimate of knowables, and my trust in the role that requires the greatest trust of all.

My world.

She is my whole world, and she holds that place when I dream of falling. She knows how I react as I begin to die, and she catches me before I hit the ground. If she can know these things, she can know anything. She is my death-defying thrill. I'd give myself to her on any day of the week...and do.

Later we kiss and I rest my head on her lap to regain my strength, with the smell of strong salt still wilting my lungs. She gives me a bite of her apple as we sit naked on pillows in the candlelight. Her gentle fingers caress my lame ankle and we dream of all the crazy things I used to be able to do.

Like jumping out of yellow airplanes, or any other activity to satisfy a woman who never quite lost her sense of Icarus.

I ask her to tell me what to do, again. She smiles at me with apple juice shining on her lips. She kisses me. I relish her touch as she scours my skin with her lips, leaving green-apple scent on my blushing nipples.

"I want to make love to you tomorrow," she says. "Just before dinner, when your parents are walking up the driveway to the front door and we're looking at them through the window."

I laugh. She's serious, of course.

Now, I can barely wait; because fun comes much more quickly if pressed by a deadline. That kind is the most satisfying of all.

I reach up and touch her cheek, and I grin at her.

"Don't tell me any more about what you have planned," I tell her. "Just do it to me."

She has such a bright attraction and pull on me. She is electric-magnetic. She is my hopes and my dreams, the best thing to happen to me since being born.

She is Hayling.

THE END

(c) 2005 mike z.

This story should not be reposted outside without permission. If you steal this work, karma will prevail, and you will find many rusty nails in your future.

A special thank-you goes out to a friend for her editing prowess and for providing this story with a tense facelift, as well as sprinkling a few hot phrases here and there for the sake of improvement. Thank-you.

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