E2 Edition Author's Note:
I posted this on rec.arts.erotica years ago; now I'm posting it on E2. Enjoy!

GOING AWAY is copyright (c) 1994 by Ben Ostrowsky. You may use and distribute this file, as long as you don't profit from it.

Herein you'll find sex and love and pain, some physical and some emotional. If you don't want to read explicit details of heterosexuality, don't read this story. It's mostly fantasy, with a background of real life. The names of the somewhat innocent have been changed.


Some presents are better than others. The memory of a wonderful gift clings to me even today. I was a young man goofing off for four years in college, and had spent a warm Miami summer with a beautiful woman of my age. We were friends, though we amused each other by flirting constantly.

Six months ago, we had been sipping strong Cuban coffee in the spartan dorm lounge, chatting idly about fantasy novels. Inspired by the muse of caffeine overdose and sleep deprivation, Liz told me about her interest in bondage. I instantly regretted not owning handcuffs. We met at odd hours for the rest of the school year, usually drinking the thick, sugared espresso sludge.

A month before finals week, I found a note in my mailbox. Liz had withdrawn from classes and moved 300 miles south to Miami. Numb, I shuffled on my way. I found out the next day that her parents had demanded she go to another public school and move back home. It was for her own good. They said, of course, that Liz's boyfriend had nothing to do with this. He was about five years older, out of school, had a scruffy beard and a tendency to make bad puns, and rode a motorcycle. Whatever the reason, I went a month without Liz.

Air from the Gulf Stream is warm and moist, and blows heavily across Miami. It ruins hairstyles, and in it palms grow. I spent a summer with her there before we realized I would be returning and Liz would stay in South Florida. I was cold.

We had one final get-together the day before I left. I took her to our favorite restaurant, where we feasted on fruit and cheese. We shared a bottle of sparkling cider, reserving wine for the appropriate birthday celebrations, and drove back to her home. I noticed as I pulled into the driveway that only her car shared the front yard with mine.

Once inside, Liz locked the door behind me and climbed onto an ottoman to whisper into my ear. "My parents are at the mall for the day."

This had never meant very much before, so I prompted, "...and?"

"And I've been meaning to use the handcuffs I bought. Want to help me try them out?"

Oh, man, did I ever.

She swept a layer of assorted stuff off her bed. Bouncing onto it, she put her hands under her blouse to tug it up and off. I grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands out. "That's *my* right, not yours," I said.

"What? Oh... sorry."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Sorry, master."

(Note: By USENET custom, the submissive partner is not allowed to use the terms "sir/ma'am" or "master/mistress" without first forgetting and being corrected. This is a well-known custom, existing primarily to fill in the dialogue.)

I pulled her blouse over her head. She was wearing some maroon contraption halfway between a bra and a girdle. I bent forward and tasted the fabric, biting gently through its perfumed surface at her nipple.

"May I remove your shirt, master?" Her voice was shaky. I gave my permission. She saw my dappled chest. I reached around behind her and undid the soft breastbag, removing it. I pushed her, and she flumped onto the bed. Using the bra, I rubbed her calves, moving down to her sandals, which I took off and discarded. Her knees rose a few inches.

I slipped out of my sneakers and socks as I unbuttoned her shorts. I pulled the zipper slowly down, and the fabric parted to reveal a matching maroon pair of panties. She looked a question at me, and I nodded. She reached up and opened my shorts, which promptly obeyed the law of gravity, making two circles at my ankles.

"Ooo, look who came to visit," she said, stroking the rising bulge in my briefs.

Putting on my best Irish accent, I retorted, "I haven't come yet, and I'm not just visiting. But keep that up and I may stay awhile longer."

"Don't worry, I'll, uh, keep it up." She smirked.

"Ouch. I've gotta punish you for that one."

Her eyes lit up like fire. I grabbed the handcuffs from the floor and clacked them onto her hands, around the bedpost. She kicked at me. I stilled her feet by yanking her shorts down around her ankles. Reminded of my own state of undress, I stepped out of the figure-eight shorts.

"Now," I mused aloud, "how shall I tie your feet?"

"Apart, for better access."


"Why thank you, master."

I noticed her high school honor cord and secured her ankles at the corners of the bed.

"Uh... master?"

"What now, slave?"

"You forgot to take off my panties."

"D'oh!" I grabbed the scissors. She begged me not to... so I didn't. I'm not a heartless bastard, y'know. I untied her feet and put my finger into the crotch of the panties, lingering only a moment before pulling them off. Then I tied her up again, more securely this time.

I pinched her left nipple hard, scraping over it with my nails as I released it. She grunted quietly as the skin on her breasts became dotted with goose bumps. I licked her nipples, leaving my saliva on them. Then I blew cool air onto them.

"You're wicked."

"Is that a Good Thing?"

"Of course, silly master. Are you gonna take off your tighty whities, or are you waiting for them to magically disappear?"

At her suggestion, I took them off. (Hey, give me a break. This master and servant business was still somewhat new to me.) My erect penis fell out. Dangling about, I walked my fingers down toward her crotch. Before I reached her clit, I detoured to the labia and brushed very lightly at them, stroking upward. Her hips jumped up to meet me, and my fingers pressed into her. I removed them and tweaked her button. She ground her teeth.

"You need something to do with your mouth, dear."

"Yes, master."

I held my penis and put it against her thigh. I dragged it across her stomach and her breast, which she pushed upward at it. She leaned out, offering her mouth to me, but I used the tip of my penis to tickle her under the chin, near the base of her neck. She brought her chin down, clamping onto me. I pulled away and rolled over her, onto the bed, leaving us in that most famous numerical position.

Slowly, I inhaled. Then I blew my breath onto her clit. Liz responded by nibbling at the loose skin of my penis. It was my turn to shudder, and I nearly lost a chunk of skin as my reflexive thrust pulled the skin free of her teeth.

"Watch it," I warned, and reached down to the floor. I found a wooden clothespin in her laundry basket and clamped it onto a soft lip. Liz would have gasped had her mouth not been busy on my penis. As it was, though, she managed to inhale a good portion of my erection. She licked at it, and I felt a drop ooze from the tip.

I licked roughly at her clit and pushed a finger into her. It slid in smoothly. I curled my finger up, hoping to prove the theories of Dr. Grafenberg, but found no fabled spot. She didn't seem to mind, though. She murfled and then let my penis slide out of her mouth. "This is going to be very messy, and soon," she said.


Resuming my work, I bore down on her clit, pressing against it. I reached down to pinch her nipples, and then brought both of my hands back up. I stroked her captive calves, slowly. Her skin tingled as I worked my way back to the node of her sex. I pushed two fingers into her, roughly, and rasped my teeth against her clit. She tried to yell around my penis, and came violently. Every buck of her hips drove her clit against my incisors and my fingers deeper into her. After a minute or so, her motion damped into a small, fast shiver.

I removed the clothespin from the lip and clamped it onto the other. Liz surrounded me again, and exposed my penis to the cool air again, and surrounded it again. With a steady rhythm, she sucked. I tweaked her clit and stroked her feet and ankles. "It's my turn to make a mess," I warned.

She stopped moving her head with only the glans in her mouth, and sucked with all her strength. Then she brought more of me in. Her lips welcomed me like an old friend. I resisted for twenty seconds before my balls contracted and I rushed through canyons and up sheer walls, hues exploding around me.

I rolled off her and knelt at the bed. Pressing my lips to hers, I removed the clothespin and rolled her clit between my finger and thumb. She pressed her salty tongue into my mouth and came again, this time more of an aftershock.

Reluctantly, I untied her and helped her to her feet. I hugged her with all my remaining strength. We dressed each other, talking about the days and nights we'd spent that summer. Eventually, I had to go. Giving her another hug, digging my fingers into her back, I said goodbye. When I was outside, the door locked behind me. I sat on the hood of my car and cried.

For every goodbye there is a hello. On Christmas break we saw each other again, but she was seriously dating someone else by then. We both got our English degrees a few years later. Every chance we get, we get together, if only for an hour, and I brew a pot of Cuban coffee. We sit and sip and flirt and talk about the paperbacks we've devoured, and always say goodbye with a hug.

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