Heartlocks
Spring-2017 Story Contest Submission
Copyright 2017 by Eido
Story codes: F/f FF bond mast oral cons XX
Simple things can trigger happy memories, for me it’s the sound of a key in a lock, until now. Once, the rattle of keys in the many locks of the heavy front door found me capering about my room in anticipation. Keys in the front door meant my Elizabeth had returned from her labors. Keys in the front door meant keys would soon unlock the chain wrapped chest in my room, allowing us both to access the ropes and straps and other objects within to stimulate senses and desire.
Even now, when the sound of rattling at the door means another interloper has arrived, I recall the first time Elizabeth graced my home.
The keys, tentative, pecking at the locks before finally sinking home and opening the door. I waited in the front hall, prepared to present myself. Elizabeth peered in, the shyness of her demeanor at odds with her attire.
The summer sun streamed in through the west facing door, limning the young woman in warm radiance. She looked more ready for a day at the shore than for making new acquaintances. Her bare arms and legs soaked the light in, while her long corn silk hair positively shone.
Elizabeth, though I knew not her name then, was the picture of youth and vitality.
"Hello?" she called. The uncertainty of her voice matched the expression on her lovely face. Suddenly, I knew she expected my presence.
"Millicent?" she called out into the quietness of my home.
She knew my name. I could not recall the last visitor who knew my name. Elizabeth waited, clearly expecting a reply. I entered the front room. This is when interlopers typically flee or do something even more foolish.
She gasped and shivered slightly. Gooseflesh rose on her exposed arms and legs, and the tips of her breasts pushed against the thin layer of fabric separating her from indecency. Yet, she stood her ground.
"I'm Elizabeth," she finally said. "I've dreamed of you for years."
"Ah." I broke my silence, edging closer to her. She remained steadfast. "And does the reality match your visions?"
"Not yet," she answered.
I could see her breath as if a sudden chill had gripped my home. If this alarmed Elizabeth, she did not show it. Her tone had a certain impudent challenge.
"I would live here, with you, if you will have me." She inhaled deeply, someone about to do something rash. "If you will take me and love me as you have in my dreams."
"Elizabeth, I may be the subject of your dreams, but I am not the source of them. I know not what you dream, or what desires arise from them." Here I took my own chance, hoping that she dreamed of what I yearned for so much.
I had not noticed the large soft bag she carried over her shoulder until she unslung it and let it slip to the polished wood floor. She moved with grace and hesitation simultaneously, as might a dancer acquiring new steps. The strap of the curious bag fell, bunching in a coil atop the odd fabric. Gazing downward, her arms rose from her sides, and her hands extended with a tiny flick of of her fingertips. Definitely a dancer, I thought.
She crossed her wrists, palms down, and pushed her arms out still farther toward me. Finally, her countenance lifted, eyes soft but still intense, gazing at me.
I stared back, unable to break the connection that had so quickly formed between us. Her boldness, no, her brazenness in both words and gestures sparked something within me.
"Precede me up the stairs, enter the second door on the left. If you are going to come to me nearly naked, then I wish to take advantage of the view," I commanded.
Elizabeth retrieved her bag and ascended the front stairs. Her dancer's grace elevated the moment from tawdry to a more burlesque display. Watching the play of her muscles beneath the lightly tanned skin of her legs, and the suggestion of the firm curves beneath her scandalously short pants, excited me intensely.
She entered the room as directed, a guest room in which I kept a simple bed, straight backed wooden chair, and wooden chest containing my mismatched collection of tack, rope, and sensual oddments. A simple rug lay on the floor at the foot of the bed, its color offsetting the shine of the floorboards.
"My husband objected to my diversions and locked my collection in that chest," I said, pointing to the chain wrapped trunk in the corner. "I haven't been able to open it since he went to France and died fighting the Hun. There are some tools..." I stopped, dumbfounded.
Elizabeth held out a rusty old padlock, dangling from her index finger.
"It wasn't locked," she said.
I tried to gasp. My mind wanted to gasp. The lock. The chain wrapped about the old chest. The dusty tatters of the rug. The floorboards, now worn and gray.
I remembered.
I was dead.
"No! Wait!" Elizabeth called after me. Her plea pulled me back, back from wherever my intangible form had been about to flee.
She tossed the lock aside and opened her bag. A large quilt came out first, which she unfolded on the floor. She dumped the remaining contents onto the quilt. A rain of coiled ropes, leather straps, and belts made of some shiny, vividly colored material fell from the bag.
Sensations I should not have been able to feel swept over me. Chief among them, desire. I wanted Elizabeth. Wanted her desperately.
And she knew it. She tossed the bag aside and peeled off the brightly colored man's undershirt, revealing a bizarre looking brassiere. Bizarre or not, it quickly joined the growing pile of castoffs, followed by her short pants, a minuscule undergarment, and her sandals. She displayed herself there, standing nude on the thick quilt.
I could contain myself no longer. Forgetting my insubstantial state, I reached for a hank of the white, silky smooth, braided rope.
To my amazement, my hand closed around it and lifted it from the pile.
"Turn around, Elizabeth, and put your hands behind your back," I said.
She turned and I began to work frantically on her perfectly proportioned limbs. The solid rope in my ephemeral hand pressed against Elizabeth's lovely flesh. How long could I maintain this state? What would happen to this woman when I touched her?
I had so many questions, but I dared not delay for fear of losing my form or my power or whatever it was that now held this moment together.
"Palms facing together. When I touch you, I want to know if it hurts you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Millicent. I understand," she said.
"My friends call me Millie," I said. I wrapped the short length of rope in opposite directions around her wrists. So far, only the rope had contacted her skin. That would change in a moment.
Eight loops of the beautiful braided white cord encircled Elizabeth's wrists. With one free end in each hand I crossed the ropes and turned them at right angles so I could gather the loops in a few turns. My fingers grazed her forearms as I pushed an end between her wrists.
"Ooh! That's tingly," she said with a sharp intake of breath.
I looked at her skin. No telltale marks of burning, either hot or cold.
"I'm going to continue. Let me know if it becomes too intense." I fed the end through again and then pulled them tighter, which in turn tightened the bondage of her wrists with less chance of damaging her skin or flesh. My pillow friends and I had worked this out through numerous sessions of trial and error. The human body can take so much, but it has limits.
I was less cautious about touching her skin as I moved up to her elbows. Symmetry and exact geometry please me, and I bring that to my intimate practices. Using the same approach as I had on her wrists, I quickly bound Elizabeth's arms together, above and below her elbows. The one wrinkle occurred when, in my haste, I slipped. My hand passed through her bicep.
She rose up on her toes, crying out as she did. Her arms arched up and away from her body in a display of her incredible flexibility. I let go of the rope and circled her, faster than I ever could have as a living woman.
"Are you hurt?"
"Oh!" She said between gasps. "That was intense. Like hot and cold and electric all at the same time." Her chest continued to heave, bouncing her lovely breasts. Her feet could not be still either, and her hips described small, undulating circles in the air.
I stared at her, forgetting how disconcerting my direct gaze could be.
"Did you orgasm?" I finally asked.
"No, but it was very close," she admitted.
"Well," I smiled as I spoke, "we must exploit that sometime soon, yes?" Her eyes widened as she nodded silent assent.
I returned to the matter at hand, specifically, finishing the restraint of her arms. Retrieving the ends of the rope I had released in my haste to verify Elizabeth's health, I finished the cinching and knotting. Her triply bound arms, elbows touching, made a lovely image. The ropes pressed into her flesh without biting too deeply. Her flexibility made the position endurable, hopefully for long enough to explore our desires more deeply.
"Turn and face me, Elizabeth."
As she obeyed, I looked at the slightly diminished pile of restraints. I resisted the urge to experiment, hoping, praying, that today was the first of many visits with Elizabeth. Instead, I continued with the established theme of braided white rope. Selecting a much longer coil, I approached my willing captive. My spectral form stopped a hair's breadth from her warm skin.
"How does that feel?"
"Like warm air blowing across my skin after a swim," she said.
Looking at her erect nipples, I said, "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself. Are you not the least bit afraid?"
"No. Besides, if I can't trust you now," she wiggled her bound arms, "it's too late."
I stretched out my arms, and dropped a strand of the rope across the tops of her breasts. Instead of making her turn, I slipped behind her, and took up the ends again. The dilemma presented itself immediately. How could I bind her lovely chest without reaching around her, even through her, constantly. Somehow, I knew touching too close to her heart would be dangerous, even lethal.
"Aha!" I said, as much for her amusement as from the conclusion of my own thought process. I circled her again, removing the rope I had just left, and returned to her back. The end of the long rope I tied into the bindings above her elbows. Coiling most of the remainder in my hands, I circled her clockwise, winding five loops around her body above her breasts. This pattern continued until I had only enough rope left to tie back into her arm ropes, with a tail of rope remaining.
After a moment of thought, I repeated this process with another rope, this time winding counterclockwise and below Elizabeth's bust. I stopped for a moment to appreciate how excited she was. She breathed deeply and rapidly, but seemed in no discomfort. Moving behind her once again, I tossed the ends of the ropes forward over her shoulders. The rope remaining after I tied off to her elbows was long enough for one more task.
"Turn around, Elizabeth," I said.
I could have avoided her flesh if I had been careful. I was not careful and brushed the darkening skin of her breasts. She jerked and mewed delightfully with every touch. After a few minutes more work, the ends of the ropes I had dropped over her shoulders cinched the loops of the two chest ropes together in her cleavage.
The effect was pleasing to my eyes. Next time, I might devote more focus to Elizabeth's upper body charms. I could see that cinching the ropes under her arms might lead to some interesting sensations, or perhaps placing the chest ropes in a figure eight pattern.
I stood face to face with her, my height augmented enough by my boots that our gazes matched level. Then I remembered; I am no longer anchored to the material world, but should be free to float and fly and pass through walls and perform all manner of spectral tricks.
Fools rush in, as they say. When I attempted to rise up off the floor, I succeeded only in pitching forward as though gravity were still in full force on my incorporeal form. My own generously endowed bust bumped into my willing captive's exposed breasts.
Her mouth flew open in a soundless cry of pleasure, and she bounced up and down on her toes, passing her nipples through my own several times. For my part, the effect was much the same. I cried out, inarticulate sounds of pure pleasure gushed from somewhere within my spirit form.
Somehow, and I know not how as I dared not push against Elizabeth's chest with my ephemeral hand, I fell back and away, not quite falling to the floor.
"My," I said. "We must save that for later, don't you think?" My humor was ill timed as I saw Elizabeth's knees waver on the verge of collapse. Even as I realized her peril, her knees buckled.
I flashed up from the floor and grabbed a leather strap from the pile. Into the mass of knots at her biceps threaded the strap and I held my arms out straight from my shoulders. All this to avoid touching her, which likely would have rendered one or both of us senseless again. As a mortal woman, I could not have held the her weight with such a grip, but now I held her up easily.
My ghostly powers had revealed themselves.
I lowered Elizabeth to the floor. She helped as she could, still awake, by rolling to her side and facing me. Immediately, I started loosening what knots I could see.
"No! Don't stop. I'm fine," she said. A sleepy little smile lit her face. "Just a little overwhelmed. My hands aren't even tingling," she said, wiggling her fingers as proof. "I think I still have circulation in my boobs, but I can't see them very well at this angle." She giggled at this.
Reclining on the floor next to her, I asked, "Are you certain? There's no reason for us to speed along so recklessly."
"I think we should find out if you can get off," she said.
"Get off? If that's the new term for climax, then I would agree, provided you are not injured in the process."
"Welcome to - "
"Stop! Don't tell me yet," I nearly begged. "I would like to have this time with you uncontested by such overwhelming knowledge."
"Well," she said. "You should probably finish what you started." She kicked her legs. "I could still run away if you don't do something about it."
"You are a saucy thing, Elizabeth," I said. I moved along the floor to her ankles. "Roll over on your front, if you can. Let me know if you need help."
She rolled over with little effort, and held her legs still for me. I gathered a little more rope from the pile, knowing that my efforts drew to a close. Loops quickly circled her ankles, but I did not cinch them.
"Cross your ankles, dear," I ordered. She obeyed promptly and without the anticipated question. I wondered if she suspected what I considered, or if she was still in some near-orgasmic haze. I added another set of loops and tied them off as well. One more rope joined the cordage already entrapping my volunteer victim. The simplest tie of them all linked her ankles to her wrists. Slowly, I pulled the slack from the connecting cord, watching her legs fold up and over her toned backside. Calling it a hog tie seemed rude, but those were the words I had learned from a friend.
Back to her face I moved, sliding along the quilt as a flesh and blood woman might. I rolled over onto my belly and kicked my legs up, a mild parody of Elizabeth's predicament.
"Who goes first?" I asked.
"I'm in no position to bargain," she replied.
"Very true," I said. "But still, I think you deserve consideration. You didn't have to do this."
"Yes. I did."
Her words struck me like an electric spark. I would swear, even now, that I shivered.
I said nothing, but rather moved again to her other end.
"Spread your knees as wide apart as you can, Elizabeth." The sound of her name lingered in the air, and I knew I had fallen in love. Wildly, instantly, impossibly, in love.
Her legs spread apart and her most intimate places unfolded into view, treasures hidden within a beautiful flower. I imagined the scent that must accompany the sight, and felt a pang of regret for my passing. Yet, I had so much to be thankful for, I thought.
I slid forward, then reached out with a single finger, and touched.
The effect was immediate. Elizabeth's body shook and her back arched. Once again I heard the sharpness of her inhalation. For my own part, the touch was pleasant and warm. I was pleased with this development. I wanted to give pleasure to Elizabeth, so not turning into a mindless wisp of fog at a simple touch meant my goal was achievable.
My index finger stroked lightly at the nearly hairless womanhood displayed before me. Elizabeth shivered and wriggled. Though I could not feel it, I could see the wetness forming and leaking from the folds of her skin. I repeated the stroke after a count of three, then again. The brief pause seemed enough to keep her perched on the edge of completion.
I lost track of the number of such cycles I performed, instead focusing on the movements and gyrations of my captive.
"Please! Oh, Millie, please!"
I stopped to let her catch her breath.
"Are you close, then?" I asked gaily.
"I'm so close! Please, finish me. I can't take much more."
"Since you are so brazen, I will be equally forward. I could try a deeper motion of my fingers, or I could try to reach you with my tongue," I said.
Elizabeth squirmed at the decision, but finally blurted, "Tongue. I can't imagine," her words trailed off into a murmur.
I flattened to the floor in a most undignified way, not that Elizabeth would notice, and slid into the vee of her legs. Tilting my head, I pushed my mouth toward her waiting flesh. My lips grazed her.
Sensation flooded into me. Smell and taste, things that should have been impossible. Warmth and vitality followed and for a moment I feared I had taken Elizabeth's own life force like some dread revenant. I broke the contact and found Elizabeth none the worse for my touch, aside from the torrent of pleas issuing from her, begging me for an orgasm.
Reassured, I returned to her tender flesh. This time, I stuck out my tongue and slowly brought it to bear on her. Again, my senses were nearly overwhelmed, but I expected it this time and maintained my focus, though the pleasure remained intense.
As before, I stroked her intermittently. Her begging rose to an unintelligible crescendo and I bore down upon the swollen button of flesh between her labia. She arched, driving her pubis at my face. A single continuous note of relief sounded from her throat as she reached her goal.
I withdrew and she relaxed, a limp, damp, and yet satisfied bundle of bound femininity.
Anxious as I was to experience her in another way, her arms needed release of their own. I attacked the knots forcefully, enough to give her slack but without bothering to remove the ropes entirely.
"Please, Elizabeth. I would feel your touch upon me now, if it is at all possible."
I lay down upon the floor and spread my legs wide. I could rearrange my skirts, but not remove them, and my undergarments remained next to my skin no matter what I tried.
Elizabeth had freed her arms and now used them to position herself. With more confidence than I would have had in her place, she reached out. Her arm vanished into my skirts.
"That tingles, but feels fine otherwise," she said.
Suddenly, it was my turn to cry out. Her fingertip intersected some nexus of sensation in my intangible body. All semblance of rational thought abandoned me as I arched up from the floor, toes pointing, heels pressing down. I felt her entire hand cup me, pressing and stroking firmly. My vision dissolved into a spray of color and I felt as though I would fly apart.
For a moment I may have just floated. Or perhaps I vanished from Elizabeth's view. I regained my faculties in time to hear her call my name.
"I'm right here, Elizabeth," I answered.
Her smile lit the room.
"I want to hug you. Just so you know. I want to hold you and lay here with you until we can't cuddle anymore," she said.
"And I you," I answered. And it was the truth. In the span of hours I had been smitten as never before. "But you need a mortal lover for that, Elizabeth," I said as I realized the hard truth of our situation.
"Then maybe I'll bring one to share with you sometime. But if you allow it, I will buy this house and restore it, and live here with you. And love you as best I can, and be loved by you in return." She said these things with such passion that I believed it to be possible.
In time, she proved that it was possible.
Elizabeth took ownership of my grand old home, and made it hers. She told me of the wonders that had occurred since my untimely demise, and we shared the wonders that came during our time together.
In a way, she taught me to live.
One day she left our home and did not return. Our time together ended when her time in this world ran out. Now the sound of the keys in our front door announce a caretaker, or a real estate agent. Elizabeth promised the house would never fall into such disrepair again, and she was true to her word. I would trade the polished beauty of our home for one more embrace with my beloved.
Until then, I wait for the day when another dreamer finds the keys to unlock my heart.
