Currently Untitled
                             By: Sean
     She tied his hands with soft silk scarves-- it wasn't his fantasy,
but her variation on his fantasy, a way of making it her own, so he let
her, though no such thing had ever been done to him before and he
wasn't sure how he felt about it now.  He wrapped his hand around the
bedpost as she cinched the cool slippery cloth around his wrist, testing
its strength. Stronger than it looked.  A twinge of trepidation stabbed
his belly as it came home to him that he was at her mercy in a real way,
and he kissed her beneath her ear as she leaned across him to secure the
second knot. She shivered, and sat up, straddling and smiling down at
her captive.
     A redhead. Slim, taller than she looked. The fineness of her
features made you remember her as small, though in heels she was nearly
eye to eye with him. Hair clipped boyishly short, glinting like embers in
the dim light. She wore no make-up, and no perfume.  Her skin was like
the inside of a seashell-- ivory tinged with pink. She wore one of his
shirts, and it was huge on her, the tails reaching past her knees, the
cuffs engulfing her small hands. She pulled it off over her head without
unbuttoning it-- and there she was.
     Luminous in the shadows, small-boned and every bit as beautiful as
he'd always imagined she would be. Shy, too-- her eyes downcast as he
looked at all of her for the first time. It always surprised him when
beautiful women were shy. He took a moment to take in every detail:
slender thighs bracketing his hips, small flaring hips, the tiniest hint of
a tummy swaddled in the dark blue lace of her panties. That lace itched
as he became hard against her. He squirmed, a little, and felt the muscles
in her legs tighten in response. He was breathing harder, as if there was
less air in the room than there had been a second before.
     A redhead's freckles dotted her shoulders, like a leopard's pelt,
and paler, golden ones traced a path down into the cleft between her
apple-sized breasts. She'd said so many times that she wished they were
bigger, and the endearing absurdity of that almost made him laugh now.
They were largish on her tiny frame, full and round, in apparent
defiance of gravity. He moved to cup them and remembered that he
couldn't when the silk bonds held his arms in place. The corners of her
mouth turned up in the beginning of a smile, and it blossomed when he
arched his back instead. He pushed harder with his hips, and her eyes
drifted shut. She returned the pressure, letting out a sigh.
     He started to speak-- maybe  to tell her she was beautiful, maybe to
ask her what she wanted to do next-- but she stopped him with a finger
placed across his lips. She leaned across him again, bringing those
breasts painfully close to kissing distance, took something from the shelf
above his head and sat back before he could crane his head forward and
touch a nipple with his lips. The disappointment dried up when he saw
what it was she held in her hands.
     A square of linen paper: the sort salesgirls spray samples of
perfume on at make-up counters. And a tiny bottle of perfume.
     He knew she'd bought it just for him, because she didn't own
cosmetics of any kind-- she couldn't use them. He'd seen the effect they
had on her often enough, when she was near others who did wear them. 
She was really going to do it. All of a sudden, he couldn't breathe at all.
     She held the card far away from herself, uncapped the bottle, and
sprayed a tiny bit of the scent onto the paper. She looked at him, smiling
her tiny smile, and fanned the card under her nose, inhaling deeply.
     The first sneeze happened right away. It was not a hard one, but
she scrunched her eyes shut and half-stifled it like she usually tried to
do, forgetting that she didn't have to now, that he would prefer it if she
didn't. His pulse pounded. He could feel it in his chest and throat. Blood
roared in his ears, and the second one came moments later, much more
violently this time. Her breasts shivered with the force of it. He arched
his hips hard against her and strained against the scarves, desperate to
hold her, squeeze her, kiss her, fuck her. She sniffled and laughed,
surprised at his reaction, surprised at how physical it was (this was not
associated with sex for him; it was sex-- she believed that now), even
though he'd explained exactly what her sneezes did for him. It'd been so
hard for him to tell her, but he'd been so anxious, too-- trusting and
vulnerable-- and it was that that'd finally convinced her to indulge the
affection she felt for him, to fan it into something more. Knowing that he
had a sexual on/off switch that she could press at will excited her as
well. It was fun to be irresistible. She'd had to try it. Blinking  allergic
tears out of her eyes, she asked, softly: "would you like another?"
     All he could do was nod. She dug in the sheets for the perfume
bottle and sprayed the card again, much more liberally this time. He was
rocking his hips now, not thinking about, his body taking over and
trying to put itself as near to her as possible, trying to become a part of
her, working independently of the brain. She held him as still as she
could, bracing him with her thighs, holding him down with her hips,
loving that. It was bliss to hold him at the edge of what it was he most
wanted, to feel the desire rushing from him into her like an electric
current. She wouldn't be able to hold back much longer herself.
     This time, she put on a show. A sneeze-tease. She wafted the card
under her nose until it tickled, until she could feel the first bite in her
sinuses and the first welling of tears in her eyes. Then she took it away.
Just long enough to let the feeling dissipate. She brought it back and
took a deeper sniff, coming close to the sneeze, not sure herself whether
or not it would happen. At the last second, it didn't. She sniffled hard
and laughed again at his expression: a mix of awe and driving lust. The
next time she brought the perfume sample near her nose she sneezed
right away, uncontrollably hard, forgetting herself again and trying to
stifle it, not that it did any good. A second one followed, then a third. He
jumped and twitched beneath her each time, as if he was the one
sneezing and not her. Confident that they'd keep coming on their own
for a few minutes now, she flicked the perfume card away and raised
herself up enough to slide out of her panties.
     She settled back onto him and he shut his eyes, gasping at the
warmth of her, the wetness. She wanted to kiss him. Instead, she took
him in her hand and helped him inside of her, both of them gasping at
the sensation, and slid down onto him. Her nose was tickling. She let him
slide deeper as the tickle intensified, and sneezed hard at the instant he
was as far inside her as it was possible to go. He jumped like he'd been
jabbed with a pin. She ground her hips against him and did it again,
their hips locked together. Two more quick, hard sneezes made him
throw back his head and writhe as if in agony. It gave her a deep stab of
pleasure in the pit of her belly to watch him, and she coaxed another
sneeze by inhaling oh-so-slowly, to encourage that faint, persistent
tickle.
     She realized her knots were slipping just an instant before they
gave up the struggle and let go. His arms came up around her, crushing
her against his chest, and his mouth met hers in a rough, deep kiss that
she had to struggle away from to sneeze again. Then she was on her
back, flipped over before she knew what was happening, and she was a
little afraid. Like she had been the very first times she'd ever had sex.
Afraid it might hurt, afraid of what he'd do, afraid that somehow he'd
break her apart, and hoping in some deep part of herself that he would.
Looking forward to it. that'd been a part of it then, pleasurable in a
strange way, but it was better now. Both because it was rediscovered,
and because she trusted him. Loved him. He drove into her and it felt
soooo good-- she wished it would never end. It was a few moments before
she realized she wasn't going to sneeze again without some help.
     "Please don't stop," he was murmuring in her ear, "please don't--"
so she sniffled and whispered back "help me." 
     He grabbed up the perfume bottle and aimed it at her, hesitating at
the last second to spray it in her face. "Go ahead," she said-- a rash
decision she'd probably pay for with hours of stuffiness and days of
sinus pain, but she was in the moment and didn't want the moment to
end. He squirted perfume into the air above her rather than right at her,
a small compromise that touched her anyway, reassured her that he was
someone she wanted to do this for, and as the sweet-scented mist cooled
her cheeks, she started sneezing for real.
     This was a severe attack-- the sort she had in the springtime, or
when an over-zealous salesgirl at the mall doused her with perfume as
she walked by, or when she spent an hour cleaning an especially dusty
corner of her apartment. She could feel him both wanting to drive
forward and pull away, afraid he was hurting her, afraid she was
miserable, and she held him close, bucked beneath him, encouraged him
to make the most of it. He did. And the sneezes came uncontrollably, one
after another. She scrabbled at the bedside table for a wad of tissues
and sneezed into them, fifteen or eighteen times at least before it even
began to taper off.  Every fifth or sixth was especially violent, and he
thrust into her after each of these so desperately she was amazed he
didn't come. It was kind of a good sensation in and of itself, the
sneezing-- the tension and release, repeated over and over-- a
machine-gun blast of overwhelming and inescapable physical sensations,
each one making her clamp down on the hardness inside of her--
miniature versions of the orgasm she realized she was about to have.
That was nice and strange, because her orgasms were often elusive and
hard-won-- but then it was happening, and she was digging her nails
into his shoulders, clamping her legs around him hard enough to hurt,
and not thinking about anything at all.
     As it was winding down her breath caught, she inhaled, waited, felt
it fade and even whispered "oh, sorry--" before it came back twice as
strong and she sneezed hard enough to see spots behind her closed
eyes. That was it for him-- he exploded inside of her, whimpering, crying
as it ended. She cradled his head, kissed him, turned away to sneeze,
laughed, and kissed him again. He was muttering apologies, pushing
tissues at her, looking at her reddened nose and weepy eyes and getting
more upset. "Shhhh," she whispered. "Don't. I'm okay."
     It took her a few minutes to soothe his guilt and worry, but she
did, and he held her, and rocked her to sleep.