Message-ID: <2140eli$9707181237@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: Gwydion McCarthy Subject: STORY: "wall/flower" (d/s, s/m, non-con) PART 2 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19970718050427.12647.rocketmail@send2.rocketmail.com> Continued from part 1: Please do not read if you are under 21. Note: this story contains d/s and s/m elements and non-consensual touching. She moved onto the streets quietly, apathy dripped from her as she walked to the subway station. Her disdain for the street settled about her like protective armor. The boredom vanished from her on the subway, and she wondered what the *hell* she was doing up this late, without a bodyguard, dressed like she was. But she didn't care. Her heart raced. She felt alive. She staggered around in a pair of Kat's high heels, walking this way and that looking for the address of the place. She passed some kind of country and western bar. The neighborhood was quite rough. Eyes followed her where she walked. She was at the edge of fear, considering hailing the nearest cab and cabbing it back home (all of her saved spend-it money wasted on the trip) when she realized that the Hellfire was downstairs. She took each step gingerly, hoping she wouldn't fall and break her ankle. The black leather straps held the shoes on. The steel stairs resounded with each step. She paused at the heavy steel door and then yanked it wide. Stepping inside, there was a little vestibule, a little area where a man said, through a grated window, "That will be $5, missie." He was wearing a leather banker's visor and was tattooed up and down his burly forearm. She paid the money without speaking, walked over to the coatcheck (around a very interesting piece of antique medical equipment - an examination chair from what looked like the Roaring Twenties), and handed her coat to the leatherboy behind the counter. She looked around the room. She could not decide which was stranger to her: the man dressed in a latex teddy, the two transvestites kissing, the short woman with pigtails being spanked (on her frilly white panties) by a big woman wearing a strap-on dildo that dangled rudely between her legs, or the cowering, begging man who was being slapped by a larger woman dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt with the word "BITCH" emblazoned on it. Wherever she looked, stranger things revealed themselves to her. What was even stranger were the quite plainly dressed tourist-types who wandered through as if this were some sort of Disneyland of perversion, stopping at Kodak moments of pure voyeurism, taking mental pictures that they would always have with them. Then there were the wandering weenie whackers who moved from place to place, taking in what was going on and pounding their meat relentlessly, as if their penises might fall off if they let them go. The only remotely interesting thing that was going on was a woman in the corner who was bent over a PVC-pipe chair, holding on to it with all her might as a man, dressed in black silk, who moved with catlike grace and strength, beat the shit out of her with various implements. Diane thought the woman was pretty. She had the kind of face that could have been on a librarian or an account executive - or a student. A student, just like herself. She watched as the woman endured her punishment, punishment that she had read about all day. Punishment that became very real to her as she watched. She ignored the men watching her now - they faded into the background like a mass of masturbating wallpaper. She saw this woman's face, she saw the sexual reaction of her body as her nipple stiffened, her hips rolled as if she was welcoming an invisible lover. Something about the scene penetrated her deeply held apathy. Something touched her soul. Something cracked open inside of her. She was utterly alone and utterly needy and frightened of it and there was nobody here who understood all of that. Nobody here who would ever understand what it was like to be alone, against the wall, breaking through like a flower through the cracks, but still rooted firmly in the reality of it all. And then, just as revelations were pouring up out of her, as she watched enraptured, she came to herself and realized that there was someone - an important Someone - watching her. It was the Yes-man. He grinned as if he knew a secret. Well, he *did* know a secret. Diane couldn't keep her eyes from meeting his because her shock at seeing was in large part the only thing on her mind. She was still riding shotgun in her own consciousness for the most part. He stepped up to her and was saying something, but she couldn't hear him. He took her hand and led her away from the scene - and it was then she noticed that the dampness between her legs was not the residual wetness from the laundering earlier. She let herself be led, she listened to his words, which he nearly had to scream over the technobeat that was slamming the crowd and entraining whips being used everywhere. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to talk to her alone. She almost turned and ran as the fear within her boiled up, as the boredom was no longer around to provide a comfortably numb blanket through which she wouldn't have to care. He brought her out onto the street (leaving behind her coat) and she was drunk on circumstance and fate. "What do you want?" She said quietly to him on the street. "I just wanted you to know you look great in Kat's dress." Diane turned to leave. "That's not all...wait." Yes-man said. "What?" Diane said, startled at herself for the growl under her tone. "What if I told you I wanted you more than Kat - ever since I first saw you?" Yes-man said. "Like I'm going to believe that! You're forgetting how we met - you had my room-mate on a leash, half-naked, strutting through my bedroom!" She made a show of looking him up and down. "Where's your leash? "Back at the club." He said quietly. There was silence. "Want me to get it?" Yes-man said, smiling. She slapped him. "Fuck you." He stood there in the darkness, the slap making a red mark on his cheek. He touched his cheek. "I owe you one." He said softly, quietly. "You deserved it." Diane said softly, but she was shaking inside. "You were the one reading Story of O. With your panties around your ankles." Yes-man said smugly. "So? Masturbation isn't illegal. Doesn't mean I like this stuff. Doesn't mean *you* own me or anything. Doesn't mean..." Diane began, but she was cut off. "I know - look, I know. I think you are a wonderful woman. I want you more than I can say. But I can see where our circumstances will never work. You won't believe me, and I can't not want you." Yes-man said. Diane looked at him, her head tilted. "How could you even want me? You just want to fuck anything that moves." Yes-man shook his head. 'no'. "I just want what I have tasted - I want that again." "What do you mean?" She said, incredulous. "I want to taste you again. You tasted really good the other night. Even Kat said so. I let her suck my finger." "You fucking molested me in my sleep?" Diane was agape. She slapped him again. He put his hand to his other cheek. "That's two." "I can't believe how perverted you are!" She exclaimed. "And you're not? Or did you buy that vibrator at a Quik Chek?" Yes-man said quietly. She looked at the pavement, shaking her head. A cold laugh escaped her mouth, but it was more like a sob than a laugh. She looked up at him, mortified. She hated herself for wanting him so badly right this moment. And she was mortified that this stranger had tasted the very same juices that were now seeping through the tiny thong she was wearing. It was as if her rational mind ruled the words she was saying, and the other parts of her body were doing whatever they damn well pleased. She was continuing to pick apart all the indignity and wrong she had suffered when Yes-man just reached for her and kissed her. Her head sent word to the body not to respond, but somehow it got lost in translation. He pushed her against the cold stone wall and kissed her so hard she thought he would rip her throat out if she broke the kiss. She was further betrayed as he found his way under her dress and masturbated her. She was angry even at how he did that - wet against his hand, wetter than she had been in along time - he was expert at doing this. Probably had done it to Kat, maybe even right here. She tried to will herself dry, tried desperately to stop his effect on her. But it didn't work. She just let out a moan as he brought her close to the edge faster than she had ever been before. "Yes, that's it...." His silky voice crept into her. She grabbed on to him and held to him closely as he brought her off right there on the street, with a wino watching. "I hate you." She whispered to him. "I know." He said softly, stroking her hair, holding her closely. She tried very hard not to like it. She was no longer in control of her feelings. It was curiously freeing. "Take me home now." She said. *He* would fucking pay the cab fare. *** They got their stuff from the club - Diane's coat and a curious leather bag of Yes-man's: his name, she learned from the coat-check, was David. In the cab on the way back to her apartment, David fingered her again. She didn't even resist this time - nor did she think about resisting. In fact, she stopped him and very frustratingly rolled off her thong, untangling it from her heel as she tossed it aside. He rescued it and popped into a pocket as she leaned against him, the cabbie watching them as he kissed her and fingered her pussy expertly from any angle she tried him at. It was ridiculous to her rational mind, but her body was applauding. She met her next orgasm as they passed 7th Avenue on the way to her apartment. Before she was allowed to come on David's fingers, he made her ask for it, made her ask to be allowed to come. After it, there were tears as she leaned against him, tears that were soaked up by the black velvet dress. She knew they were tears for her old life, when everything was simple. Somehow she knew what she was doing would mean she could never go back to that simplicity. It wasn't long really before he was taking her on Kat's bed. She lay on the same sheets he had fucked her on, looking at the mirror, watching his white cat's ass move into her. Her old rational self seemed to be far away. She still had on the stockings and the heels, and she realized that by just resting her heels she dug them into his ass and it seemed to make him move faster. "Yes" boiled out of her as she neared her orgasm. He smiled at her, on top of her, his thick cock making her wider than she had ever been before. He slapped her. "That's one paid back." She cried out, but he met the cry with a hard thrust, his pubic bone hitting her clit as if it were made to fit there. "Am I Kat to you?" She said in the middle of it all. "No." He said quietly, but firmly. "Are you going to make me her?" She whimpered as he brought her closer with fingers and tongue. "I'm going to make you *you*." He pushed her hands back on the bed while he talked, and she felt as if she was not in control, she knew he could keep her there and hold her there, fucking her for as long as he wanted. "You're *mine* though. Little slut." David said softly, punctuating each statement with another hard thrust. She felt as though she had been thrown into a deep tank of water, drowning, like he was holding her down, but she didn't want him to stop. Something inside of her wanted it again - the pain, the indignity of it all. She looked at him, tears in her eyes from the slap, but she nodded. "Yes. Yes. Yes please." She felt a stab of electric heat inside of her... "Very well..." he slapped her again. "That's two, and all I owe you..." She cried out as she came around his latex-enrobed piece. She came again not long afterward, as he was using his fingers to use her nipples as handles to get a good thrust in. The pain on her tiny pale breasts was intense, but she didn't seem to care. She wondered how she would even begin to protest any of this. Then she decided that he would probably stop if she asked him to - but she couldn't bring herself to ask him. She didn't want to. He wasn't able to cum until they switched positions, and she was on top of him, riding his hard cock. She looked down at him in wonder as if she could still see the old part of her in another pane of reality. The reality of the bed, the smells, the screams she was making - hadn't she heard this all before? The deja-vu was intense. As was his orgasm when it finally tested the structural integrity of his condom. His cock ballooned out even wider as he came, screaming, and she mimicked him only softer. They moved to her futon to sleep, exhausted. She checked her watch - it was still Friday evening. Her Econ book glared at her, as did her Mom from the shelf. She didn't care. It was over. That old life was over. She would do whatever she wanted with David, and if that didn't work, she would find someone else who understood. Still, she told him to be gone when she woke up in the morning, and he smiled at her, because he knew he would be back. That night if he wanted to. And he was. If you would like to write me, send email to gwydion@writeme.com _____________________________________________________________________ Sent by RocketMail. Get your free e-mail at http://www.rocketmail.com -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /