Message-ID: <3504eli$9709011154@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: dantedibby@aol.com (Dantedibby) Subject: Twighlight Zone 4 by Seurat:Art Critic 1a/8 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d 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: <19970901110301.HAA22685@ladder02.news.aol.com> The following story (which was actually written as the first Twighlight Zone story by me some two years ago and never posted) contains but is not limited to: normal (vaginal) sex, oral sex, anal sex, combinations of the those three, masturbation, fetish clothing, blackmail, extra-marital affairs, mind controlling drugs, bondage, domination, sadism, masochism, and a whole lot of other stuff that, since I'm sure it doesn't happen in real life, needs to have a disclaimer saying you must be of legal age where you are to read this stuff. This is basically a fantasy type story I wrote a while back. It is copyright(c) by me, Seurat, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't post it or archive it without my permission (Eli already has permission, oh great keeper of the archives!). If you do post it, don't accept any money (i.e. cd roms or pay web sites) because I have left enough identifiable items in the story to make my lawsuit stick. And I do know a lot of lawyers. Not the typical Twighlight Zone story that people have been nice enough to send me complimentary mail about. You have been warned. THE ART CRITIC, by Seurat Chapter Four of æThe Twighlight Zone' series. Wednesday, May 8th. THWOCK! The ball hit high and wide right. A hard shot, but not impossible. I lunged for the return and put away the kill into the corner. My point, giving me the second game. "Nice shot" said my opponent, a Ms. Tara Worthington. She was cute, sexy, and dressed in spandex shorts and a loose fitting T-shirt. I had noticed she wasn't wearing any bra during the first game and it was probably why I lost. It made the second game a close one, but I had eaked that one out. In point of fact she was almost as good as me, but she had a way of twisting and arching for shots that distracted me to no end and gave her an edge. Third games are always the worst for me, even though they only go to eleven. By the time I get that far, I don't have a whole lot of directional power left. Power, yes. Direction, no. I just hoped I could it them to a corner where she couldn't return them. The first few serves went off the way I wanted. Strong, fast, and so powerful that when I hit the ball it lifted me off the ground. By the time I lost the serve I was up 5-0. Her first serve was an ace, and not because it was fast. Just before she hit the ball she bent over, and the spandex (or rather what was in the spandex) distracted me. On the next serve she wiggled a little and it had the desired effect: another ace. I may be married, but I'm not dead, and I was really beginning to notice her body. By this time she knew exactly what effect she was having on me and my game. She was constantly wiggling a little, or smiling, or liking her lips. By the time I returned a serve she was up 9-5. She was so suprised that I made a return that she stood there and watched as I took the serve back. The muscles in my legs and arms were so tired they were quivering. If I could keep the power going, I might just pull off a win. The first serve was fast and low, and her return was short. Same with the second. 7-9. I gave her a lob and she was caught off guard. Two more power shots and I was up 10-9, a point away from victory. She returned my next shot and we volleyed for a while before she put it away. Just like me she tried to put away the next two serves. They were screwy back corner lobs, but I returned one for a kill and we were tied 10-10. I stood in the sever area, trying to catch my breath. "Ready?" "Hot, wet, and ready, yes." I bounced the ball and brought the raquet around just as her words hit me. The ball went high off the front, and she slammed it high for a wall hugger on the far side. I sprinted across in a valiant attempt to catch it on the rebound, and only succeeded in slamming into the wall. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist. If you want the serve over, I understand." I shook my head, declining the offer. Tied 10-10, a point away. She bounced the ball a few times as she walked to the lines. She turned around, looked at me, and made a show of giving the ball a squeeze. "Ready for me?" I would've swore the temperature on the court went up 10 degrees. I nodded. The ball moved so fast off the front wall that I didn't even see it coming. I should have, because it was aimed straight at me, and it caught me between the legs. I dropped to the ground and folded into the fetal position. No return made it her point, her game, and her match. I didn't care. I tried to uncurl my body and congratulate her, and decided instead to wait for a minute or two. I've caught it in the crotch before, always unexpectedly, and recovered fairly fast since it doesn't really hurt that much. Unless, of course, your playing with a tease and you have a hard-on straining against your shorts, because getting hit then is like falling onto the bar of your bicycle. It hurts real bad, and you wonder if the pain will ever go away. She waited until I started to get up before she asked if I was okay, and if I wanted to get some coffee or tea afterwards. At least I think that was when she asked me, as I was a little preoccupied before that. I agreed, and searched around for my goggles and glasses, both of which came off when I hit the ground. I could soon see again. A little backgound before we go too far here. My name is Alan O'Neill, and I'm a critic for a local newspaper. I specialize in art shows, and I had met Tara the night before at a show at the University. In fact, it was her show. We talked a little, and came on the subject of sports. That was how we ended up playing tonight. When I first met her I thought she was attractive. She was short, for my tastes, about five- four, maybe five-five. Long curly black hair framed a delicate face with blue eyes, small nose and full lips. Her body was nice; not nice like when your wife gives you exercise equipment for Christmas and you didn't think you needed it, but nice like what you say when you get caught by the same wife watching Kelly LeBrock in a movie you hate and she asks you if you think LeBrock has a sexy body and you tell her it's just...nice. Let me just say it was athletic and firm...some parts so firm that I wasn't sure they were all natural. I didn't really care. I wasn't going to be hitting on her. I am what they call happily married, and am also what they call a dog. I talk a good show, and always figured there was nothing wrong with looking as long as I didn't touch. My mind was still preoccupied with the pain, and I realized that not only had I agreed to tea at her place, now, but I would be driving her back to her house. She had taken a cab. I pulled up outside the gym in my sensible little two door, and let her in. I could tell she had not showered either, and her scent started to fill the car, or at least that was the way it seemed. I was getting thoughts that a married man shouldn't be getting. "Everything okay?" she asked, "I mean, you got hit pretty hard. I hope everything works okay." I decided to let that one slip by. "Yeah, nothing that's never happened before." It was true. You take your life and genitals and pretty much hope they don't get it by the ball, let alone a racquet or an elbow. She gave me directions to one of the nicer areas of the town, where rows of large brownstones lined the streets. Hers was like the others there, a one-car garage and basement entrance off the street, and a short flight of stairs led up to the main entry. I parked in the drive and we headed up to the huge cherrywood and leaded glass front door. Inside was a tastefully decorated, if sparse, living room and dining area with a kitchen in back. Pieces of modern art and sculpture decorated the room. "Any particular type of tea?" she asked, walking across the room to the kitchen. "No, as long as it's hot." I looked around. "Nice place you have here." Her voice rang from the kitchen. "Thanks. It used to be my father's. He had made some good investments a few years back, and when he retired to Florida, I got this place. I'm still remodeling some parts, but it'll be done to my tastes soon. Would you like honey in your tea?" I yelled back 'yes', and she returned to the living room, where I still stood, admiring the art. Force of habit, I guess. "Have a seat." I took the mug of tea, sat down on an overstuffed leather chair, and had another look around. "Most of this stuff yours?" It all seemed pretty eclectic, but the was some undercurrent that tied them all together. I figured it was the artist. "Oh no. I just like to dabble in a little sculpture. This is actually my private collection. Mostly unknowns, but maybe someday they'll be worth what I payed for them." "You live here, and support starving artists? Dad must have made some good investments. Wish I could get into art that way." "I'm sure you'll really get into art someday. I do have a day job. I'm a computer-technochemist for Baum-Dietrich Technologies. I have to have some way to relax." "Computer-technochemist?" I was in way over my head on this one. "Just what does a computer-technochemist do? "Right now, we're developing synthetic nerve actuators. Sort of a replacement skin, which could be regulated through the use of micro-computers." She could tell she was losing me fast, and I could tell she was on the way to change the subject. She looked at me for a moment, then asked,"more tea?" Taking a quick look at the clock, I saw that I had plenty of time to get home before my wife. "Sure." The next move was pure textbook slapstick, though I probably couldn't prove it. As she stood her knee hit the table and her mug of tea was knocked into the air. As if in slow motion I watched it come right at me, dousing my left thigh and crotch with hot tea. "Shit! I'm really sorry." She grabbed her sweat towel and rushed over as I tried in vain to dry of with some tissues from the table. She began to towel of my thigh and, before I could stop her, she began wiping my crotch too. My cock sprang to life at her touch. "Seems more got wet than I first thought." I grabbed her hand and pushed it away. "Please! I'm married, if you hadn't noticed." I showed her the gold band on my finger. "I didn't mean anything. Really. Why don't you run upstairs and shower off, while I wash your clothes. Unless you want to explain to your wife why your privates are covered in honey-tea. Upstairs, through the bedroom. Should be plenty of towels." I got up and climbed up the spiral stairs. "Better hurry. You don't want to have any stains there, do you?" My pace picked up. I quick-stepped it back through the bedroom and into the bathroom, taking a quick look at the four-poster bed decorated with gossamer scarves and the other furnishings as I passed by. Once in the bathroom, I turned on the water and stripped out my clothes. Putting my glasses and wedding ring on the vanity, I hopped under the hot spray and pulled the curtain shut. After a few moments I heard the door open, and a slight noise as my clothes were picked up. The door shut again. I finished the shower quickly. I reached out of the shower and grabbed a towel, and looked around as I dried myself off. The whole room was done in maroon and white, down to the soap in the dish and the toothbrush. I toweled off my hair, put my glasses back on, and wrapped the towel around my waist and made a roll-over knot. Turning off the light, I stepped out into the bedroom. There was a chair in one corner of the room with an odd looking terry-cloth robe lying across it. I say strange because it looked too bulky to be just a robe. As it was not there when I went into the bathroom, I figured it was for me. I undid the towel, letting it drop to the floor, and put on the robe. The lining of the robe was cotton; it was snug around my arms (probably wasn't used to arms larger then Tara's) and cinched it tight around my waist. The robe was cut high for a woman, and rode even higher on me, nearly exposing my genitals. I vowed not to sit down while wearing it. "Guess that robe isn't quite big enough for you," she said, standing in the doorway. I probably turned red enough to heat water. She walked over to me, her body swaying the way I had noticed in the court, and I could feel myself starting to get hard. "We should really find something a little more appropriately sized for you. I always did like that robe. You didn't pull the sleaves down far enough, though. Here, let me show you." She stepped behind me. "Cross your arms in front of you." I did as she asked, and felt her hands run up the sleeves a little, her left up my right, and vice-versa. The cotton sleeves were about halfway up my forearm, and by the time she reached them, she was giving me a tight hug from behind. I looked down to see my now stiff prick sticking out from the folds of the robe. I felt her grab the ends of the sleeves and start to slide them down my forearm. With a suddeness that caught me completely unaware, Tara brought her knee up to the center of my back and pulled hard on the sleeves, and I heard some snaps pop. The sleeves slipped over my hands, and she somehow connected them behind me, effectively straightjacketing me. Tara grabbed my shoulder as I started to protest and spun me around, throwing me off balance. With a smile of contempt she pushed my off-kilter body backwards, causing me to fall on the bed. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?!" She looked at me and laughed. "I figured we would have a little fun. Looks like you were figuring on it, too. The flesh seems willing enough." With that she grabbed my cock, "Is the spirit just as willing?" "I told you, I'm married! Now let me out of this thing!" "If you really were happily married, you wouldn't have come back to my house. And you certainly wouldn't have such a big erection. Now move back onto the bed, before I make you do it myself." I felt her fingernails jab into my flesh, and decided that, at the moment, I should probably go along with her. I slid back on the bed so that my head was on the pillows. She got on the bed on walked over (on her knees) until she was straddling me, the earthy smell of her body preceding her. She looked me in the face, smiled, then looked at my crotch. She then leaned over and began kissing my neck, then my chest, then moved downward, finally reaching head of my cock, and my head flopped back. Seeing her chance, she quickly moved up so that her knees were on the outsides of my arms, and sat back on my chest. "Now, I'm going to go change, and I don't want you to go anywhere. Promise you won't move?" I nodded. "For some reason, I don't believe you. But I do know how to help you keep your promise." She reached below my crotch and under my ass, and pulled up another strap, this one about a half inch in width, and I felt a tug on the back of the robe. Tara pulled it up through my ass cheeks tightly, so that it felt like I had a wedgey. With her left hand she lifted my cock and balls up, and with her right wound the strap tightly twice around the base of my genitals. The strap then went back under itself and up to my crossed arms, which it circled twice, and was tied off on the headboard. She walked around to the foot of the bed and pulled a scarf from under the bed and looped it around my left ankle, drawing the loop tight. I panicked and tried to get out, but realized that any attempt to escape might mean serious injury to my manhood. She stretched out the scarf, tying it to an unseen anchor at the bottom corner of the bed. She then did the same with my right ankle. "Now, I'm going to change into something a little more appropriate. Don't go anywhere. Like you would." With that she walked out of the room, and I heard her as she walked down the stairs. Even though I had come out of the shower only a few minutes ago, I was really starting to sweat. I heard her return a few minutes later. If I had gone limp at all while she was gone, it was even harder when she came in. Dressed neck to toe in a white cyre' catsuit, she looked the picture of kinky sex. White leather spike heeled boots adorned her feet, and her hands were in white latex gloves, Her nipples stood erect through cutouts for purpose of showing them off, and the lips of her pussy showed through the cutout between her legs. "My, you look good enough to eat. No, don't say anything, just relax and enjoy. In fact, I don't want to here a word from you." She leaned over and took off my glasses, then reached under the bed at the side, and when I saw what she pulled out I started to buck frantically to get away. Knowing my predicament, she took the black leather hood she had pulled out and wiggled it over my head, cinching it tight behind my head and under my chin. The hood had cutouts for eyes and mouth, but the nose was so firm against my own I couldn't breath that way. When I made the mistake of opening my mouth to protest she promptly filled it with a large pacifier shaped gag, which velcroed in place. The inside of the gag was big enough that I couldn't move my tongue, but was perforated at the front so that I could breathe. Then she undid the cock strap. "That's better. Now, before we begin, let's set a few ground rules. One - I do to you what I want, when I want, and you accept, willingly or not. Hmm. Guess that about covers it." With that she moved her head back down to my now red prick and took it into her mouth. She wrapped her left hand around the shaft and began to fondle my balls with her right as she bobbed her head up and down. She must have felt me about to explode because she stopped and gripped my dick so tight that I couldn't cum. "Something wrong here. I know!" She waited a few seconds to make sure I was relaxed enough so that I wouldn't cum, then dropped my cock and jumped of the bed and back into the kitchen. When she returned I saw that she carried a small spray can, a cup, and a large towel. She put the can, the cup and something else down on the ground at the foot of the bed and started wedging the tower under my legs from ankles to hips. "Cream can get so messy, you know." Cream? As in whipped cream? This was definitely getting different. She leaned off the edge of the bed and I heard the spray can. When she came back up her hand was filled with a large mound of foamy cream, which she proceeded to rub all over my cock and through my pubic hair. By the time she was finished the cool cream covered me from hips to knees. "Ready for the big surprise?" What next? chocolate syrup and a cherry? Tara leaned back off the bed and came back up with a ten-pack of razors. My eyes must of bugged out in surprise because when she looked up she started to laugh. "Always did hate getting hair in my mouth. Don't move; I don't want to cut you." With that, she proceeded to shave my lower body clean. When she was done my body stung from the effects of the razors but I was hairless. She went into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth and cleaned me up, then removed the towel and climbed on the bed again, straddling me. "Guess I owe you a good fuck now. Tell you what." She reached over my head and grabbed something, which she pushed into the outside of the pacifier gag. "I'll blow you now, and you give me seven more of your Wednesdays to do with you as I wish. No harm will come to you, your wife will never know anything more than she knows now, and you'll get to experience some great sex. And if you're really good, I'll give you your wedding ring back." With that, she lifted up my ring in front of my face. She must have taken it when I took it off for my shower! "Or - you could get up right now and leave. Which is it?" She looked at me as if waiting for me to do something. As if I was physically able. "You don't seem to be leaving, so I'll take that as a 'yes - I will stay'. Good. Now, I'm going to blow you twice. Better hold your breathe." She reached behind the pillows and turned something and suddenly there was something blowing in through the gag. I closed my mouth tight and pressed my tongue over the perforations to try to keep the gas out. "Alan, I'm going to suck you into submission. If you can cum without passing out, I'll turn off the gas and we call it even." Her head moved down and once again encased my cock. I closed my eyes and concentrated on cuming as fast as I could. One of Tara's hands started to massage my ass and balls as the other pumped up and down my shaft, all while she sucked and licked like her life depended on it. That's when I realized the deviousness of the whole situation. The rush of blood in my body due to the blowjob would use oxygen faster and force me to breathe, while holding my breathe actually prolonged the onset of the orgasm. My head started to spin as my tongue weakened and the gas and the blowjob had there effect. My body started bucking as I came, and she pulled her mouth off my prick. A huge explosion erupted from my cock, shooting cum into a cup she held for that purpose, seconds before I passed out. I thought I heard her say, "Aw, too bad." -- +--------------' 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> /