Message-ID: <12886eli$9807091914@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: begonespam@aol.com (Begonespam) Subject: {JohnWriter&AdrianHunter} Ascension (Mdom, bd, cons, aeronautics)[1/1] 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: <1998070912102800.IAA01578@ladder03.news.aol.com> Ascension By John Writer and Adrian Hunter (Author's note: John sent me the start of this story and ever so politely inquired as to whether I had any interest in finishing it. I hope you'll agree it was an offer too good to be true...) Sometimes I just love myself. I guess that isn't politically correct, but what the heck. Every now and then, I'm a genius. This was such a time... Kate was a daring girl. She always challenged me, not least when it came to bondage feats. Of course, there were times when she cursed herself, regretting her bold words, but on the whole, she was very content with our relationship and our games. Well, this particular evening, we were out in the wilderness, living in a tent, exploring ways to tie a girl to trees. As the afternoon dimmed, I thought it was time to launch my newest invention. I had Kate stand in front of me. Starting off with a few standard precautions, I tied her wrists palms together behind her back. I also secured her elbows, her ankles and knees. The blindfold went on, as did a large ballgag with a leather seal covering her mouth. Next I tied some strands of rope around her torso, just below and above her breasts. She was a little surprised that I didn't include her upper arms as I usually do, but I thought she might understand why later. I then tied a long piece of rope around the two previous windings, forcing them to meet in front, thus hugging her breasts and making them pout out. I then took a short pause in the tying to caress and kiss her helpless body. When her moans told me she was very eager for more, I produced two soft latex dildos. They both had built-in vibrators powered by batteries in manoeuvre boxes attached to the end of a cord. When I inserted the largest one in her moist love cave, all I got from her was a deep sigh from anticipation. But when I started to intrude her rear with the smaller one, she started to buck. I had never before used that part of her, and she had never asked me to, so it was new to us both. Keeping my left arm in a firm grip around her hips, I slowly proceeded. Her resistance was only half hearted and I was able to achieve my goal without too much struggle. Next, I took the other end of the rope that I had tied between her tits, lead it through her legs from behind, looped it around her waist and tied it in front. Then I secured the powerboxes from her vibrators to her ankles with tape. It was time for my invention. I got a box from the trunk of my car. Placing it on the ground next to Kate, I could tell she was curious. I opened it and picked up its contents. First I carefully placed a large silk cloth on the ground, undoing its folds until a large elliptic sack lay in front of Kate's naked feet. Next I got a bottle of gas. I opened the tap and lit the torch. I then crawled to the silk sack and lifted the circular ring that was attached to the opening. Being careful as not to set the silk on fire, I started to heat the air in the sack. Slowly it swelled until it was fully inflated. I smiled to myself. This small hot-air balloon was Kate's ticket to heaven. I had been debating whether she would be blindfolded or not, but I had came to the conclusion that the effect of her listening and wondering would be the greatest. I could see her desperately wanting to know what was going on as I allowed the balloon to slowly lift off from the ground. I then fastened the rope from her tits leading through her legs to a safety hook hanging from the ring that held the balloon's mouth opened. Next, I cinched a very long nylon rope to her ankles and secured it to a pole I had earlier driven deep into the ground. Directing the torch into the balloon, I kept heating the air until the rope started to lift her breasts upward and pull on her crotch. Finally I could see her toes desperately reaching downwards in vain. She was lifted from the ground until the rope from her ankles was stretched and she was kept down by nothing but her anchor line. I then removed her blindfold and sat down in front of her exposed body while she looked around and got the full comprehension of her predicament. I couldn't help laughing when I saw the miserable look in her eyes. This was even worse then she had bargained for. The strain in the ropes around her tits and through her crotch was very intense, and the prospect of being sent towards the sky surpassed even her wildest dreams. I watched her fight her bonds, humming through her gag and pleading me to be merciful with her big dark eyes. Patiently I waited until I could see that humble look in her eyes and body that told me she had given up hope. Being such a fighter and wildcat, it always turned me on to see her admit defeat. As I got up, I took a little silk banner from the box. It had clamps attached to two of the corners and small weights attached to the other corners. I attached the clamps to her nipples, smiling at her as she closed her eyes and moaned. At least that was a sensation she was used to. Unfolding the banner, I read its message to her: "Sir Adrian Hunter, have fun! Return babe to tent at road end up north. John Writer." I then turned the heat up and held the torch to the opening of the balloon, heating it up until I was confident Kate would reach new heights. Putting the torch out, I untied the anchor line from the pole. Slowly I let Kate rise toward the sky, holding her still until her ankles were in front of my face. Kissing her lovely feet, I turned the two vibrators to maximum. Then I continued to feed more rope, watching her twisting body rise higher and higher. When almost all of the rope in my hand was gone, I knew she was about 40 feet up. Slowly, I started to walk down a small trail leading to the cabin where I knew Sir Adrian was celebrating his holiday. The night was still and not much could be heard…a soft summer wind was playing carefully among the leaves, and a distant owl was howling. Otherwise, all was quiet, with the exception of an occasional desperate moan from Kate up above, but generally the gag kept her noise low. When I reached the cabin at the shore of a large lake, I proceeded as quietly as I could. As I passed a dimly-lit window, I guessed Sir Adrian was there, nursing a drink or two. I went to the front of the house and firmly tied the anchor line to the railing surrounding a comfortable veranda. Looking up, I threw a kiss to Kate whom I barely could see in the dark. Knowing that she would eventually descend as the balloon got cold, I left her to her fate and went back to our tent. *** I hate being alone on holidays, especially the real ones that don't move around to the nearest Monday or the fourth Thursday or however those silly Christians figure out the date of their spring fertility festival. I never understood why Easter makes them feel so guilty. Such a lovely, natural celebration of the reproduction process, all those cute little bunnies fucking and splendidly-pagan glorifications of the mother egg, mucked up with fables of gruesome executions. Granted, I have my moments when it comes to depictions of suffering, but never in my worst nightmares could I have dreamed up the concept of crucifixion, much less force children to worship statues of their purported Prince of Peace in such agony. And to think they call ME perverted… So when a friend offered me the use of his mountain cabin for the long Fourth of July weekend, I figured it was the perfect way to escape everything that reminded me of what will never be. It sounded like the set of a fairy tale directed by Spielberg…on the banks of a shimmering lake surrounded by a forest so dense, insects had trouble squeezing between the pines. Miles from the city's incessant intensities, it promised to be beatific to a fault. Upon arrival, I was surprised to find that his portrait of his bucolic hermitage had been uncharacteristically modest. The place was, as they say in my neighborhood, totally whack. After a long day broiling in the sun, followed by a feast doing likewise to lesser creatures in the Weber, I found myself debating whether to build a fire before settling down to make a serious dent in a bottle of Grey Goose…anything for an excuse to light something in honor of my involuntary Independence Day. I found plenty of logs in a hopper by the stone hearth, but proper kindling seemed to be in short supply, so I went outside to root around for sticks and bark and related dryrot before dusk completed its metamorphosis into dark. I almost didn't notice the rope tied to the railing surrounding the deck. But there was no mistaking the faint, yet very familiar, sound high above my head. At first, I figured I was hallucinating. Too much sun playing tricks on a fragile psyche. Then I looked up at the sky and saw something rather large obscuring the panorama of early stars, not to mention what suspiciously resembled a character in one of my stories doing an unlikely imitation of an angel. A gentle tug informed me that the rope was real, but "no fucking way," followed by a serious reconsideration of my atheism, was my inelegant response to what I found attached to its other end. Thanks to fast-advancing delirium, not to mention darkness, it was quite a struggle to untangle her from the balloon once she touched down on the deck. I wrestled with the knots, and wondered distractedly what Akasha would do in a situation like this…probably pull a stiletto out of the top of her thigh-high boots or something similarly capable. I felt bad when the balloon floated away, but only for a moment as I apprised what was obviously a sign from Mount Olympus that the rest of my life was going to be excruciatingly dull after tonight. I squinted at the banner that hung from her nipples. "Sir" Adrian Hunter? What's this "sir" shit? The only master/slave relationship I've ever been party to involved stadium-size amplifiers chained together to provide entertainment for teenagers. Then it dawned on me that someone knew I was here. But who? How? And most importantly, why was he, or she, or whatever gender-impartial pronoun is fashionable on s.s.b.b. this week, presenting me with a damsel in considerable distress hovering over my holiday retreat wearing a blatant hint to escalate hostilities? Rational thought not being my strong suit at that exact moment, if ever, I scooped her into my arms and carried her inside. Once I saw her in the light, I realized the only thing that made sense in the message flapping in front of her torso was the "babe" part. Good grief, even with the gag, I could tell she was gorgeous, and that word failed miserably when it came to describing her charms below her neck. I walked around her slowly as she stood trembling in the middle of the living room, gaping at her curves like someone who just woke up from a lobotomy. Finally, I noticed the telltale wires leading from her crotch to the boxes taped to her ankles. "Where are your manners?" I admonished myself as I knelt down, switched them off, and began untying the ropes around her legs, then everything else except her wrists. She seemed to get a little woozy after I unclamped her nipples, which gave me a welcome opportunity to touch her radiant skin, but I got the distinct impression she didn't really want me to slip out the vibrators. I hesitated before unbuckling the gag. What if she screamed bloody murder? Like the squirrel family up the road was going to call 911? Given that this situation was the furthest possible thing from safe and sane, I decided we might as well at least make it consensual. "Hi, are you OK, how did you get here, weren't you cold up there, do you want something to drink?" I babbled, making my usual bewitching first impression. She simply nodded yes, so I scurried off to fetch a glass of water. After her thirst was sated, I stared at her face in silence until I composed myself into a semblance of my laughable reputation as a steel-eyed, ruthless and diabolical dom. "I'm going to ask you some questions, and I want you to tell me the truth every time." She took a deep breath and nodded her assent. "What's your name?" "K-kate." "Do you want to be here, Kate?" Thankfully, she replied "yes" without hesitation. "Do you know who I am?" "Y-you're Adrian Hunter. The writer. On the Internet." So far, so good. "Do you know what I write about?" Big gulp. "Y-yes." "Which of my stories do you like best?" Always the compliment slut… She thought for a moment. "The ones about J-jennifer." Shit, what is it about that girl anyway? Here I spend hours crafting what I consider to be thoughtfully-overwrought tales divining the true nature of romantic restraint, and the one piece everyone seems to cite as my "Layla" is an embarrassingly immature collection of noncon potboiler stroke jokes I scribbled years ago. On the other hand… "Funny you should mention her. I'm working on a new chapter to accompany an illustrated version of the original series. I figure if Mel Gibson and Danny Glover can come back for a fourth installment of 'Lethal Weapon' this summer, so can Jennifer and her friends." I paused and stepped out of her line of vision. When my heartbeat finally returned to a manageable pace, I came up close behind her, placed a hand around her waist and pulled her hard against me while reaching around to find one of her nipples. My mouth an inch away from her ear, I whispered, "do you want to help me finish it?" I couldn't be 100 percent sure if her loud moan meant "yes" or "keep squeezing like that," but either answer was fine. I moved my hand down from her waist until it reached her downy softness, then pressed my fingers inside her. It didn't take long before she started twitching, followed closely by shaking, convulsing, gasping and groaning. I allowed my tongue to slither into her ear, enjoying the escalation of girl squeaks and squeals as she began to climax repeatedly and rather violently. When I felt her legs begin to give out, I pulled my hand away, knelt down, and retrieved the gag from the floor. Without a word, I pushed the ball back into her mouth, jerked the straps around her head, and buckled it tight, then stalked off to the kitchen to retrieve a tumbler and several cubes of ice. Seating myself on the couch directly in front of her, I filled the glass with vodka and sat back to contemplate my rather stunning change of plans for the evening. How typical, I rued, to find myself in this exceedingly rare situation with ye olde bag of tricks gathering dust on the top shelf of my closet. I considered scavenging the cabin for additional supplies like a mop to employ as a makeshift spreader bar, or perhaps the inevitable basket of clothespins one tends to find in homes without dryers. Gazing at the pile of ropes and accessories on the floor, then at Kate, I concluded things could be worse. I chuckled softly to myself. Oh, who's kidding who here? Utterly, completely alone in a charming cabin nestled in a pastoral wonderland, then a beautiful girl floats down from heaven, literally gift-wrapped with my name on the card. All I was really lacking, I almost said out loud, was some kind of whip or crop. Then my vision drifted momentarily to the still-unlit stack of logs on the fireplace, which brought to mind my abandoned quest for kindling, which lead to thoughts of sticks, then saplings, and I suddenly recalled a childhood fondness for whittling. "I'll be right back," I said as I stood up to find a flashlight, my smile perhaps scaring her a little. Fifteen minutes later, I returned to find her standing exactly as I had left her. Very impressive, I thought, as I sat down on the floor in front of the hearth and started building a small pyre out of handfuls of brush and crumpled newspapers under the wood. As I lit a match and applied it to the edge of the combustible heap, I realized there was more than a distinct possibility that Kate had been properly trained in this particular sport. She probably didn't notice the collection of long green sticks that didn't make it into the now-blazing inferno. As I watched the flames leap and lick the pile of logs, it was all I could do to resist the urge to say "all in good time, my pretty." First, I was going to do my best to live up to my guest's worst expectations. Kate's eyes followed mine as I looked up at the support beam running across the length of the ceiling. I leaned over from the fireplace and selected a thin hardcover book from the pile on the coffee table, then set it on the floor directly under the thick timber. Retrieving the larger of the two vibrators and what seemed to be the longest length of rope from the floor, I clambered to my feet and faced her. "Are you ready?" She closed her eyes, which I took to be a yes. "Very good. Spread your feet apart." I pushed the entire length of the soft latex between her clenched thighs. "Now," I growled. As she parted her legs with a soft moan, I began rubbing and twisting the dildo against her secrets until I presumed it was slick with natural lubrication. Before she fully comprehended my intentions, I had already circled her and pressed the tip an inch into her rectum. "The worse you make it for you, the better it makes it for me." It took less than a minute before the remainder disappeared inside her. Even though she had been delivered to me in a serious state of plug, I could tell by her panting that she wasn't used to this level of fullness. I pointed at the book on the floor. "Stand on top of it." She took a few delicate steps as directed, pressing her feet together to maintain her balance. I looped the rope around her waist, knotted it in front, ran the remainder between her legs, and tossed it over the top of the beam, quietly pleased that the end dangled limply in front of her wide-eyed expression of exponential trepidation. The wooden chairs surrounding the dining room table looked sturdy enough, so I pulled one next to her, then moved behind her and began untying her wrists. Once they were free, I leaned over and whispered "last chance" into her ear. When I received no discernible reply, I led her hands around to her front, crossed her wrists, and wrapped them thoroughly with a longer piece of rope from the floor. I stepped up onto the seat of the chair and instructed her to lift her arms over her head. Taking her bound wrists in one hand, I grabbed the end of the rope hanging from the beam in the other, and starting looping the slack around the crossed part until the line went completely taut. I tied off the remainder with a knot that would frighten a sailor, hopped down, and placed the toe of my shoe against the edge of the book she was standing on. "Whoops," I said flatly as I pushed it out from under her feet, causing her to drop down perhaps two inches. But the sudden strain on her crotch must have made it feel like two miles. Her toes scrabbled on the floor and found momentary traction, allowing her to balance precariously by straining her arches like a ballerina, dispersing at least some of her body's weight from the rope to her feet. There has to be some string or twine around here, I muttered under my breath as I wandered into the kitchen and starting searching the drawers and cupboards, actually yelping "bingo!" when I came across a reel of fishing line. I grabbed a pair of scissors from the knife rack and returned to find my new friend wavering uneasily on her tiptoes. A few snips removed the clamps from the banner, but they were soon restored to their proper place around her swollen buds. I measured out two long pieces of filament and tied the ends around her big toes. Fortunately, my benefactor had been prescient enough to add weights to the bottom of his message, which I detached and tied to the other ends of the fishing line. This made it easy to toss them over the beam. Two knots later, her nipples were straining skyward while the weights swung near her navel. Every time she moved a foot, several laws of physics were demonstrated concurrently, and sometimes excessively. I returned to the couch and took a long sip of France's finest while I contemplated my next course of action. Doing nothing more than watching Kate writhe definitely had a certain appeal, so I sat back and polished off my drink before picking up the other vibrator off the floor. I wondered if the soles of her feet were ticklish. They were. But not as much as under her arms. Her efforts to escape the buzzing made her dance like a marionette in the hands of a child. At one point, an errant kick caught me square in the jaw and knocked me backward onto the hardwood floor. She looked aghast and tried to act chagrined, but I couldn't help laughing out loud at the telltale smirk that was so obvious even behind the gag. This Kate probably gives her boyfriend, or whatever, the fight of his life. What a treat it would be to enjoy her forever. Rubbing my chin, I informed her she would have to pay for her misdemeanor. She shot me a look that would have been accompanied by a stuck-out tongue under different circumstances, but that quickly changed to one of alarm when I picked up the control box attached to the vibrator in her ass. "First, let's make sure we remove the temptation to try that little stunt again." I picked up the shortest piece of rope from the floor and began coiling it around her ankles, saving the longer lengths for her knees and thighs. Once her legs were secured, I nudged the dial on the box to its lowest setting, stood up and went to look for the rest of my friend's fishing gear, confident I would find a decent knife that was suitable for slicing the bark off the green saplings I had collected earlier. Those Swiss Army troops really had a clue, I thought to myself half an hour later as I sat on the couch admiring my handiwork. I may have flunked out of Boy Scouts, but the smooth finish on my makeshift switch was still impressive for an amateur. I was pretty sure she had deduced exactly what I was whittling long before I tried a few practice strokes against the sofa cushion, but any doubts were removed when I touched its tip against her stomach and slowly traced the letters of my name on her shuddering flesh. I reached into my back pocket and produced a bandanna that I had found in the tackle box to cover her beseeching eyes. She soon learned to anticipate the whistling, but the specific target was always a surprise. By the time I was finished, we were both exhausted and slick with sweat. I tossed what was left of the switch into the fire and used the scissors to cut the fishing line above and below Kate's nipples, then quickly untied her legs and finally the knot holding the harness rope around her waist, after which she collapsed soundlessly into my waiting arms. I carried her limp body into the bedroom and lay her on top of the comforter covering the king-size mattress. "This may hurt a little," I warned, but she hardly flinched when the clamps came off. I rolled her onto her stomach and eased the vibrator out of her backside, then removed the blindfold and unbuckled the straps holding the gag around her head. I presumed another glass of water was in order, but she surprised me by asking for a sip of my Grey Goose instead. When she was finished, I picked up my tube of suntan goo off the dresser, turned off the lights and climbed onto the bed next to her. I eased Kate onto her back and stretched her still-bound wrists over her head. Starting with her toes, I methodically coated every inch of her aching body with the cool, soothing lotion. When I sensed her setting sail for Neverland, I positioned her on her side and lay down behind her with my arm around her waist. Despite her fatigue, her hands wandered down to her groin for one final skyrocket display. I reached down and pulled them away, tsk-tsking her impertinence. "Nice try," I whispered, my fingers manipulating the knot between her wrists. "But that's my job." I pushed her onto her stomach and retied her hands behind her back, then returned us to our original setting, only this time with my hand brushing ever so lightly against her sex. Kate sighed deeply and started grinding her hips against my crotch. Desperately wishing there was something in my wallet besides frequent-flyer cards and guitar picks, I pulled myself back a few inches and made "uh, uh" noises while nuzzling her neck. A minute later, I felt her hands groping for the fly of my shorts, then her fingers started returning my favors. Drifting into a state somewhere between rapture and unconsciousness, I found myself grinning as I mentally planned a feast for three, wondering if a different holiday menu might be more appropriate for this particular Fourth of July celebration. Perhaps something along the lines of Thanksgiving. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ John's stories are archived at http://www.geocities.com/SunsetStrip/Mezzanine/1475 john_writer@rocketmail.com ___________________________________________ Story archive: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Gallery/9911/door.html Mail: adrianhunter-at-geocities-dot-com -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----