Message-ID: <21076asstr$942433801@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: Droewyn Subject: {ASSM} The Joy of Slavery (md, mc) X-Post-Date: Mon, 11 Oct 1999 04:03:47 GMT Lines: 177 X-Original-Message-ID: <7trniu$3q8$1@nnrp1.deja.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 207.74.188.56 X-Article-Creation-Date: Mon Oct 11 04:03:47 1999 GMT X-Http-User-Agent: Mozilla/4.07 [en] (Win98; I) X-Http-Proxy: 1.0 x34.deja.com:80 (Squid/1.1.22) for client 207.74.188.56 X-MyDeja-Info: XMYDJUIDdroewyn X-To: story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us JMDigest-Score: good -16 Date: Fri, 12 Nov 1999 14:10:01 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: assm-admin Standard disclaimer and notes: This is a story featuring explicit sexual situations. Kids, don't try this at home. If you're underage or don't like this sort of thing there are some lovely sites on quilting you could be browsing right now. Also, this story is mine, so don't reproduce or post it without permission. If you do I will find out about it, track you down like the animal you are, and enroll you in the Fetish-Gear-Of-The-Month Club, making sure they deliver to your office. Oh, and comments/criticism would be nice. ***** The Joy of Slavery by Droewyn (This was written very late at night after reading one story too many where Our Hero uses his telepathic powers to seduce and enslave Beautiful Women With Big Breasts. You've been warned) I flipped a page in my novel and settled myself more comfortably into the curve of the park bench. The sun shone warmly on my face and hair, a gentle breeze blowing just hard enough to cool pleasantly but not annoy. It was a perfect day and I couldn't help marvelling at how few people occupied the park. Too busy to take the time, I guessed, and smiled to myself. Their loss, I thought smugly. A shadow fell on my face and I looked up in sudden irritation to see a man in his early thirties standing over me, blocking the sun. He was tall and had ordinary enough features: brown hair and hazel eyes, tanned skin, a straight nose. His smile was a little too wide for my liking, and his gaze was fixed undeniably on my not unample chest. I was stunned at his audacity. I am accustomed to receiving appreciative looks from men, but he was being offensive. I quickly opened my mouth to tell him where to get off-- 'What are you THINKING?' I screamed to myself, suddenly aghast at my own idiocy. 'Here is the most georgeous guy you've ever seen, and you're going to tell him to get lost?' My jaw closed with an audible snap and I smiled dreamily up at him. I didn't think to wonder at how he went from ordinary looking to the incredible specimen of man who was now standing before me. He seemed to radiate masculinity, and I basked in the aura of his presence. I felt honored to be near him. Staring at him in rapture, I explored his perfect features, savoring and memorizing each one. His hair, bronzed and shining, perfect for running my fingers through. His mouth, wide and sensitive. I could taste those lips in my thoughts. A fine nose, strong and noble. And when my eyes finally rested on his, I thought I was going to die. My paperback fell forgotten from suddenly nerveless fingers as I found myself drowning, all sense of being lost somewhere in the depths of his gaze. I forgot where I was, and I nearly forgot WHO I was in the sudden rush of emotion. My heart was pounding, and my head began to ache. Suddenly I knew that all I wanted was to love this man, submit to this man, be whatever it was he asked of me. At that moment, I would gladly have died for him. Physical sensations rushed over me as well; my entire being was a tangle of contradictory feelings, pleasure and pain. The throbbing of my brow melded with the throbbing of my sex, each sensation in itself a swirling maelstrom of bliss and agony. I felt myself, my mind, begin to change, molding to suit the wishes of the man I knew would be my lover, my lord, and so much more. My spirit sang in answer to his summons, and the tears that suddenly filled my eyes were only partly due to the thundering in my skull. I heard, felt, His voice issuing commands, the words that filled my being and rewrote my soul. "Submit to me...obey..." How could I do any differently? His voice was my universe! I trembled at His feet, overcome, and I think I began to masturbate. How to describe the strength of that which had held me instantly captive? Tsunami. Fortissimo. The most powerful words are inadequate. Everything that I had thought of as 'me' dissolved under the force of His will to be replaced by a creature of his making, and I rejoiced in my rebirth. I belonged to Him, body and soul, and I knew that it was as I was always meant to be. I orgasmed then, and felt as if a lightning bolt was blasting through my skull. I screamed, and in my confusion of ecstasy and agony, tried to physically push away the pain. I touched the man who was my Master-- --and found myself staring in shock at the young man who had been leering at me earlier, and who was now lying unconscious at my feet. My headache was gone as if it had never been, and I felt a strange stirring in its place. I think I would have believed I'd daydreamed the entire episode, if the scent of my own arousal didn't fill my nostrils. I was confused. I was afraid. I wondered absently if I should get help for the man, but at that moment he moaned, beginning to stir. To my amazement, I could feel his disorientation at the back of my own mind as he slowly regained consciousness. He climbed shakily to his feet as I watched, and I asked him if he was all right. Ridiculous? Certainly, the man had just tried to commit an act that was worse than rape. I think I was so dazed that I asked him out of habit. At any rate he looked at me then, and I knew his rapture even before he whispered awed phrases of adulation to me. He dropped to his knees before me, and it was with a growing sense of deepest wonder that I ordered him to his feet--without speaking a word. I don't know how I knew what had happened; perhaps it was instinctive knowledge, perhaps I was pulling it from the mind of my would-be Master. In any case, I knew that his attempt to gain control of my mind had somehow awakened my own previously latent telepathic ability. It was a crazy combination of instinct, emotion and luck that saved me in the end. I brought him home, of course. What else could I have done? I hadn't MEANT to force his control to backlash on him, but it had happened, and I felt at least somewhat responsible for him. Besides, he was fixated on me. Trying to order him away from me made him collapse into frightened tears, and I could sense the very real physical pain he felt at the mere idea of separation from me. Turning him over to the police was out, for obvious reasons (YOU try to explain what happened to them, if you're so interested. I shall skip that pleasure, thank you. I have no interest in being made to see a therapist). And aside from his programmed thoughts, he had nothing left. No thoughts of his own, no memories. He didn't even know his own name. I couldn't help it, I pitied him. Pitied him for all of ten minutes after we got to my apartment, that is! What kind of IDIOT would program anyone to only want to wear white satin lingerie? He ruined three of my best camisoles before I could stop him, and several pairs of underwear that he cut the crotches out of. To make matters worse, he absolutely refuses to wear a robe, even to answer the door--which he DOES insist on doing, to save me the trouble. He'll put clothing on to go out in public, but he won't even leave the apartment unless I'm with him. I can't get rid of him, he follows me around like a lost little puppy--and if you think this is an attractive concept, YOU get woken up by a strange thirty-something guy in an ill-fitting satin neglige trying to pull your panties off so that he can be some kind of oral sex alarm clock. And THEN stumble blearily into the bathroom where you discover that your unwanted slave boy didn't clean your razor after he used it to shave off his pubic hair because SOMEBODY obviously had a thing about liking his women clean-shaven. And he didn't even put the damn toilet seat down. The worst part is that I can't even bear to yell at him because his adoration tickles constantly at the back of my thoughts. Besides, he's a masochist, and I don't want to give him any encouragement. I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I don't find him attractive, and I don't want his ministrations. I just want him to go away, and I don't even know enough about my newfound mental abilities to try and "fix" him. I suppose you could argue that any change would be an improvement, but I don't want to risk damage, not even to a former scum sucking slimebag. And for the icing on the cake, my mother just called to remind me that we have a dinner date tonight. At my place, and I absolutely can't get out of it. She's been looking forward to it all week, and she knows we'll have a lovely time, just us girls. Hah. Not after she gets a look at my new roomie, we won't. Which brings me to the reason I'm posting my tale of woe. I was wondering if there are any experienced telepaths out there who would be interested in a challenge. I'd be really, REALLY grateful if someone could take him off my hands...say, by around sixish? If you're interested, send email quickly to--oh damn, he's just found the dessert toppings...oh bloody hell...hold on....@#$%$&*%^&#$^$^*%% NO CARRIER *** "The Joy of Slavery" (c) 1999 by Sydney Ashcraft, all rights reserved. Comments/criticism may be sent to ashcraf3@pilot.msu.edu -- --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ _\@/_ @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- Sydney Allison Ashcraft |Wonder and hope will draw the unicorn, faith Lavender GoodWench and |and love will bind him. This is Innocence. Unsavory Malcontent |Sexual ignorance has nothing to do with it. --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ _\@/_ @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/ Before you buy. -- If you enjoyed this work, take a moment to email the author. Your comments are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | ASSM Archive site +-----------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | | --- | +--------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | This newsgroup is moderated by ASSTR, an entity supported by donations. | | If you enjoy this newsgroup, please consider making a donation to help | | Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository keep providing this free service for you.| | Donations: | \_________________________________________________________________________/