Message-ID: <35751asstr$1016237403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "celia batau" <pinataheart@bigplanet.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} [VBC] Momentos {celia batau} (vbc2)
Date: Fri, 15 Mar 2002 19:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

hi everyone!

these eight short pieces were replies to Desdmona, Jordan Shelbourne, and
Conjugate. thanks for helping us. :)

note: copyright 2002 celia batau. you may copy this story for personal use
so long as the author's name and this note are retained. permission to copy,
distribute, or display this work is not given to any website which charges
access to it. permission to copy, distribute, or display this work is given
to "no charge" websites with written consent of author.

If you like this story or have any comments, please email us at
pinataheart@bigplanet.com.

-cb


momentos

celia batau, (c)2002

The Fight.

The warehouse should've been empty. But it wasn't. The industrial overhead
lighting should've been off. But it was on. And the dirty concrete floor
Celia was standing on should've been clear. Instead, it was packed with
spectators.

She had only blinked for a moment. She was certain of it. Well, at least as
certain as any multiple could be about these types of things. But somehow
deep inside she had the feeling that this time her dissociation wasn't to
blame. Maybe it was because she was naked. Instead of the white baby-tee and
a comfortable pain of baggy jeans she had worn for her supposedly private
fight with Desdmona, she was now wearing only a thin coat of oil over her
olive skin. And reaching up she found that her hair had been arranged and
ornamented with long brass hairpins with metal flowers, coins and fertility
symbols hanging from them by delicate chains. That discovery made her check
her waist, and yes, looped low on her hips was the expected gold chain.

Celia fingered one of the sharp-petaled flower medallions hanging from that
chain and fumed. This had to be Odin's doing. Who else would've oiled her up
and dressed her like a Guadacan pleasure girl? She made a mental note to
glue the moron's eyelid shut the next time she saw him.

At that moment the industrial lighting overhead decided to flicker off. A
confused murmur spread across the crowd. And Celia was just beginning to
think she could quietly slip out when the Chemical Bros began to pound from
unseen speakers somewhere to her left. She turned to face the sound just as
the lights came back on.

There was another change.

Now there was a woman standing in front of her. The crowd immediately backed
away to give her room. This woman, with the exception of her head, was
completely dressed in plate armor. A round shield was belted to her left
arm, and in her right hand was a very nasty looking sword.

Celia stared dumbfounded. The woman stared back equally shocked.

"Celia?"

"Des?"

Figures. Celia stared up at the ceiling looking for the crow. There was a
soft chuckling in her ear.

Odin was going to pay for this.


The Witch.

Celia pulled at the chains holding her wrists above her head as the old
woman pushed the small glass egg into her. Celia's legs, chained to rings in
the floor, where unable to kick as the hag locked the metal belt onto her,
trapping the egg inside. Then piece by piece, to her arms, legs, chest,
breasts, back, stomach, hands and feet, the bits of metal plating were added
until her entire body, save her face, was clothed and locked in armour.

At last, the chains were removed. Furious, Celia turned on the old woman,
pushing her back against the wall.
"Witch!" she demanded, "Give me the key!"

The old woman laughed, and as she did so, her body dissolved into mist. But
before she disappeared completely, she gave Celia her reply.

"It's in the egg."


Riot-Gear.

"You going to eat the rest of that doughnut?"

Celia looked up from staring at the red smear on the floor where one of the
hostage-takers had been. The doughnut in question was on a table beside the
remains of another hostage-taker. Celia had found it in the lifeless hand of
a third, and deciding he probably wouldn't eat it, took it for herself.

"Yeah, Jordan, you can have it."

Removing her helmet, Celia turned back to her partner. She never knew why,
but turning bad guys into clouds of pink meat always left her highly
aroused. She crossed the room to where Jordan stood chewing. Dropping her
helmet on the table, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

Mmmm. Strawberry filling.


The Reenactment.

It was supposed to be a historical reenactment. But the act itself was
probably the only historical thing about it. And only historical if the
oldest activity counted. At least it had Celia sweating. She loved armour. Real or
bad aluminum imitations, it didn't matter. What she loved more than armour
was the tall and very handsome man sweating above her. Add the two together,
and she had been ready to explode the moment he pushed into her. Breastplate
banged against breastplate. Metal covered fingers roamed over metal skin and
armoured thighs slid and clanked around protected sides as they panted
squeezed and pushed together, until at last, the man roared his climax and
fell to the ground beside her.

At that moment the flap to the dressing tent opened and a head poked inside.

"Hey, Celia, Jordan, you're up next."

Celia looked at the man sleeping peacefully next to her.

"I think he forfeits."


The Brave Knight.

Celia squeezed around the youth's finger. Her ears burned. At any moment
they could be caught. She pushed herself against his gloved hand trying to
pull more of the metal digit inside her. The youth's mouth found hers and
their tongues played while his free hand caressed a breast through the
thick material of her dress.

Celia grunted. The youth pulled back and smiled at her. He was new to court,
and hadn't said a word since she lured him away from the training area to
seduce him. The youth was eager, as youths tend to be, but he was still
reluctant to remove his armour to give her a proper coupling.

The young girl closed her thighs around the hand pressed between her legs
and gave a hoarse cry. In her passion, her fingers clutched at the opened
visor of his helmet and managed to lift the entire thing off his head.

Beautiful long golden hair fell around his shoulders, framing his smooth
hairless cheeks and making his clear blue eyes appear softer. Celia gasped.

The youth was a woman.


Grey-Eyed Athena.

Zeus screamed. He was wont to do that. Especially whenever he visited one of
Athena's temples. Celia ignored him. He was always having little melodramas.
So what if his daughter sprang from his forehead, her armour looked cool,
didn't it?

Jordan looked uncertain. Maybe he didn't like being watched. Celia gave him
a kiss. He looked so cute when he was naked. She pressed up against him and
kissed him again. This time, Jordan kissed back. Nothing like ardour to
stimulate the male, she thought.

Behind them, Zeus continued to wail.


The Amazons.

The show was horrid. Whoever had the great idea to have a play instead of
just f'cking and then killing the males must've had something besides her
right breast removed. The prisoners couldn't act. Well, they couldn't fight
either, but that was beside the point. Celia scratched at her armour, but
the itch was beneath it so there was nothing she could do.

The so-called leader of the men now came on stage. His name was Jordan or
something. He was dressed in a colorful costume and held a skull in his
hand. The fact that the skull had belonged to his second in command only a
few hours ago wasn't lost on the defeated warrior, but he was handling it
gracefully.

"Alas, poor Yoric. . . ."

Celia looked around the audience. The other women seemed to have itches of
their own, though all of theirs seemed to be in the same place. Celia looked
back at the stage. Jordan was handsome. Celia thought she just might have
another itch.

Jordan had a free hand. Maybe he could scratch it.


The Hallway.

The hall was empty. Quietly, Celia stepped out onto the linoleum floor and
padded toward the nurse's station. The fingers of her right hand traced the
handrail as she made her way. Her thick heavy armour shifted silently as she
moved. She had spent hours polishing and padding it so that she could move
silently when the time came. That time was now.

Celia regretted that the staff had taken her shoes. That left her with a
weak point. They must have known. She didn't believe that they thought she
could use the laces to harm herself. She couldn't hurt herself, not with the
armour she was wearing.

Celia ducked when she reached the edge of the station. Crawling, she made
her way to the other end where the hall split at right angles. Straight
ahead was the common room. Robert, one of the others who was kept here
against their will, sat in one of the upholstered plastic chairs watching
television. To her left, around the corner of the nurse's station, was the
side hall that led to the door. Normally, that door was kept locked. Only
the staff held the keys, and they wouldn't give them to her.

It only took a few moments before Celia heard the sound of keys rattling in
the lock outside the door. Lowering her visor, she crept around the corner
and picked up her pace. A glance to Robert as she passed the station showed
him oblivious to her imminent escape.

Up on two legs, she began to run just as the door opened. Celia's muscles
pumped as they propelled her forward. The plates of armour clanked silently
and protectively. She could see the short plump body of one of the cleaning
crew as it appeared in the opening. The woman's face lit in alarm at what
must have been a terrifying sight.

Suddenly, Celia was grabbed from behind. Her stockinged feet slid on the
linoleum. Her balance, redirected, pulled her backward as her momentum threw
her and her attacker against the partially opened door. Celia spun around
and came face to face with one of the male nurses. Both fell in a heap on
the floor, the man above her, pinning her down. She reached for her sword,
then remembered that the staff had also taken everything sharp from her.
Another hand grabbed her, then another as shouts began to call out above
her. The frightened cleaning woman tried to shut the door, but one of
Celia's legs had managed to slip though. So close. So close.

Celia screamed in a rage as several of the male nurses lifted her up off the
floor and carried her back down the hall, away from escape, away from her
freedom, and back toward her cell.

She will be free, she swore. One day, she will be free.


--
celia batau's story site: http://www.myplanet.net/pinataheart/stories.htm.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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