Message-ID: <35882asstr$1017169804@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: Subjukated@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: <116.e834e0d.29d12ca4@aol.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 25 Mar 2002 20:45:08 EST Subject: {ASSM} subcontractor 4 of five Date: Tue, 26 Mar 2002 14:10:04 -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: dennyw, gill-bates <1st attachment, "subcontractor4.txt" begin> Warning: This work of fiction contains graphic and violent adult situations. It is not meant for children or those who are offended easily. It may be a violation of state, federal or international law to possess, read or share this document. Please review your local and international laws and regulations before reading or sharing this file and be the lawabiding citizen you ought to be. DO NOT under any circumstances share this document with anyone under legal age. If you are a parent, lock it up. If you are a minor do not read this document at all. Some things are not meant for everyone. This story is one of those things. Subcontractor Chapter Four: "Off Kilter" by Subjukate When she entered the kitchen, Jack was sitting on a bar chair at the center island. There were papers in neat piles in front of him. He was deeply engrossed in them and would mark an item with an antique fountain pen from time to time. All of the lights were off except for one recessed light in the ceiling over his work. He looked at her with a startled expression. She was entering from the wrong door. Usually one comes in from the back door to the garage. This was not expected. He could tell from her expression that she had already been to the ballroom. Deduction would also indicate that she was probably in big trouble for being underdressed, and was upset about this turn of events. He stared down at the papers, even though he felt her looking at him. Wordlessly, and without looking at her, he pushed the big black box in her direction. "Jack? What have you done?" She asked angrily. "I made a pot of coffee for you. Its over there. I also took the liberty of warming up some of that bread you made yesterday. There is honey from our garden in the pantry. Please mind the papers." She huffed. She made loud noises while putting down things. The coffee cup made an echo. He was surprised it didn't break. His papers were in danger. He began to file them in his satchel. The pantry door slammed. "I'm Not Doing This!" she said. "I don't want to do this! I'm not going back to the lifestyle! I'm not going to be given away to someone who I can't trust! I may be a submissive, but I choose who has authority over me! He can't DO this!" In this moment, he realized how hard it must have been for his father when his mother did this. It was an odd paradox to be upset by an angry loved one, but at the same time deeply amused by their antics when angry. I must not smile, he thought, even if she is so cute when she is angry. This is serious business, no matter how adorable she becomes. He was still filing papers, and he had to stand up. It was then that she realized that he was wearing a kilt. Men don't wear kilts very often these days, and with good reason. It's probably a method of birth control or something. A kilt is a terrible distraction, no matter how hungry or tired or angry one is. She was staring at him with a bread knife in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. She was absolutely silent. He was certain that she had stopped breathing. Even though Jack had no love for the "school tie" method of matching clan names with specific patterns, his grandmother liked the tradition. Because of this, all of the men in his family had kilts instead of tuxedoes. It had taken him years to create this exact ensemble, and it was nice that someone appreciated it as much as he did. It was the traditional Ross tartan with appropriate dress shoes and kilt hose. He'd finally found a cotton shirt that felt good and looked right, but it was off-white. Originally, he had a simple leather sporran that went with the shoes, but two years ago he'd inherited his grandfather's regimental sporran of goat hair and silver. The off-white shirt with the goat hair was stunning. He found the dress jacket confining, but it he wore it anyway because he knew that whenever her wore this kilt and jacket, it wouldn't be on his body for very long. For the first time in his life, he was glad that he had taken so much time in its creation. He made a mental note of a moment when fashion resolved conflict. Confusion crossed her face. She fumbled for words and found no quarter. "This was not the way I wanted this to go," he said. "I'd feel better if you gave me the bread knife." She handed him the loaf of bread, and then the handle of the bread knife. He pointed to the chair and said, "Sit." She began to say something but he stopped her. "Quiet............ Listen..." He sliced the bread and put it on the plate. He brought the coffee cup, butter, and honey, and set it down in front of her. He handed her a napkin, which she placed in her lap. "What I had hoped for, was that three hours ago, you would have come in THAT door." He pointed to the back door to the garage. "I had hoped to sit down with you, tell you that my uncle would be in for a visit. Explain that the ballroom would be unavailable. I had hoped that two hours ago, my uncle, you and I would sit down to eat and we would discuss your future. Obviously, none of that happened." "I like the kilt." She said with her mouth full. He was taken off guard, and laughed. "I know you like the kilt." "I wanna see it more closely; that sporran looks like a loincloth." "You were really angry four minutes ago," he said, taken aback. "You are wearing a kilt. I can see why they wouldn't let you in the ballroom. None of the other guys would get any.... Then it'd be a bad party and all the other men would hate you, and the girls would be frustrated because you couldn't satisfy them all at the same time. It's probably a good thing that they keep you separated from the rest of the herd." He sighed, and looked down. "Arcanna. I don't want you to be angry with me about my conversation with my uncle. He asked me how you were doing in the new environment. He asked me if you'd taken an interest in anyone lately. I told him that you and I had a brush with greatness. He was really surprised...." The coffee cup was empty. He poured another cup. "He told me that he'd tried to pair you up with others but you refused. He said that nothing would tempt you. He said that you were incredibly loyal and faithful, and that he never thought you'd ever submit to anyone ever again. So when I told him, because he is part of my family, that you and I had attempted something wonderful, he asked me if you had given me your safeword." "And you told him I did?" "Yes. He was even more surprised that you had given me the original safeword and not a new one you had created for me." "I could make a new one for you..." she volunteered. "I just couldn't think clearly at the time the question was posed." "Heh. It isn't the word that matters, so much as the fact that you gave it to me. You have surrendered, Mrs. Murphy, to me." She looked down at the coffee cup again. In the background she could see the curve of his leg. Hmmmm the shape of his leg. Men who can wear kilts should wear them every day! Jack went on, speaking very slowly. "You have surrendered. This makes me your master. A master you chose and you chose alone." He took her face in his hands and looked at her sternly. "You are not being given away. I am taking possession of what you have given me." "I'm not pretty," she said. It seemed odd that in this moment of acceptance that she'd feel insecure. He tried to imagine what would make her think of such an idea. "I don't care what you think of yourself in this regard. What matters is what I think. There is more to you than just your hair, or your eyes or the shape of your ass. When I take the whole of you into account I cannot think of a more beautiful woman. Its like an impressionist painting. There is more to you than a set of dots." She went on as if he had not said anything. "I don't want to go back in there. I don't want to face those people I knew when I was married and faithful. I don't want to try new things. I don't want to go to other levels. I want to be safe, and I don't want to hurt like I did before. If we do this, you don't get to go away." "I have no intention of walking away from this. My mother has taught me to appreciate the finer things in life. I am concerned, however, about this reluctance to adapt. That is a very serious issue. Growth and change are part of living." He opened the big black box that was sitting on the island just within arms' reach. "What if I," he continued, "offer you new experiences, like new foods. You can taste them; if you like them, we will have more." He took from the box a pair of shoes. Again, high heels. Someone has a foot fetish, she thought. Shiny patent leather... she expected fishnet stockings to be in there too. He put the rest of its contents in front of her, and she was surprised. Part of the problem of fetish clothing is that she found it all so very tacky, and classless. It was usually the same thing, over and over again, and variety was found in different colors or materials. This garment was unlike anything she had ever seen. It had style. It had grace. And she knew that it would be comfortable enough that she wouldn't have to take it off at the first opportunity. "Do we have a deal?" he asked her. She examined the shoes carefully. Fine Italian shoes. This cost someone a king's fortune. Mr. Hunter's fortune, no doubt. "There is much more to negotiate than just the terms of submission, but I agree to this cursory contract. We can hammer out the details later." She undressed and put on all of the clothes in the box, except for the shoes and stockings. She'd put them on right outside the door before she entered so she wouldn't have to walk very far in them. The garment inside the box was a common tapestry corset that laced up the back. The top of it covered her nipples and forced her breasts up high, creating cleavage she didn't normally have. The thing that made the garment different was that the flowers in the black damask were painted in shades of green, and purple and blues. There were garters in velvet instead of common satin. He gave her an unusual undergarment that took some time to put on. It reminded her of crotchless panties, but they were very tight. When put on correctly, they held her sex and her backside open. Jack asked her more than once if they were uncomfortable or too tight. "I have another size if those don't work." Later, he would check her for red marks from rubbing or chafing. There was a scarf that hung from her neck down the back with cotton fringe that did not tickle. The stockings were silk with no seam. But the toes were cut out and were fastened to her foot by a thickened thong between her toes. She had never seen stockings like them before and when she asked him where he got them he told her that he had made them for her feet. When she was dressed, he pinned up her hair, saying, "You may not think you are pretty, but everyone else will." The coffee had finally kicked it and she did not feel tired. She was ready to go to the ballroom and pay whatever penance the Baron could devise. "Okay, You look fabulous," he said. "Now, before we go in there, I want you first." She was confused. "What? What does that mean?" "On the counter, please." "OHHHHHHH, okay. The guy in the kilt wants me first! Well! Okay!" She hopped on the counter and scooted back. He pulled up the bar chair and sat down. He could not help but notice that she was smiling at him. "I like the kilt," she said. He could smell her at this distance. "Yes. I know you like the kilt. Lay back please." He placed her feet on the edge of the counter so that her legs folded and presented both her feet and her sex to him. There were the leather straps that held her lips open. It was a frame to an ocean view. He was happy to note that she was sexually excited and wet. It would be much easier if he didn't have to force her. Now where to begin? He dropped the chair placing himself at a better level. It was a tough choice, but now would be the time to test her and see if she would be able to hold up her end of the contract. Would she try doing something she had not done before with someone she could not see? He took her foot in his hand and moved the thong so that her foot was naked. He could see the tension in her leg and then he heard her say, "What are you doing?" "This tickles in the beginning, but it will go away. If you struggle too much, I will bind you. If you make too much noise, you will be gagged." She attempted to pull her foot away instinctively. He made a mental note, Anna does not like to be tickled. "Hey. Stop that," he scolded, "Relax your leg, and foot. C'mon, Anna. You have to try." "Sorry," she said weakly. He smiled out of her view. He wondered how other men could live without this kind of thrill, of taking someone they love to a place they've never been. He held her foot immobile with one hand and supported it with the other. Very carefully, he kissed her big toe. She did not struggle. She was trying to be good. He enveloped her big toe with his mouth and sucked on it gently while stroking the top of her foot with his thumb. She sighed and stretched her hands above her head. She was concentrating. Don't move that foot. Submit. Obey. He released her big toe and ran his tongue along the curve of her little toes. She shrieked and strained against his grip. That tickled. She isn't ready for that yet. He kissed the instep of her foot, using his tongue and forefinger to massage it. He kissed her ankle. He tongued her heel. He gently bit the tendon and then sucked on her big toe again. He could hear her breathing. Her leg was not as tense. He took the middle toe into his mouth and sucked on it. When it popped out of his mouth it made a smacking sound. "Do you like this?" he asked, taking the next toe into his mouth and sucking it. "Eat me," she said. He smiled and licked the inner curve of her toes again. She did not strain. She moaned and her head fell to one side. There was a pool forming on the counter where her backside rested on the counter. He inserted his forefinger between her big toe and the next toe down and eased it back and forth. He watched for her reaction when he sucked her big toe again. Tension crossed her face. He placed his free hand on the inside of her thigh while licking her foot more intensely. There were clicking sounds as the inner muscles of her cunt began working against her. The smell. He loved the smell of a sexually aroused woman, especially if she were very clean and shaven. He glanced at her sex again. She was healthy and her legs were more open then they had been before. She had pushed her backside to the very edge of the counter in an effort to be closer to him. He kissed her thigh and examined her more closely in the single overhead light. She tilted her hips up to him and he noticed that she had begun to tremble. He used his thumb and forefinger to massage her asshole and torment her cunt. She sighed deeply. "Do you want me to eat you?" "Yes." "Then you will have to ask me to do it." "Please eat me." He kissed the inside of an outer lip that had been pinned by the undergarment that held her open. "No, no... Ask me properly." He made a cursory sweep of the weeping gash. She jumped, and moaned. "Please," she whispered. "Please master, eat me." He kissed her clitoris very carefully and then sucked the skin above it raising it slightly. She tightened her ass and raised herself to his lips. He kissed the outer lips and licked the space below the entrance where a stream of wetness poured from her. She was sweet, but not salty, and she did not have that musk to her that so many women have. He knew that once he began the kissing of her sex, he would be unable to stop himself or her, so any point he sought to make with her would have to be made now. He teased her with his fingers by entering and exiting her very slowly, "Your body," he whispered, "is my table. Your life is my canvas. Your cunt will never know anyone but me. Do you agree to these terms?" "Eat me." "Do you agree to these terms?" He pressed his fingers in more deeply, and pressed the G-spot. "Master, I beg you, help me." She was in turmoil. "Do you want me to eat you?" "Yes!" "Then agree to my terms." "Please... help me!" He kissed her clitoris with great care and plumbed her depths with some speed. It only drove her further, it would bring her no relief. "Agree," he said, punctuating his point with a strong jab to her G-spot while lipping her clitoris. "Oh God..." she panted, "This is wonderful! This is wonderful! More... Please more..." "You will have no relief until you give me what I want." He pressed his longest finger into her asshole using her own juices as lubricant. Her head went still as she enjoyed the entrance. With the double invasion, she was driven even further closer to orgasm. She raised her hips to his thrust. She moaned periodically. "Master, please.... Please make me come." "No..." he said menacingly. "Agree. Then I will give you what you want, today and every day for the rest of your life." "Oh God! Oh my God!" He would bring her close to orgasm, then he'd switch rhythm or change direction. Sometimes he changed his focus to some other equally erotic location. " 'I am your master.' Say it." "You are my m-master. Please..." "You obey me and me alone." "... you alone." Deep panting. She was incoherent. " 'I agree to my master's terms.' " "I... agree." "Excellent." He stood at the end of the counter and raised his kilt. He entered her carefully in spite of her wailing. She was incredibly hot and wet and tight. He could feel the telltale muscle spasms of a woman desperate for orgasm. His entrance surprised her, and she recoiled for a moment. Brought back to reality, she lost focus. What the hell was she doing? She whimpered, and he noticed that she was still for the first time. He was reminded that orgasm for women begins in their heads, and Arcanna had lost hers. Oh no. He waited for moment for her to adjust. With him still inside her she said, "I'm sorry." "Feels different?" he posed. "Yeah." "Smaller?" "I can't tell. But it's shaped differently." "Does it hurt?" "I feel uncomfortable." "Good." He massaged her clitoris with his free hand, while raising her backside with the other. "The men in my family are not circumcised." She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not leaving," he reassured her. "I don't know if I can do this." "I have complete faith in you. You will do this." "I'm sorry," she said again. "I will bring it back to you. Be patient." It took a moment for him to create a strategy. He quickly assessed all of the things he knew she liked and all of the things his uncle had told him about her preferences. The problem was not with her body, which was begging for relief... it was in her head. "Part of being my submissive," he began, "is being obedient." He pressed into her slowly, careful of her cervix which he had bruised unintentionally with other partners. She tensed and squirmed. "Relax." She was still again, but her body was settling. He could lose the whole experience if he didn't act quickly. "I like this," he confessed to her. "Your cunt is very tight and I've made you very wet. Grip me." She contracted her muscles around him. He tensed in a wave of pleasure. "That was good. God bless Dr. Kegel." She laughed, and he smiled. "Now, if you tense, this will hurt, so don't grip on the instroke. Do you understand what I want?" "Yeah, I think so." He pressed into her and she was warm and deep. When he pulled back she grabbed him with great force, so much force in fact that he felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "Yesssss. This is good. Again." He pressed into her deeply, and she gripped him on the outstroke. He would massage her clitoris gently with warm fingers and then repeat the action. "Oh... Anne, such a hot and tight cunt you are. Yes. Yes." He pressed into her again, and when he was deepest he pressed on the clitoris again. Her eyes closed, and she sighed. "Oh." She breathed. "I need to bind you with your legs open so I can pleasure myself whenever I want. A cunt like yours should be fucked often." Again he pressed into her but this time he used her thighs to steady her while he went as far as he could go. He made sure that he pressed against the clit and that his balls were firmly against her asshole before drawing back. She gave a weak spasm. "Obey me..." He pressed into her again, with more force and speed. She yielded and began to breathe heavily. She was beginning to enjoy him. "Obey me, cunt." "Yes, sir." He was pleased and relieved. "I'm going to make you cum. You will obey me. I will have complete control of you and your body, and I will make you come." "Yes." "That's good. I can hear you, how excited you are. My cock and my balls slapping against your ass. You want me to fuck you." She was more urgent this time. "Yes." "You like it when I do this to you. You want me to spill my jizz. Fill you full of my seed." She sighed deeply, and he felt the strong grip of the beginning of a very powerful need. "Arcanna... I will love you, and other masters will want you, but only I can do this to you. Only I can fuck you this way." She was beginning to writhe, and raise up to him. "Yes... oh God yes..." "Do you like the way I am fucking you?" "Yes... oh God yes." "Do you want more?" "Please master, give me more." "What do you want me to do to you?" She was losing control again, and he liked the way it made him feel to be the only person in their coupling who had any control at all. She was panting and her head would thrash from side to side. "What do you want me to do to you?" he pressed again. "Master.... Use me." "I intend to use you heavily. But right now.. what do you want?" Panting. "Oh... I... oh.... Please." He pressed into her more deeply and massaged her clit with greater strength. "Milk me... yessss... that's good. Milk the cum from my cock." She would grip him on the instroke and the outstroke. He would not last very long against that kind of pleasure. "You please me," he said, with the last bit of his coherence. "Take it... take it from me." He was now moving with quick speed and he was running headlong into the edge of an orgasm. He completely forgot about her, her pleasure... all he saw was his blind need to fuck as hard and fast as he possibly could. He would fill her full of cream and make her take it all. Take it... take it... bitch. "More... milk it... you want the cum, I know you do." "Master, I can't ... I can't hold back. Please let me cum... grant... me permission..." "No," he said cruelly. "I am not ready for your orgasm. Keep milking my cock until I tell you to stop." She was shaking, her hands were holding her sex as open as she could get it trying desperately to push him further inside her. She was so close, he hated to make her wait, but it was necessary. It was all in her head. She became more desperate and she began begging more loudly, "Master, I can't hold it. Help me." "Do you think you are ready for me to fill you full of hot cum?" "Master... please...." He couldn't stop it. It was like a tsunami: hard, fast, powerful, and unpredictable. He began coming and he commanded her to follow. "Go... go on... cum for me... come for me." There was a wild flailing and wailing and the sound of her climax echoed. He hoped they heard it in the ballroom. He'd fucked his slave, and made her obey him. She was thrashing still, and the waves of it gripped him. She would pull the cum from his cock. He could feel himself gushing, the semen rising from his balls. His muscles began to cramp, and she began to still. When she finally stopped and was quiet, she was damp and quivering. There was a long silence filled with the gasping for air and then she said, "Shit." "Are you okay?" "No. I will never be the same again. Thank you." He pulled from her and commanded her to stay in position. The kilt fell neatly into place and gave no sign, not even a wrinkle, to the wonders underneath. "Oh... oh my God," she said. "You stay there. Don't move." He brought a white washcloth with warm water and sat again in the bar chair at the base of her sex and the counter's edge. He cleaned her very carefully, and was very gentle. She would sigh and murmur with his attention to her detail. She was not bleeding, as he half expected her to be, but she would be sore tomorrow. "Jack, that was amazing." He laughed and said, "That was the first course." Copyright 2001. All rights reserved by subjukated. You may not alter the content of my writings in any way shape or form under any circumstances. I am not responsible for any actions taken due to the content of my writing. If you feel that you have reached this Copyright text in error.... Oh wait. Never mind. Authoress Contact Information: Subjukated@aol.com ; AIM nick: Subjukated. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice----- Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. The post was sent as an email attachment and has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software. ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice----- ------- ASSM Moderation System Notice-------- This post has been reformatted by the ASSM Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting. -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+