Message-ID: <40611asstr$1043698205@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20030127185149.103.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Crimson Dragon X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 27 Jan 2003 18:51:49 -0000 Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [006/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon} Date: Mon, 27 Jan 2003 15:10:05 -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: gill-bates, dennyw -----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE----- ==================================================================== Author's Shortened Preface: ==================================================================== In the interests of reducing bandwidth the full preface is now available at: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www I would encourage you to read it at least once. If you ignore the full preface and end up offended, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Caveat emptor. The really important bits: This is a work of erotic fiction. As such there may be scenes with nudity, sex, and even questionable non-consensual bondage. If you are a minor, or you are irresponsible at any age, you shouldn't be reading this -- find somewhere else to play. I won't be offended. If you are looking for a quick stroke story, this probably isn't it. For a piece of writing of 157 chapters, there is remarkably little sex. You've been warned. Twice. This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon. Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my words. Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note. Now, if you are still with me, onto the story, - Crimson (dcrimson@yahoo.com) http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www ==================================================================== Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) Chapter 6 ==================================================================== (C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) ==================================================================== The girl sat huddled in the corner of the large, pristine, bedroom, hugging her knees to her chest. The tears had mostly stopped rolling down her cheeks, but they would begin again, soon enough. She was surrounded by the stuffed animals of her childhood, teddy bears, and tigers, and dolls all staring at her, sympathising as they always did -- silently and with real compassion. A noise, a footstep, brought her eyes to rivet on the brass doorknob. Shadows, two shoes against the light of the hallway, revealed themselves in the gap below the door for long minutes. The girl began to shake. "Please, no more," she whispered. The doorknob turned. A large man, in his fifties, entered the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that her friends, what few she was allowed, had fathers that knocked before entering their bedrooms. Fathers that didn't scream at them constantly. Fathers that didn't try to force their daughters to become things that they didn't want to be. Fathers that didn't hit them. Fathers that didn't touch them. She shrunk back, trying to become small, wishing that she could disappear, become invisible. Something. "Nicole??" His voice rose in a warped singsong expression. The girl refused to look up, refused to raise her eyes. It would earn her a cuff, but that was better than the alternative, wasn't it? Wasn't it? A single tear rolled down her left cheek, and she sniffled softly. He aimed the blow to hit her cheek where she'd been struck before, striking the purple bruise that was beginning to form under her right eye. Nicole screamed involuntarily, but quickly tried to silence herself. "No more," she begged. Her hands rose to protect her face, but she knew that wouldn't work -- not for long. The next blow struck her unprotected abdomen. The air whooshed out of her, and she collapsed, silently sobbing, struggling to catch her breath. The man stood there awhile, contemplating her from above. He nudged her prone form with the toe of his expensive wingtips. When she didn't respond, he raised his right foot and plunged it into her ribs. She wasn't sure, but she thought she heard a crack. A sickening crack. She screamed again, her hands pushing at the floor, struggling to rise. Slowly, sobbing, she rose, despite the ragged pain in her face and body. She made it to her knees, her jean clad thighs resting on her bare heels, hands resting upturned on her legs. She did not raise her eyes. She spoke dully, without emotion, but with the odd gasp. "All right. You'll get what you want anyway." She opened her mouth wide and closed her eyes, knowing exactly at what height her mouth fell. No, she was nearly sure that most daughters didn't have to contend with this. He turned away from her, almost sulking, almost as if disappointed that she'd finally broken, given in to him. Her hands rested easily on her thighs, the denim warm. As he began to walk towards her bed, his back to her, she began to shake. She willed the worst of it back. God, her cheek throbbed, and she was nearly sure he'd cracked a rib this time; it hurt to breathe, so she quickened her breathing to short, fast bursts. Each inhalation drove slivers of pain back into her lungs. Nevertheless, she tried to remain motionless on her knees, her mouth open. Waiting. It could be worse, she thought to herself. Oh yes, it could be worse. She knew what worse was. He rummaged in her bedside stand for a moment. Crazily, she noticed that the red numerals on her bedside clock radio had flipped to 12:13. Almost time for lunch. Except that she knew the type of salty liquid lunch she was going to get today. And that after he was gone, how she'd purge him from her belly, despite the racking pain in her ribs. He returned with a pair of handcuffs swinging easily in his left paw. She shuddered, closed her mouth for a moment letting the saliva, what little there was, wet her tongue. "I'll do what you want, you don't need to use those," she whispered. He smiled then, and ignored her. Almost gently, he tugged her hands from her thighs, behind her. She thought about twisting, about climbing to her feet, running. But she wouldn't have made it. She'd have risked it, if she thought he might kill her. But he wouldn't. Oh no, killing her would be too easy. Instead, she felt the cold bands of steel pressed cruelly into the skin of her wrists. Holding her here. For him. She wasn't sure, but she thought the steel might actually have broken the skin this time. Suddenly, he was back in front of her. Without real thought, she opened her mouth again, closing her eyes. She expected to hear the inevitable sound of a zipper, slowly opening. Unless he made her do it. Somehow, with her teeth perhaps. Instead, the sharpness of his movement surprised her. A single finger placed inside the throat of her thin blouse, lowering suddenly and viciously, buttons breaking their bonds and scattering about the room. She hadn't worn a bra -- wasn't even sure if she still owned one. Her breasts and nipples fell into view, small hills and valleys on her chest. Sometimes she wished that she didn't have breasts, even the relatively small ones that she owned. Less to hurt that way. He straightened and leered at her. She shivered, and lowered her eyes. "Useless small fucking tits you got. Sometimes, I doubt if you're even my fucking daughter. Fucking whore, your mother. Probably fucked the mailman while I was away." Oh, that it were so. But the family resemblance was too much, no matter how much she wished it weren't. "Look at me, you fucking slut." She raised her eyes, obediently, her breasts jutting obscenely from the fabric of her blouse, her hands secured behind her, mouth open as if a receptacle for vile things. Knowing it might make things go faster, might reduce the time he spent in here with her, she almost unconsciously thrust out her chest, obscenely inviting. "Now, Nicole. You've been home for a fucking year. I've had to fucking support you while you try to make up your mind." Her mind whirled. Had it been a year already? Had she lived through this a year? It was enough to make her cry, completely oblivious to the pain in her body. He got away with it because he was loaded. Could bribe the Judges, the cops, if they were even interested in him. And even if he weren't loaded, he had her, didn't he? Nicole, the ultimate bribe. He was the upstanding rich citizen loaded to the hilt. He could roll in cash, if he wanted. The mansion on the hill, with its high walls, its thick walls, its ghosts, where nobody could hear her screams, or if they could, they didn't care. Support her? He could support a coven of concubines if he wanted. But he didn't. Did he? Nicole felt like laughing and crying, all at the same time. Why risk concubines, when a single daughter would do? A tear found its way to her right cheek. When it entered her lips, it tasted salty but clean. "Make up your fucking mind, you fucking useless whore." I've made up my mind, she screamed in the security of her mind. I'll do anything to get away from you. Even go to the damn medical school you want. Anything. But she'd told him that. Every day since she'd been home. Every day that she'd been on her knees here, hurting and wondering if it would ever end. Slowly she closed her mouth, the dryness not alleviating this time. Her mouth felt like cotton filled it. Oh yes, she knew what that felt like, too. "I'll go to medical school. If that's what you want. I'll go," she whispered. Without warning, his hand emerged like a snake, biting her again, same spot on her right cheek. The pain flared like a living creature, eating at her, dissolving her nerves like venom. The scream erupted involuntarily, her hands twisting in the harsh metal, trying to protect herself. She was sure that she could feel the faint wetness of blood tricking down her left hand. "I'll go," she whispered. Knowing what was expected of her, she opened her mouth again. Wide. She closed her eyes. Maybe he'll go away. Maybe this time, he'll be satisfied. Maybe. Maybe. She cried out as his fingers pinched her exposed nipples, one and then the other, but the sound of her voice was low and guttural, almost like an animal, almost like ... if she didn't know better, she could have mistaken it for the sounds of passion, if she'd known what passion was. The man probably would take it as a sign, but she couldn't stop her throat from betraying her misery. The clock flipped to 12:19, perhaps running a little fast. She closed her eyes again, her wrists fighting the bonds futilely. After a moment, she heard the beginning of a slow noise, the unmistakable sound of a zipper lowering mere centimetres from her closed eyelids. Yes, she knew that sound well. Had nightmares about it. Please no. Not again. "Fucking whoring slut," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. His fingers trailed along the side of her left breast. She flinched at the touch. "Cunt." He straightened again, the ugly smell of his breath retreating from her face. Nicole tried to open her mouth a little wider. The transition was smooth and sharp. The low moan of the wind died outside her window. Nicole's low moan of pain and prayer silenced with the rest of the world. The man's hand paused halfway down, the zipper stopping on its journey south, slow and steady. The pain eased in Nicole's cheek, but not long enough to register on her mind. The involuntary shakes of her body ceased, her bare breasts frozen from quivering in pain and resignation. Preternatural silence engulfed the universe. <---===***===---> Dawn shook her head in bewilderment. What kind of question is that? She whispered to herself, surprised that nobody looked up from being hunched over exam papers writing furiously to see what the low sound from the back of the room was. "Name your favourite nebula? Why is it your favourite?" She shook her head, rereading the question, not quite believing it. Immediately, her mind began to wander. Crab? Horsehead? Planetary? She glanced up at the clock on the wall. Thirteen minutes to go before the exam was done. Would it be better to go over the remainder of the exam, checking her answers, or write a quick answer to the nebula insanity? She sighed, began writing something, anything, about the Horsehead nebula. Professor was probably trying to rattle the students, those who answered anything picking up some extra credits. And she could use the extra credits, she knew. Damn John. Being this tired for an exam wasn't helpful, but she thought that she would pass despite it all. She simply didn't have a hope of getting an excellent mark, as she normally did. She glanced up at the clock again: 12:18. The transition was smooth and sharp for most of the world. Dawn felt the static, as though lightning was going to strike her, before anything else became apparent. She looked up sharply at the sensation, nearly crying out alarm despite the quiet surroundings. In the end, she clamped her lips together and waited for the electricity to dissipate. Around her, she sensed the fabric of the universe bending and rolling in tortured, silent screeches. She glanced up at the clock on the wall, again. It read: 12:18:47. The second hand stuttered, hesitated, skipped one second, then fell back. Vertigo infused her, and the nausea, similar to the previous evening, crept through her body, causing her to double over, hands pressed weakly into her belly. Her nose pressed insistently into the desk in front of her, the smell of paper and ink wafting up at her from the intermittent graffiti. This time, the nausea didn't subside, but continued to rip through her belly like a tidal wave upon a quiet ocean. She gagged, but managed to control her purging reflex. Only marginally. Her scream echoed for a moment through the room, but nobody looked up to see what the disturbance was. Her pen snapped as her fingers involuntarily flexed with a strength that she doubted that she had. A blow, like a punch from a martial arts instructor, knocked her without warning from the bottom numbing chair. Her exam paper remained rooted to the desk as though her departure were that of a insubstantial ghost. Her breath knocked from her lungs, she hit the floor and lay as still as the remainder of the world. The students and the proctor for the exam stared impassively, through frozen eyes, their limbs frozen, writing, or stretching, looks of exam concentration on their faces. All fell silent in the room. Preternatural silence engulfed the universe. After a moment, a low moan broke the silence. The little finger on Dawn's right hand twitched, her staring eyes flit against her eyelids. Another low groan escaped into the silent world. But that was all. Despite her struggle, Dawn passed out, blackness, blessed blackness, descending upon her. -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.3ia Charset: noconv iQEVAwUBPjV/fExM3srBk85hAQHETgf/X0a7OlaTFqdgb/AnNz9APy6J8whwFMyo 1YerewrDLIi41zZr8KKugUxsSbNEcE+gCuP5D44U5E/iDW8tAJ9cHNawBm6A4VG9 tf9z+3l0CJfzhwZQ9SopjXwucNVyOt71eBTtBWW1xzWfl+BI4LbXcm7+q+0PwzcL YD+BHMyfAMz+yJ741BiG8CEMMOs9uno0FPLA42dFChZBm9xYeS9hS1kSuqJajs+D cAm3SZ4NAgtht2XEsrukVUX5P1R5fRQzyGgKRgKlj4jcBj5u/ZzBfO2dmmD3YSgy 75vzn3anjTwfO4K1DLr+wQU2m0wPIFmHlkGNpqByltdedtLCvBnTsg== =SIGG -----END PGP SIGNATURE----- -- 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: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+