Message-ID: <40684asstr$1044411006@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20030201045314.1324.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Crimson Dragon X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 1 Feb 2003 04:53:14 -0000 Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [009/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon} Date: Tue, 4 Feb 2003 21:10:06 -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: RuiJorge, newsman -----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 9 ==================================================================== (C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) ==================================================================== "I don't want to do this," she whispered. Her fingers halted after the first button had released. He smiled gently, and spoke kindly, in contradiction to the gun he still held on her. "Sandra, I know. You've been nude before, every morning in the shower. Every morning before you dress. In front of lovers, doctors." She shook her head. "But ..." Again he spoke knowingly. "But not in front of a strange man waving a gun around. Would this make you feel better?" He tucked the gun into his waistband. Sandra was sure that he could retrieve it and shoot her before she'd taken two steps, but it did make her feel better, so she nodded. "You've been naked before, and it won't be forever. You won't even remember it." His words made little sense to her, but she was beyond arguing. She accepted his words, and continued to unbutton her blouse. A flush overtook her face, but his eyes seemed to remain on hers instead of watching her bra slip into view. Her blouse, and then her slacks tumbled to the floor in an untidy heap. She worked her shoes through the fabric, stepping carefully to the side. She re-crossed her arms in front of her, looking up hopefully. "Satisfied. I did what you want." He grinned. "Sandra, you must know better than that." She did. He wouldn't be satisfied until she was standing there buck naked, shivering. "Please. My purse ..." He motioned at her to continue. She sighed, willed back another tear, and worked her arms up behind her, fumbling with the clasps to her brassiere. She hesitated for a moment before slipping the straps from her shoulders, holding the thin white fabric to her breasts protectively. "Please?" He shook his head patiently. She took a deep breath, and finally dropped the cloth to the ground to join her pants and her blouse. This time, she wasn't able to control the blush, could see it rising across the tops of her breasts. "Sandra?" She looked up, but immediately dropped her eyes to the floor. "Lower your arms." She shook her head. "I don't want to hurt you. You will lower them eventually. Get it over with." His voice was kind, belying the words that tumbled from his mouth. She gathered her courage and dropped her arms from shielding her breasts. "Oh god," she whispered. "Panties, too." Knowing it was useless to beg, she slipped her thumbs into the waistband of her plain cotton briefs, and slipped them down her legs. Her right foot flipped the wispy cotton into the pile. While she stood, hands at her sides, she pressed her legs together in an attempt at modesty. She suspected that her modesty was in for a shaking. "Shoes. Jewellery." She looked up sharply. For some reason, losing her shoes, standing barefoot in front of him seemed worse somehow than removing the rest of her clothes. "Shoes?" "Naked, Sandra. I want you bare." "Why? Please, why?" He didn't answer her, and she suspected that even he didn't know. She was beginning to believe that he wasn't going to rape her. He wouldn't have waited this long, wouldn't have asked her to remove her shoes and jewellery if rape was on his agenda. She was already accessible, if he'd wanted to rape her, after all. "Why?" she repeated. "I'm naked, aren't I? All the important parts hung out for you to see." But his eyes were on her face, not her body. "Shoes," he repeated firmly. In other situations, people saw her bare feet all the time -- in the pool, at the beach, even walking around the house. But to be barefoot here, in her office, in front of him? With a sigh, she worked the pumps off with her toes, hesitating with the first, and nearly kicking off the second. Without any hesitation, she worked the watch off her wrist, the necklace from her throat, and the earrings from her ears. She held the various gold metal in her palm, offering it to him. Maybe he wanted the gold, not cash? He motioned her to put in on the desk -- didn't take it. Moving naked, in the office, surprised her, the sensations of the carpet against her bare feet, the air moving around her skin. She dropped her jewellery in a pile beside her blotter. So ordinary, wasn't it? "Satisfied, now? Can I get dressed?" "Oh no, Sandra, you look much nicer naked. Honestly." In a strange way, she was flattered, but not enough not to wish that he'd let her clad herself again. "Please?" He shook his head. "Clean up the clothes, Sandra. Give them to me." "Huh?" "You heard," he said with a little more threat in his voice. He pointed towards the heap of her clothing. The pile looked too small to have wrapped around her nudity. Slowly she moved to kneel beside her scattered clothes. Her fingers quickly folded the fabric as if it had emerged from the wash. Soon, she had a stack lying in front of her on the carpet. She picked it up and turned on her knees, her clothing cradled in her arms. "Thank-you," he remarked. He'd watched her perform the ritual in silence, and as she turned, he retrieved her clothes from her arms, placing them on the file cabinet. Somehow, it made it worse, seeing her clothes there, so out of place, so close, and yet so far away. Sandra slowly climbed to her feet, her arms re-crossing automatically across her chest. Her nipples, hardened by the cool air, pressed into her forearms. He didn't force her to lower her arms, this time. "Why me?" she asked simply. "Because you were here." "You work here. In the lab, don't you?" He nodded. He seemed to be humouring her, almost allowing her to talk for a minute. "You know me, even if I don't remember you, right? Have you been planning this long? Have I done something to deserve this, withheld pay, withheld funds?" The man remained silent. Sandra took this to mean she was on the right track. "I. I can't control funds. If they aren't there, they aren't. If I've done something to offend you, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I'll redirect funds to your program. Somehow. I'm so sorry." The man looked up, staring into her eyes. She involuntarily fell back a step. "No, Sandra. You haven't done anything to me, or my department. I'm doing this because I can, and because most of the women in the building aren't ... my type. You won't remember this. I promise. It isn't happening." But it was happening. The air against her bare skin reminded her of it every second. "I've done nothing to deserve this? I was in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Somehow that made it worse. She was innocent, but somehow still naked and shivering in her office with a damn gun pointed at her. "Right place at the right time," he said quietly. She shook her head. "No." He smiled, as if her opinion didn't really matter. She supposed that it didn't. Not really. "What do you want from me?" she asked quietly. "I want you to crawl." "Crawl?" "On all fours." "You're kidding. Why?" He smiled again. "Sandra? Why isn't important. Not really. If you want for this to end, you need to crawl for me. Once around the office." "Crawl," she repeated incredulously. "That's humiliating." He nodded slowly. Oh, he knew. His hand fell to the butt of the gun in his waistband. Suddenly, she was certain that she was getting off easy, that this man was capable of hurting her, of controlling her in far worse ways than to ask her to crawl around naked on the floor. A ball formed in the pit of her stomach, but in the end, she fell to her knees, and rocked forward, hands and knees on the carpet. Naked, she began to crawl slowly around the perimeter of the office, breasts swaying beneath her, tears falling silently. He watched her moving intently, a smile of remembrance on his lips. When she completed the circuit, her knees ached, and her biceps tingled with the unaccustomed motion. "Can I get up now?" she asked. Instead of answering, he moved towards her. On her hands and knees, she couldn't move quickly enough to avoid him. His hands tugged at the back of her head, and in surprise, she watched as her blonde tresses fell to hang, unbound, beside her face. He released my hair, she thought. Why? In a moment, his hand was entwined in her hair, lifting it from shielding her face. He tugged, and Sandra cried out in pain, beginning to rise off her hands to alleviate the pressure. Then she noticed that the pressure had a direction. Sure she would be punished if she rose from the crawl, she threw herself forward to follow the makeshift leash of her own hair. "Please," she gasped. "That hurts." He loosened the pressure on her scalp, but only a little. Slowly, she crawled to the doorway. The intent was clear. She was to follow him like a pet being walked, a naked, crawling, dog or cat. She could feel the hot flush of blood rushing into her cheeks, and she choked on relief that her face was hidden towards the floor. Suddenly, she realised in which direction she was crawling. Oh God, not into the main office. While she had been naked and crawling in her own office, door closed, and somewhat private, while embarrassing, she thought she could handle it. Not outside. No. She balked, pulling back despite the pain his hand in her hair caused. He tugged once, causing her to cry out in pain, but then relented. She suspected that it was a mistake, but she rose to her knees as best she could, her hair still grasped in his hand. His form was close to her, too close. He seemed to recognise the problem. "Sandra? There's nobody but us. They can't see you out there, and I can't leave you in here." "Please. Let me go. I'm not a dog." He tugged on her hair, hard, forcing her to fall back to a crawling position. She cried out, again, but managed to stifle the real scream that threatened to rise from her throat. He paused after opening the door. Please let the invisible wall prevent us from leaving. Please. "If I want you to bark," he said ominously. "You'll be a dog." And she believed him. Oh yes, she believed him. The carpet moved silently past her eyes, stretching forever, as she crawled over the floor, following the pressure from her hair, transmitted incessantly from his fingers. -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.3ia Charset: noconv iQEVAwUBPjl1YUxM3srBk85hAQEeggf/YMOzQphVNmfT8O5W+nywWDX/mqCVjVkg iTjURLFG73dOQLc0U/rlZZHj1Y4CdeKIeiyPb7vIQVs4zL0c0QQjedP2hWdbnMCf uh4u4cQZW5WoCkAn7zodU6KaFsw1E/cHUjA5FA1HeJzgDbQ2Uw8qCv83SX8zB/IU VYRGhw2gKQkCGZRcD5UXeShlVrECYaak4U8/XFU/3+Z2eUXYCddj6fjzMsS08gn+ kWhKBCVmOvHA0eyVWGYNQdlh1b3XDUEXmPw+6WOEfmsTZAk44Nd877+hVfbgyqFj ErMXTN/T1sK4RE43t5Gu4SHCjU1e+lzCTLjjhC9G8a8ZwhEcDDNrjQ== =IY79 -----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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+