Message-ID: <42438asstr$1052907002@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: secretkeeper3@comcast.net (Secret) X-Original-Message-ID: <77a02c00.0305131511.45a60cf3@posting.google.com> Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit NNTP-Posting-Date: 13 May 2003 23:11:14 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 13 May 2003 16:11:13 -0700 Subject: {ASSM} Story Idea Date: Wed, 14 May 2003 06:10:02 -0400 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 This is a story idea I had, but is not actually in story form yet. I don't usually write in first person, but my ideas tend to come to me that way, in the form of fantasies. I am being dragged down to the shooting range in Bonner, by Ruhulessin and Storms. Ruhu is mercilessly dragging me across the sharp rocks in my bare feet, and I'm begging him and crying. I fall once and beg him to carry me. Finally, for whatever reason, he does, and as we arrive, I cling to him, begging him to save me...to protect me. Little do I know, that they intend to throw me in the river. I bury my face in his chest, clinging to him, pleading, and he slaps me away in disgust. I recover slowly, looking from him, to Storms, and weighing my options, I once again crawl towards Ruhulessin, craving comfort or protection. The ropes attached to the very heavy rock are brought out, and as they attempt to tie me into them, a struggle ensues. I manage to grab one of their guns and point it at them, making them temporarily back off. But Storms provokes me, seeing my inability to shoot, and I fling the gun in the river, helplessly, knowing that my last chance is gone. "I can't.." I whimper, looking into Ruhu's eyes, praying for sympathy. Suddenly he turns around and starts walking away, as Storms approaches me, with murder in his eyes. "That was my Godamn gun, Bitch," he curses at me, coming within reach. I just look up at him sadly, waiting to see how he will hurt me next. I even reach out my hand so he can pull me up into whatever hell awaits me, and as I do I start to cry. "What is your problem," he growls. "You always used to be such a Bitch." At his harsh words, I pull my hand back, and flinch away from him. But he grabs my hand even as it retreats, and jerks me to my feet. I sway, and then come up against him, looking fearfully up into his eyes. "Don't hurt me," I whisper, tearfully. "Please.." And as he draws his other weapon, I lay my head submissivley against his chest. I know that this is the end, as I hear him cock the gun, but I don't want to fight anymore. I squeeze his hand and wait for the bullet, sobbing against his shirt in terror. I feel the cold metal against my temple, as he caresses me with the gun. "What's the matter," he whispers, uncertainty, evident in his voice. "You can kill but not be killed? Be merciless, but yet expect mercy?" I don't answer, afraid that defending myself could set off another dangerous argument. He's completely convinced that I murdered Sargeant Hammondtree, and that no amount of prison would be sufficient punishment. He let's go of my hand and grabs a handful of my hair. I can tell that he wants to rough me up again, as he is flooded with memories of his dead friend and role model. He jerks back my head, forcing me to look up at him with wide eyes. I shiver uncontrollably in the light drizzle that has been falling all night. The two officers wear full unifoms with light jackets, but I am dressed only in a spagetti strap tank top, and thin cotton shorts. The afternoon had been warm when they arrested me. He pulls back his other arm to slap me, and his hand lands in a pool of tears.. The blow wasn't hard, but I know that's the first of many to come. He's pacing me so that he can beat me longer. I stare into his dark eyes, wondering how he can do this. The second blow is harder, cracking my lower lip. The rain quickly washes away the traces of blood, leaving my face a clean slate for his next assault. But his next assault is different. He grabs the front of my shirt, and starts to rip it off. "Storms..please stop...I'm sorry," I beg in cracking tones. I now face a new terror. Rape. "Oh God, please don't do this, Storms. Please, please, please don't..." I start to become incoherent as panic sets it. This is worse than death. The fear in my eyes must be something intense, because he lets go of my shirt, and takes a step away from me. But his face contorts into an awful smile, and he yells over his shoulder,"Ron! We don't have to kill the bitch! Come back!" Comments are more than welcome. Please let me know if you think this story could go anywhere. Thanx. Luv, Cat -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+