Message-ID: <42598asstr$1053727806@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Message-ID: <20030523180208.18508.qmail@nym.alias.net> From: Crimson Dragon X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 23 May 2003 18:02:08 -0000 Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [081/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon} Date: Fri, 23 May 2003 18:10:06 -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 -----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 81 ==================================================================== (C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com) ==================================================================== Neither the gunman nor Blake watched as she removed her clothing slowly, carefully folding each item and placing it on the floor at her feet. She was more aware of Johnson voraciously watching as her skin became more and more accessible. She halted as her bra and her panties remained as her last vestige of modesty. "Please, isn't this enough?" she pleaded. She hated herself for pleading, but she couldn't stand stripping these last bits of cloth with Johnson staring at her. The man with the gun turned slowly from talking to Blake to regard her for a moment. "Everything," he reiterated. "I'm sorry." "But, Mr. Johnson. Not in front of him." The gunman shrugged and turned towards the man seating in the chair in front of the desk. "You'll see her soon enough. You don't have to watch this." The man averted his eyes towards the windows, with a quick look of fear in them. The gunman turned back towards the frightened half-naked girl. "Put the clothing on the desk when you're done," he said dismissively. Monique glanced at Johnson who was staring out the window. "Please, why," she asked. "Why do I have to be naked?" He didn't turn from regarding the old man. "Control," he said. A flicker of understanding passed over Blake's face as if the last piece of the puzzle had fallen neatly into place without the need to smash it with a hammer. She glanced at Johnson again, and shivered. The man would see her, but somehow the act of removing her clothes was worse than the eventual outcome. She'd been naked for men before, of course. But she honestly couldn't remember if she'd ever stripped for one before - -- not this blatantly anyway. With a sigh, she turned her back to the three men, and reached up behind herself. Once the decision was made, her bra and her panties fell from her body in quick succession. She gathered up her clothing, debated throwing them at the gunman to distract him, but then decided against it. She stepped forward. The carpet felt odd beneath her suddenly bare feet. She placed the small, neat pile on the corner of the desk, aware that Johnson was watching her. She tried to turn herself from his angle of vision, but knew that no matter what she did, he'd be able to see her skin. She bent as modestly as she could and picked up her shoes, placing them on top of the pile. Then she ran towards the door, placing her bare back against it, her arms shielding her more private areas. Regarding him with hatred, she spoke quietly interrupting what sounded suspiciously like a political discussion between the gunman and Blake. "Please, I've stripped. Please, can I dress now?" He turned towards her, annoyance on his face. Even the sight of her standing naked by the doorway didn't erase the irritation from his face. She'd actually disturbed him from conversation. Her. Naked and cold. Soorrrry. "No," he said simply. "Then what do you expect me to do?" she said. "Crawl." "Crawl?" "Yes, twice around the office should give me enough time." "See here, young man. That is completely undignified." The gunman turned towards the old man, a smile on his lips. "Not nearly as undignified as she will be." "You gave your word." "And I will not rape her any more than I rape any of the others." He turned again, this time the gun aimed at her chest where her arms tried to protect the chastity of her bare breasts. "I thought I asked you to crawl." "I can't." Her eyes searched out Blake, hoping for help. But the old man was tied to his chair -- she'd had to restrain him there a long time ago. At least, it seemed like a long time ago. Instead of helping her, the old man sighed. "Miss Pelletier, you do know how to crawl, don't you?" She shook her head in denial. "It's better than being shot." "I'd rather be shot." "No. You wouldn't. But it's not your skin you should be worried about. You are far too precious to him to shoot." The gunman sighed, and stood. Slowly, he walked around the desk until he stood beside the old man's chair. He rested the gun barrel against Blake's temple. "Miss Pelletier?" Blake said carefully. He didn't seem afraid, but his body shook a little. "I'm old. I'll willingly die for this, but he will make you crawl. He'll find something else, after I'm slumped here lifeless in front of you. It's up to you. I'll willingly go, if that's what you want. But if you let him shoot me, I wish you the best of luck, and well being, my dear. You are talented, and I do believe in you." The words brought more tears to Monique's eyes, and she wavered. The image of blood and the small hole appearing at Mr. Blake's temple, entered her mind. His lifeless body accused her. He meant what he was saying, she knew him well enough to know that. He would die gladly for her, but he was also correct -- this monster holding the weapon on her would make her crawl. Somehow. Pain. Torture. Or simply killing everyone that she cared about. Worse, the next person wouldn't die, would suffer for her stubbornness. Images of inquisition chambers haunted her. She wasn't even sure she could accept Johnson screaming as his knees were shot. Horrible images flit behind her closed eyelids. "I'm sorry," she said. She saw his finger tense, but then relax as the meaning of her words became apparent. She lowered herself to her knees, and then to her palms. The carpet pressed into her bare skin. He watched her as she began to crawl. "I hate you. So much," she whispered. <---===***===---> Both the gunman and Blake shifted their attention to whatever discussion she'd interrupted. She swore that she wouldn't interrupt the man again, if she was ever given the chance. Unfortunately, Johnson watched her as she began to crawl across the carpet, following the wall. She refused to look at the man, but she felt his eyes on her skin like a mouse feels the attention of a wolf. Christ, the guy with the gun wasn't even watching her. She was crawling, naked, and he was talking to her boss. She felt like screaming into the quiet room, capturing his attention. But that was just her ego. Intellectually, she knew it wasn't smart to gather any more attention than necessary from the man. Especially while she was in this position. Naked and humiliated. But she had saved Blake, somehow. The gunman would have shot the old man, and she genuinely liked Blake. If crawling a little prevented bloodshed, then she would crawl. Her hand moved, then her leg. It was awkward, and slow. The voices droned on as she crawled under the windows and past the filing cabinets, closer to Johnson and then further. It felt like it would never end. <---===***===---> She stood, her body flushed, and her heart beat heavily beneath her ribs. Crawling wasn't as easy an exercise as it looked. She shielding her body again as best she could with her arms, and remained silent. So sure was she that he hadn't been paying attention to her, that she'd taken a step towards him before she realised that she meant to strike him. "That would be unwise, Monique," the gunman said without turning from his conversation with Blake. He had eyes in the back of his head. Christ. Monique gasped, and stepped back until her back touched the cool grain of the door again. Johnson watched the entire mini-drama with cool interest. She sighed, and waited. <---===***===---> He touched her hair and she stepped to the right to escape his fingers, flinching. The gunman didn't seem upset at her movement, but she had expected the pain of a bullet, whatever it felt like, to strike her in the ribs where the gun was currently aiming. The pain never came. "Over there," he ordered. She swallowed heavily but walked naked to where he'd indicated. It was uncomfortably close to Johnson's chair. "Hands down," he said. "Please no." She was standing immediately in front of Johnson, his hungry eyes scanned her pale skin to the extent they were able. Monique glanced over her shoulder at Blake. The old man gave her a sympathetic glance, but she understood that he couldn't help her. With a sigh, she lowered her hands. Johnson drank in the sight of her bare breasts and body. "Kneel," he said. She felt his touch on her shoulder. "Why?" "Kneel," he repeated. The pressure fell more insistently at her upper arm. She lowered herself to her knees. He hopped up to sit next to her clothing on top of the desk, brushing aside Blake's nameplate. She turned away from Johnson's thighs to regard him over her shoulder. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. "Because I can. I could force you to pleasure Johnson over there with your mouth. Only your mouth. For hours." "See here, young man, you promised not to rape her," Blake said quietly. The gunman laughed. "Technically, it would be Johnson raping her." "A technicality." "Aren't lawyers all interested in technicalities?" Blake shook his head, disappointment clearly on his face. Not disappointment that she would be raped, but that he perceived that the Timeman would break his word. The gunman shot Blake a warning glance that Monique didn't understand, and turned back towards the kneeling, naked lawyer. "How would you like to have sex with Johnson?" Monique looked up into the older lawyer's face. It was clear that he wouldn't mind it. Not one bit. "I wouldn't," she said dully. "Please, why are you doing this to me?" "I could force you to," he continued, ignoring her question. The image of Blake lifeless in the chair returned to her mind. To prevent that? Would she have sex with Johnson? How far was she willing to go? "Yes, you probably could. Haven't I done enough for you? I crawled for you, for Christsakes, and you didn't even notice." "I noticed, and I will next time, too." Monique shuddered at the implication of that. "I won't force you, though. Do you know why?" "Because it's not right? Because I don't want to? Simple human rights?" "You think too much like a lawyer, my dear. It is because Johnson is a slime. More so than I. He's enjoying your ... situation ... as much as I, but second hand. There is no guilt for him. He's tied into a chair. And if I make you have sex with him? Why ... it's not his fault, is it? He's enjoying you, but with no risk." Monique stayed silent. His words were no surprise to her. "No," the gunman continued. "Johnson doesn't deserve you." Johnson began to say something above where Monique knelt between his legs, but then decided to keep quiet. The gunman touched her bare shoulder, and Monique somehow understood the intent. She climbed to her bare feet, sullenly turning from Johnson and watching the gunman. The gunman held the cold barrel of the gun against her ribs. She shook, but didn't flinch. Not this time. He stepped from her, and stepped towards Johnson. Johnson looked up with real fear in his eyes. Monique didn't turn her eyes away quickly enough. The gunman brought the handle of the gun down in a quick arc, striking Johnson across the jaw with it. A sickening crack, followed by a high pitched squeal, almost like that of a woman in pain, issued forth from Johnson's lips. Blood flowed from his mouth as he spat. Teeth dotted the red fluid that emerged. Sickened, Monique turned away. "You fucking bastard," she whispered. She had no love of Johnson, but the blood. So much of it. And that wailing. Suddenly, he was at her side, fingers cruelly twisted into her cheeks. He turned her head until Johnson's weeping image filled her vision. She relaxed her neck muscles from fighting his fingers, and he released her. She didn't turn away from the bleeding mess. "He didn't deserve that." To her surprise, he agreed with her. Johnson fell to moaning in the chair. More blood flowed down his chin. "No, he didn't," the gunman said. "Boo brofe my gaw," Johnson moaned. "If I wanted you to have sex with Blake, would you?" "If you never hit anyone else like that, yes," she said. And she meant it. She wouldn't like it, not even with Blake, but she would. He sat down on the desk again. She remained standing before him. "What do you want?" she asked simply. "You," he answered. -----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE----- Version: 2.6.3ia Charset: noconv iQEVAwUBPs5X10xM3srBk85hAQFRaQf/ZELnOfajZsamNR67Y7Bf3XRA54Tm3Thr XfadC1zK2T703z27Zeg/wczqebbeOIQkdB732ix/Gq3SrMnomRpmJUihnUk/E2ih KmsfIvRjDno66eE1c4T999KmXmJOeh/SCZZlx/YffRqhZ7S2+ddbZGguTdHBnplY EYoIu1ExBcnHrMrl9BsLNAXcSUMfg/h2SnFKyTu37eTLs/beWUxaVbZU9GP1rSgq ++p3g2aQ/Dt5UG6sWhnpyfwzTG6pOM/YmnTFYQI3H4YkfTeO3T6DHwpJbigHZTD8 P8GxSqRKZgzijwZbvm9+wbPcWvzb2oz08brs+RmE+shx9PF2xPcnRQ== =XNZF -----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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+