Message-ID: <42751asstr$1054458606@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: From: bonkgirl Reply-to: bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-version: 1.0 Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 01 Jun 2003 01:00:09 +1000 Subject: {ASSM} Lunchtime Rendezvous With Serendipity - by bonkgirl (FF/f, blackmail, humil, anal, nc) Date: Sun, 1 Jun 2003 05:10:06 -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, RuiJorge ========================================================= Hello, The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Certain elements are loosely based on real people and real events however they've been embellished for dramatic effect and all names of people, places and other identifying details have been changed. This and many of the stories I write contain themes of non-consensual sex and forced submission along with blackmail and other activities which are illegal in real life. Please note that the real events surrounding everything written by me were all entirely legal and all people participating did so within the framework of "safe, sane and consensual" as defined within the BDSM scene to which I belonged when the events took place. I hope you enjoy my tales. All feedback may be addressed either to alt.sex.stories.d or by email to bonkgirl@[NO-SPAM]yahoo.com Adrianna (c) 2003 ========================================================= Lunchtime Rendezvous With Serendipity I used to like surprises. I still do, I think, but lately they've come to be something entirely different than the ones I looked forward to as a child; the anticipation of birthday treats; the Christmas trinkets left under the tree supposedly by Santa if I'd been a "good girl" throughout the year. Of course, I always expected something and as I got older I could almost predict what the surprise might be such was my parents' inability to keep secrets from me. But the surprise I'd been told was due today was something quite unlike any before. The only foreknowledge I had of what to expect wasn't a casually dropped hint of something nice to come - it was a warning. Not a threat, althought that's now always implied since the blackmail game I created for myself escaped from my control. No, it was an ominous sign; a pointer to the direction I was expected to take unless I wanted to suffer unpleasant consequences which, ironically, were ultimately of my own creation. The package addressed to me and delivered by courier just after 10am this morning was brought into my office by my young assistant David. It was almost impossible to hide the sudden and overwhelming feeling of dread I felt when he handed it to me; he even noticed it enough to question me as to what it might be to which I had to answer in a way that assured him it was nothing; I'd been expecting "it". There was a brief, frightening moment when I thought I might be forced to open it in front of him such were his manifest concerns the small, anonymous parcel might contain something sinister which should be brought to the notice of the FBI. I laughed off the suggestion; a nervous, unconvincing laugh, not because his concerns were unfounded - sadly, it's a different world today and such concerns are taken most seriously - but because I had to consider the possibility that perhaps David might know a whole lot more than he was letting on. The moment eventually passed and David left my office to resume his work outside leaving me to ponder his involvement in the whole clandestine operation against me. There was no escaping the fact I had to open the package as soon as possible; to prepare myself to follow the instructions Mr C had told me the package would contain. With my heart pounding heavily and pulse racing, my trembling hands picked and snipped with scissors at the tape seal of the package. Once the seal was broken, I carefully prised open the lid and nervously peeked inside the box, much like a child expecting a spider or something worse to spring out. It wasn't much of a relief when the first thing I noticed was a small bundle of short, black leather straps - five in all - for my wrists and ankles and longer one which the note informed me was a collar. They were much simplier and lighter in design than the heavy leather set I kept in my handbag. There really wasn't anything at all to them: each short length of half-inch sueded leather nothing more than a strap with small D-rings on each end to be secured with small brass padlocks, also included, but without keys supplied. The note specified they weren't to be locked until the straps were in place. The keyring enclosed held just one key; a large deadlock style of key to the door of a place, directions for which were supplied with the note. The note was very specific in its instructions. I was instructed to remove whatever underwear including stockings or hose I was wearing and cuff my wrists and ankles with the straps supplied. Similarly, I was to collar myself and then check to ensure each of the five small brass padlocks were securely fastened. It was clearly stated I was to do this immediately and without delay as my every action was being watched and there would be penalties for non- compliance. My pantihose and briefs were easily slipped off under my desk but I had to slip out to the bathroom to deal with my bra, which couldn't be removed without first taking off my blouse. Once I returned to my office I cuffed and collared myself, feeling a small twinge of guilty pleasure at the sound of each small padlock clicking locked to secure the items in place. The final part of the instruction was perhaps the most alarming. It said I was to drive to the address given to arrive there precisely at noon. Once there I was to remove the rest of my clothing - ALL of it - before proceeding to a door which "should", if I'm at the right place, be directly in front of the car parking space identified for me in the accompanying pencil sketch of the building and its surrounds. I spent the next hour and a half sitting in my office dreading this part of the plan and began to have doubts as to whether or not I could go through with it once I got there. But as the hour approached to leave, I steeled my nerves and strode briskly out of the library, praying the whole time nobody would stop me and notice the cuffs or collar which, as discreet as they were, felt like the only things I was wearing as I left the building. I'm not a confident driver at the best of times and so the drive to the unfamiliar location was harrowing. I was acutely aware of the fact I was not wearing any underwear at all and thoughts of being involved in a car accident or some similar mishap where this embarrassing secret might be revealed played heavily on my thoughts and made the drive even more nerve wracking. But eventually I made it to my destination. Under normal circumstances I might have breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the traffic but the sight of the stark, weathered door in front of my parking space reminded me my journey was just beginning and the most arduous part of it still lay ahead. The old brick building was not much more than a garage with an upper story; a tall, narrow structure; the facade windowless and layered in the peeling, smog stained whitewash of decades of neglect. It sat alone on the corner of a large block which appeared to have been cleared for redevelopment at some stage but which had since become overgrown again with the debris of urban life in the industrial area surrounding. I sat in my car staring through the windshield for a long while at the door; this portal to perversity, I thought to myself, trying to allieviate the profound anxiety attack I was suffering. Thoughts of Marilyn Chambers and the movie "Green Door" also flashed into mind, although the door in front of me was distinctive only in the way the grafitti which spread seamlessly across the front of the building seemed to camoflague it. I checked the address one final time, comparing the sights around me to those marked on the rough map supplied and made sure I had the key ready. I placed it along with the neatly folded airline sleeping mask also supplied on the dashboard. The nearest activity of any kind appeared to be a construction crew breaking for lunch on a building site down on the next block; vehicular traffic was conspicuous by its absence. All seemed even more distant after I removed my glasses; the ones I need for driving. I'd memorized the instructions back in my office but I still double checked, just to make sure I hadn't overlooked anything. I hadn't. It felt strangely erotic to quickly strip out of my skirt and blouse in my car, struggling between the seat and the steering wheel for a moment but eventually wrestling free. The sudden cool air that enveloped me the moment I opened the door a stark reality check that I was completely naked; the feeling of the cold concrete underfoot as I rushed brazenly from my car to the door enlivening the whole sensation of being naked outdoors. If I'd been wearing clothes I might have paused at the door to have one last look around; the note made it clear I was being watched but by who? And from where? I fumbled with the key, my heart threatening to leap from my mouth until the tumblers finally yielded to my panicked wriggling and twisting of it in the lock. Inside the building looked even smaller than it had from outside; the room, barren of any decoration or furniture. My senses were immediately piqued to an overwhelming, sickly sweet scent hanging in the air; a familiar odor not smelled for a long time but which instantly brought back a flood of mixed feelings and a rush of crippling dread. I knew right then and there, at that exact moment, that Mr C was about to play his trump card: he'd set me up to be humiliated by the one person I'd both fantasized most about surrendering to and feared most about discovering my darkest desires in reality - Lana! I felt a desperate urge to run back to my car and escape but I knew it was now far too late for that. She would have already seen me arrive; she would have seen me enter the building naked; she would have been briefed by Mr C on all my hitherto secret fantasies; she would have seen pictures he'd supplied her as proof, just as he had done when he set me up for Jeremy and Karl. In short, she would know absolutely everything she needed to know to punish me for interfering in the affair she had with my husband; to torture me in every way imaginable for having the ordacity to look down on her as if I was her superior in any way merely because of my education and upbringing. How desperately I wished it was all a dream; a pleasant fantasy from which I could easily escape. But the wheel had turned and I knew I was about to be broken on it. Even the fanciful little code I'd devised as part of a harmless little fantasy game - "just say Serendipity sent me" had been twisted against me. In my mind the thrill of the surprise was always supposed to come in some benign setting with built in escape clauses; opportunities to make denials of all knowledge of any such code; to carry on my "innocent" act while silently reveling in the illicit thrill. But now I was supposed to speak the words - to call them out loud like a broadcast to invoke my own Nemesis in a winner-take-all game. As I stood there, body shaking uncontrollably, I looked at the blindfold in my hand and saw in it the only salvation I could think of - I can close my eyes and hide behind the mask so I never have to admit I saw this coming. It was almost impossibly to vocalize the words but they came: "Serendipity sent ME!" Time lost all sense of meaning, lost in the darkness behind the blindfold; my arms folded behind my back; my back to the door. I called again a second time, this time more confidently as my confusion swirled around the possibility that perhaps I'd talked myself into this state of hysteria. The blurring lines between fantasy and reality were clearly really taking a toll on my mental balance. But just when I thought it had all been an elaborate rouse, the sound of the door opening behind me exploded any delusions of escaping with my modesty battered but intact. My nostrils immediately caught the heady smell of the cheap perfume I distinctly remembered enveloped Lana like a cloud wherever she went. It took my breath away as did the sudden fright of feeling my wrists being grabbed; the leather straps unexpectedly clipped together; the cold sensation of a chain brushing against my spine between my shoulder blades as my hands were hitched up to the back of the collar I was wearing. I remember starting to blubber incoherently, begging for some rules to be established; begging not to be hurt. I could hear the sounds of more than one pair of heels on the concrete floor and realized Lana wasn't alone. Not a word was spoken; the terror became palpable in my throat; a swollen dry lump which blocked off oxygen to my brain and caused my head to spin with dizziness. I could feel myself becoming unsteady, losing my balance as hands grappled with my ankles; my feet forced widely apart on the concrete floor; the leather bracelets around my ankles tightening as they were clipped to some kind of spreader bar. All the while I kept pleading for things to stop; pleas which were ignored completely. Hands on my shoulders held me still until my ankles were secured; I don't know who was doing what; I imagined two women at first but there more have been more. When the hands dropped away I was left for a long while just standing there, legs spread, shackled and vulnerable. I listened for every sound; anything which might give me a clue to the identity of those in the room. I could hear the hushed clip-clop of high heels moving around me; circling me; stalking me like predators about to pounce. I turned my head this way and that trying to follow the footsteps; my hearing acutely sensitized to every sound no matter how small. I could feel the shadow of somebody close behind me before the cold touch of something hard and slippery bumping against the undersides of my ass cheeks. I instinctively flinched, tensing my buttocks to repel what I quickly guessed to be a dildo of some sort; not an ordinary one, but quite obviously a strap on one. Small, strong hands gripped the soft orbs of my cheeks and spread them, holding them obscenely open like that while the tip of the dildo was seated in the crater of my anus. I knew what was about to happen and it terrified me. My two tormentors began working in tandem; the one behind jerking her hips gently to force the thick bluntness of the dildo to spear my spincter; the one in front holding my hips to prevent me bucking forward and away from the assault. I tightened my resistence, fighting and struggling desperately. not wanting to surrender but knowing if I didn't the whole attack could be prolonged indefinitely. I thought if I yielded just a little I might be spared; I might endure some pain if it meant not being seriously hurt. In my confusion I tried to remind myself it wasn't the first time I'd had a dildo in my ass. My own 7" one had been there, sunk right to the base. But that was different. I was gentle with myself; taking it slowly and knowing I could withdraw it the moment it caused me any significant pain. But once I relaxed just that tiniest little bit, the strap on rammed hard and deeply right up into my bowel, feeling like it was thumping against the underside of my lungs. I started to scream and sob but a hand clamped tightly across my mouth. And then I really felt a surge of terror. I had never imagined Lana to be anything less than a nasty sadist and in my fantasies about her this even held some kind of perverse, inexplicable allure for me. However, standing on the tips of my toes, legs spread and shackled, feeling totally overpowered and the agony of being so roughly sodomized, that fantasy pleasure vanished. I don't actually remember much of the detail about what happened after that - the pain was searing; burning and surreal in its intensity in my ass. A woman did eventually speak; the woman in front of me - I didn't recognize the voice at all. I could feel her hands on my breasts; her fingers pinching my nipples, teasing them with alternating caresses and then a twisting that I feared would rip them from my chest. She demanded I stop screaming, which was near on impossible when each time she made the demand she emphasized the urgency of it by twisting harder and encouraging Lana to drive the strap on even harder into my tortured anus. When I finally managed to obey, which was really simply because the pain had passed that threshold to the point where I was almost unconscious, the hand over my mouth was released and I was allowed to whimper and sob quietly while she massaged my breasts. The continual, unceasing friction hard in my burning spincter was sharp contract to the almost pleasurable caressing of my breasts; her hands slowly expanding their circles to glide over all of my front while the slow assault continued behind. Her voice became calm; seductive almost. She began asking me a question repeatedly; hypnotically - "you like this, don't you?" It was so incredibly perverse the way she asked - her voice soft and singing in tone; like a mother coaxing a child to eat brussel sprouts by planting the seed of positive suggestion into its head with a seductive, reassuring tone in her voice. The pain was killing me but I eventually found myself so lulled by her voice I timidly agreed. This guilty admission brought forth a stinging, blinding pain suddenly to my clitoris. The tone of her voice instantly changed to one of overbearing, almost angry intensity as she ridiculed me, calling me a "slut" and other derogatory insults as she whipped my pussy. The thin fronds of the whip bit with excruciating pain - much more pain than I was feeling in my behind, although the hard rod-like dildo wedged there forced me to not move away from the whipping as much as I desperately wanted to. I was so confused. Just as suddenly, her voice would drop back to the soothing tone, encouraging me not to deny my pleasure. This little cyclic ritual was repeated ad infinitum until I no longer had any idea what was going on and, without the least bit of warning it was about to happen, my whole body spasmed and shook with an orgasm of such intensity tears of shame literally gushed from behind the blindfold. In the minutes following, after the strap on was finally removed - an action which almost made me sick with the thought my guts might be sucked out along with the vacuum it created - I was eased down on to the hard cold floor; my wrist and ankle cuffs released from their positions by not the straps around them. I'm still wearing them now as I sit in my office recounting the story for you, numb from the day's "adventure" and so thoroughly and utterly humiliated by what happened that I fear I won't ever be able to look another person in the eye again. -- ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by accident. "Serendip is not reached by plotting a course for it. Instead you must set out in good faith and lose your bearings serendipitously" - from The Sinbad Saga http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl -- 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 | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+