Chapters 11 to 20

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

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Dawn of Time Index

Chapter 11

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

Sandra allowed him to wind his hand back into her hair. He wasn't
quite as insistent this time, and the makeshift leash wasn't as
uncomfortable against her scalp as it had been. She automatically
fell into a crawl. She idly wondered why she had to crawl, but at
this point, she merely accepted it, the same way that she was
beginning to accept her nudity in this strange world.
"We can't take the elevator," he said as they finally came to a
stop.
Sandra lifted her eyes. They had stopped in front of the fire doors,
the big red entrance beckoning.
"Get up, you can't crawl down stairs."
Warily, she climbed to her bare feet. His hand remained entangled in
her hair.
"Won't the alarm sound?" she asked.
He hesitated, one hand on the door handle. He released her hair with
his other hand.
"Who cares if it does?"
Sandra couldn't tell if he knew or not whether the alarm would ring.
If it rang, maybe someone will find them, firemen, police,
paramedics -- someone to help her? But when the door swung open
heavily to his touch, no insistent bells rang out, no saving grace.
She sighed and followed him into the stairwell.
The cold concrete scratched at her bare feet. He stood waiting for
her on the second landing; she envied him his running shoes.
Glancing up, she considered for a moment running, but to go up was
to be trapped, and she doubted if she would make two stairs before
he stopped her somehow. God knew what he'd do to her after that. He
smiled gently as she began to descend carefully.
She walked in front of him after the second landing, knowing that he
was watching her, but unable to do much about it. Her clothing
receded further and further away as each bare foot followed each
bare foot in methodical succession.
Twelve floors later, she hesitated in front of the exit door. She
wasn't used to taking the stairs, and her bare breasts rose and fell
rapidly upon her chest as her lungs worked to overcome the exertion.
Her thighs ached, but it didn't take long for her to regain her
breath. He waited patiently for her to recover, watching her. He
seemed to be normal, not breathing hard, or perspiring.
Eventually, his voice appeared, hot and threatening in her ear.
"The alarm won't sound. Push it."
"The lobby ..." she begged.
He smiled. "The lobby is full of people that can't see you or me."
She shrugged. If he wanted her out there, she was going out, whether
she wanted to, or not.
With a press of her shoulder, the door swung outward. No alarm
greeted her, but she really hadn't expected any bells. She stumbled
out into the brightly lit lobby, nearly colliding with a middle-aged
woman, with grey hair, in a blue business suit. The woman looked
like she was harried, walking quickly towards the elevator bank that
no longer functioned. Sandra paused, staring into the woman's face,
trying to see life down there in the blank eyes.
"Like her?" the gunman asked from behind.
Sandra kept silent, moving to the side and around the frozen woman.
She wondered if she should fall back to her hands and knees. The
marble of the lobby looked too cold and hard to crawl over, but she
suspected that the gunman wouldn't care about her discomfort.
Nevertheless, she hadn't been asked, so she remained upright.
His hand fell lightly on the back of her neck. She jumped, but
didn't turn around.
He guided her towards the security desk, not asking her to crawl.
For a moment, her heart leapt. Security. They would know what to do.
Then her hopes were dashed. They'd know what to do if they weren't
frozen.
A courier, with dirty wind-blown hair, and wearing biking equipment
and a backpack, stood at the desk talking to a grey-haired old man
dressed in a standard security uniform. The security guard sported
a beer-belly, and Sandra could see the handle of a gun protruding
from beside his right hip. She had a flash of hope, but then
quelled it. How to get the gun? Even if her captor let down his
guard, she was betting that guard's gun was frozen solid, with the
rest of the world. King Arthur couldn't have moved it.
"Stand here, and keep quiet," her captor said.
Obediently, Sandra stood, the marble of the security desk pressing
into the small of her back, her fingers wrapped lightly around the
smooth edge. She glanced through the plate glass windows out onto
the busy downtown street. If all the pedestrians, all the cars, were
alive, she'd have caused quite a stir standing here like this.
A noise caught her attention to the left. She watched, intrigued, as
the courier came to life.
"... need to get to the fifth ..." his voice trailed off as he
realised that the world wasn't quite right. "What the fuck?" he
swore as he turned around.
Suddenly, he became aware of Sandra, naked and lounging to his left.
She blushed, and raised her hands to cover her bare breasts
automatically. The courier, mouth open, about to bluster another
obscenity, halted as the gunman stepped nonchalantly between Sandra
and the courier.
"Who the fuck are you?" the courier demanded as he moved forward. He
stopped his forward motion at the sight of the gun. Sandra shifted
her weight. The gun was pointed towards the bike guy, and she was
behind the gunman. Her hands began to rise.
Instead of answering the courier, the man's voice floated towards
Sandra, low and threatening.
"Don't even think about it, Sandra."
Sandra started, but fell back against the marble, her hands falling
ineffectually back to her sides. With the gunman between her and the
courier, her body was shielded anyway. There really wasn't any need
to keep her hands up. She worked her toes against the marble,
watching them instead of whatever was about to happen to the
courier.
"Hey, man. I don't want any trouble. I don't even care why she's
nekkid, man." The courier was slowly backing away from the man with
the gun. "I didn't see nothing."
The gunman grimaced at the figure of speech.
"Didn't see anything," he corrected. The courier merely looked
confused. The man wagged the gun. "Over there," he motioned with
the barrel of the gun.
Obediently, the courier ran towards the front entrance of the lobby.
Unable to push the frozen revolving door, he finally spun and faced
the gun. Fear etched into his features, his breathing ragged.
"Come on, man," he blubbered. "I didn't do nothing." His eyes
shifted to Sandra, who blushed again.
Slowly, satisfied that the courier was far enough away, the gunman
turned to face the Sandra. She tried to shrink back, the small of
her back pressing ever more firmly into the marble of the security
desk. His expression was suggestive, almost maniacal. She
suspected that her words wouldn't make a difference, but she spoke
anyway.
"Please, don't hurt him, either."
Instead of answering her, he asked her a question, one that she
wasn't expecting.
"If I were to offer you freedom, in exchange for having sex with
him, would you? Willingly?"
She wasn't sure what willingly meant in this situation, but she
considered the question for a moment before answering. Her head
slowly shook negatively.
"Please no," she whispered.
The courier had heard the exchange; he spoke up. Sandra cringed at
the words, partially because of the crudity, partially because she
suspected that the gunman would do something drastic at the
suggestion, partially because she was afraid that the gunman would
listen to the dirty kid.
"Hey, man. I'll fuck the bitch for my freedom. She's a piece of ass,
man. A piece of ass."
The gunman whirled, the gun rising. The courier retreated until his
back pressed against the unyielding door. Her captor advanced three
short steps towards the courier.
"You want to die, my friend?"
The courier looked like he was going to faint with fright.
"No man, I ..." The idiot fell to his knees, babbling. "I don't
want to die. I'm sorry. I didn't know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The gunman smiled easily, the gun never wavering. Sandra stood
behind him, not watching.
"You don't have to apologise to me," the gunman whispered. His
voice carried across the mostly silent lobby, more powerful for its
lack of volume. The guard, and the people dressed in business attire
didn't seem to care about the drama unfolding in front of them.
"No man, I don't want to die."
"Don't you think the lady deserves more respect than that? A piece
of ass? Bitch? I don't remember asking you if you wanted to have sex
with her."
The words somehow warmed Sandra. Why would he protect her? She
didn't understand. Not a whit. She would have expected the bastard
to revel in anything that made her cringe. Forcing her to have sex
with the boy might have been right up his alley.
"I'm so fucking sorry," the courier babbled. "Please lady, I'm sorry
that I said those things. Christ, I'm sorry."
"Her name is Sandra. Not bitch. Not lady. Sandra."
The mention of her name removed an element of anonymity, and she
fought down another blush. Her hands again rose to shield the view
of her breasts.
"Sandra. Sandra. I'm sorry, Sandra. I'm sorry for calling her a
bitch. I'm sorry. Please. Please don't kill me."
The gunman turned to look at Sandra, his eyebrows raised in an
unasked question. She guessed what he wanted. She whispered.
"It's all right. I don't mind. Please don't kill him. Not for
this."
The kid remained on his knees, blubbering, a thankful expression
upon his features. Sandra wasn't sure, but she thought he might have
wet himself.
Her captor nodded slowly, then turned. The courier froze, on his
knees, head lowering towards the marble. His voice cut off,
mid-pleading.
"What did you do to him?" Sandra asked quietly, not really expecting
an answer.
"I slipped him into a slower time bubble." The answer didn't help
her, but she nodded. The gunman continued. "Can't return him to the
main timeline, he'd be in the way."
Puzzled, she waited, wondering what was next on this insane journey.
She stood quietly and watched her feet as the gunman began to
survey the lobby. Her bare toes looked out of place against the
pristine grey marble.
	

Chapter 12

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

"Sandra."
Sandra turned to face him.
"Put your arms out, straight out from your body."
"Why?" she asked, her voice wavering.
His eyes grew a little harder, and she complied, acutely aware of
the vulnerability that it placed her in.
Gently, he turned her, arms out like a horizontal pinwheel, until
she faced away from him and towards the overweight guard sitting
impassively behind his desk of marble. She flushed, though she knew
that the old guy couldn't see her, couldn't see her breasts raised
by the position of her arms, couldn't see her body displayed so
carelessly. Inside, she cringed, but managed to remain in the
position in which she'd been placed.
She cried out as the gunman's hand entwined in her hair again. It
wasn't particularly painful, not yet, but he pulled her inexorably
forward until her arms and shoulders rested against the cool marble.
The edge of the counter pressed oddly into the tops of her breasts,
and her cheek began to warm the smooth stone as she turned her head
to the side.
"Look at him, or I'll wake him," the voice spoke in her ear.
"Who?" she asked.
There was an Asian girl in her line of sight, hurrying somewhere
towards the revolving door that had stymied the courier. Her long
black hair wrapped around her shoulders, caught in mid-flight by the
freeze. Sandra idly wondered what the girl would do if she were bent
over, naked, her fingers clutching at the stone, a gun-toting maniac
behind her. Probably scream. But Sandra didn't scream. Didn't dare.
"The guard, who do you think?" the man behind her said.
"The guard. Why?"
Instead of answering, she felt his hand grasping her hair again,
pulling her head back sharply. Sandra screamed, then, but stopped as
her head was released to fall heavily on her chin. Her teeth clacked
together hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. When she opened her
eyes again, the pain had subsided, both in her scalp and her jaw,
but the guard remained frozen, his eyes staring vacantly into her
face. His face blurred with the remnants of her tears, but the
overweight guard remained visible, his grey hair like the stone on
top of which she stood and lay.
Sandra began to pull her arms back from being outstretched, but
halted when a slight pressure appeared at her shoulder.
"I said out. Do you want me to wake him, so he can watch. I'll bet
he would. Or perhaps you'd prefer the courier."
Sandra shivered.
"Please," she whispered. "I'll do whatever you want."
A shoe encased toe nudged her left ankle and for a moment, she was
confused. After the second nudge, she realised what he wanted, and
didn't even bother to protest. She slid her leg to the left. A
similar touch to her right ankle, and she slid her right leg, too. A
flush infused her as she considered the view the bastard was getting
of her. But she dared not close her legs. After a moment, she
realised that she was nearly at the perfect height for him to take
her. She began to shiver.
"Wider," he said without compassion.
"I. I can't. That's as wide as they go. Please. I don't want to be
raped. Please."
"Don't be silly."
But she couldn't tell if he was referring to her impending rape, or
that her legs wouldn't go any wider for him.
He gently kicked at her bare left foot. She stretched, eventually
rising up until she was left supported only by her toes against the
marble. Without prompting, she forced her right foot into the same
position.
"It's uncomfortable. Please."
The air tickled her vaginal lips, sending shivers up her spine. She
forced them into the background, hoping the man behind her hadn't
noticed.
"Do you know why you're like this?"
She searched her mind, couldn't come up with an answer beyond the
obvious, and that she didn't want to mention. The guard staring at
her didn't help.
"Because you want me like this," she ventured.
He laughed. "Well, yes, but remember a certain phrase that popped
out back there?"
"Phrase?" She was completely confused. Her legs began to tremble from
the harsh position. She spoke to the guard, who she was reasonably
sure didn't hear her or care.
"With our friend Melanie?" he prompted.
She thought back, but here with her body screaming at her, and the
events that had unfolded, she couldn't remember. After a few minutes, 
he took pity on her and helped.
"'Fucking bastard'?"
"Oh God, I'm sorry. I already said that I was sorry. Please."
"Actually, I don't mind so much, but I think I promised you a
punishment."
"Punishment?" she said stupidly. "What are you going to do to me."
She fought the urge to throw her legs back together and run. Or to
turn and at least reason with him.
"I think three good spanks should take care of it. Don't you?"
"You're going to spank me?" The guard almost looked like he would
relish the sight. She hadn't been spanked since she'd been a little
girl, and even then, not like this, spread out for the world to see.
"Mmmhmmmm."
"You can't. You just can't."
"Can't I?"
"No. I. I'll do anything."
With that, Sandra broke position, pulling her arms in, and lowering
herself off her toes. She slowly turned towards him. He stood
smiling maddeningly behind her. Oh yes, he was getting a good show.
She flushed again.
"Please. I'll. I'll. I'll fu -- have sex with you. Anyway you want.
But please. Don't hurt ... spank ... me." She choked on the words,
but managed to hold back the tears. He merely looked at her, his
eyes on her face, not her body. She dropped her words to a whisper.
"Please, just let me go."
He motioned to her, one finger. For a moment, she nearly dropped to
her knees, ready to perform. But then, she noticed that wasn't what
he wanted. Not her on her knees, but her back, face down, in front
of that damn guard, up on her toes, presenting herself to him. Damn
it. Accepting her punishment.
"I'll crawl. I'll have sex with Melanie for you. Anything."
Truthfully, she didn't know if she could perform sex on the other
woman, not voluntarily anyway.
But she knew that he wasn't going to be dissuaded. Not this time.
And in the end, she slowly turned, tears falling down her cheeks.
The marble had cooled since her chin had left it, its smooth surface
uncaring of the soft skin pressed against it. Her thighs shook, but
she pushed them apart, rising back up on her toes.
Without warning, his hand struck the tender flesh of her bottom. She
rocked forward, with a gasp, her breasts pressing against the edge
of the counter. The guards eyes watched her accusingly: Shouldn't
have cursed, silly girl. Shouldn't have cursed. Not at him.
The next two blows stung, but she bit back the cries. Silently, she
cried though, tears kissing the marble near her chin. Her hands
clenched from open palm to tight fists.
She waited, but he was silent behind her.
The last blow caught her in the crease between the thigh and her
ass, a hard open handed slap that radiated through her nerves like a
hot iron. She screeched, her voice swallowed by the strange
echo-proof environment.
"Oh God, please no more. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
His hand pulled gently on her hair again, and she slowly rose from
the marble. She wiped at her eyes with one hand, the other gently
probing her rear, especially where the last blow had landed.
"I thought you were only going to spank me three times."
He smiled. "The last one was for that pathetic begging before we
started. Breaking position without permission."
She lowered her head. Her feet ached where she'd had to arch them
for him. Her bare toes still looked out of place against the marble.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
"Sorry for what?"
She looked up sharply. "You've spanked me, you've made me crawl
naked, you've displayed me in front of Melanie, and that, that, that
courier kid. Isn't that enough?"
He stepped back, cocking his head to the side.
"Sorry for what?" he repeated.
Sandra wanted to cry, but this time, she willed the moisture back.
"Sorry for using the word 'fuck'. It isn't ladylike. Do we have to
do this?"
He approached her, and she stood warily. His hands encircled her
waist, though they were well below her breasts.
"What are you going to do?"
Instead of answering, he lifted her as if she were as light as a
feather, finally depositing her, sitting where she'd formerly lain
for her spanking. She cringed as her sore bottom connected with the
cool marble.
"Sandra, I want you to know that I could have forced you to have sex
with Melanie."
"I know."
"Or that pathetic weasel by the door."
She shivered, but knew that it was true, too. "I know."
"Or even beer-buddy behind the desk there that watched your
suffering. I could make you crawl down main street, or dance naked
for the board of directors."
She began to shiver more violently. For a second, her voice refused
to work. At last, she managed to whisper.
"Please no. Let me go. I'll fuck you. I'll give you the best blow
job you've ever had. Anything."
He smiled then, a small mirthless smile. She realised that she'd
used the word 'fuck' but in this context it didn't seem to faze him.
She wondered about that, but wasn't about to bring it to his
attention.
"This from Sandra? 'I don't want to be raped'-Sandra?"
She flushed then. "I'll do it if you let me go."
He slowly shook his head. At the quiet rejection, she began to weep,
her hands encompassing her face, her bare heels softly knocking at
the desk below her.
"I didn't enjoy hurting Melanie, you know."
Sandra looked up, tears blurring her vision.
"That was just a demonstration. That's why I returned her."
"But you'll make me crawl for you. What did I ever do to deserve
this. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. So sorry."
He hesitated a moment, as if reaching a difficult decision.
"Do you want to go back?"
That caught her off guard, her tears trickling to a stop while she
considered it. Despite it all, despite her nudity, her humiliation,
the spanking, and the begging, she suddenly wasn't sure. The world
was different, and despite her position in it, there was a strange
appeal, a freedom. Something she couldn't quite identify.
She wet her dry lips with her tongue and then spoke.
"I want to go back." And then a second later. "I think."
Her ass ached. Her thighs ached. Her arms ached. Her fingernails had
dug into her palms. Her knees felt like they'd been crawling across
carpet. Her scalp felt like small pinpricks had descended on it.
"You were merely in the right place at the right time, Sandra."
"No, I wasn't." With her decision made, her voice was more sure.
"I have other things to do. Destiny calls." He paused for a moment,
as if considering whether to really let her go. Eventually, he spoke
again, his voice low and kind. "But thank-you, Sandra."
She looked up sharply. He was thanking her?
She clasped her hands in her lap, marvelling that she was sitting on
the main lobby desk, naked, and sore, but not all that bad all
things considered. Not considering what the maniac could have made
her do. Didn't make it right, but it was a small consolation, she
supposed.
"You're welcome. I think. What are you going to do?"
"Play," he answered simply.
She nodded. Oh yes, and she felt certain that the women of the world
might just want to take cover, if they could. She hadn't been able
to.
She watched as a look of concentration fell across his features. A
slight tingling began in her bare limbs, starting at her fingertips
and flowing up her arms like a mild case of pins and needles.
"Wait!" she called.
The tingling abruptly ended. She cursed herself. He was going to
send her back, back to where none of this had ever happened. And
she'd stopped him. Her voice continued as though she wasn't in
control of it.
"Do you want to touch me?"
He contemplated this for a moment, then stepped forward. She didn't
resist when he traced a finger down her cheek, down her throat, down
her right breast to circle the nipple once. The nipple reacted, and
it wasn't only from the cool air of the lobby. More than simple
horniness; more than simple sexuality. Something more. Something
deeper.
He withdrew.
It came flooding into her as she watched him move away from her. She
grasped at the memory; a name. A simple name.
"You're. You're ..."
He waited, as if wondering if she'd be able to pull his name from
her mind. She shook her head in frustration.
The look of concentration returned to his features.
The tingles flowed through her limbs, and she gasped once.
"You're ..."
And then she was gone, falling into the darkness, the marble still
warm from her presence.
"Good-bye, Sandra," he whispered.
If he walked up the twelve flights, she would be sitting again at
her desk, phone to her ear, in the middle of some inane conversation
about funding. Safe, and unharmed. Never crawled naked through the
building, or spanked in the lobby.
The man turned around at the revolving door, swinging it slowly
through the unresisting air with an idle hand. The courier snapped
to his former position, about where he might have stood between
Sandra's bare thighs but moments before. The guard continued to
listen attentively to whatever floor the courier was looking for,
instead of eyeing a naked woman, crying and begging, her bottom
upturned and spanked.
He surveyed the lobby, once. And then pushed through the door with
ease to the sidewalk outside.
	

Chapter 13

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

He stopped, standing in the middle of the road. Normally, such a
position would have been fatal, his leg only inches from the
onrushing bumper of a moving taxi.
He listened.
The world was silent.
Alone.
After he'd returned the naked Sandra, back to her drab desk, talking
to the phone that didn't work, loneliness had settled in.
He turned in the middle of the road, making a small circuit of the
road paint marking the lanes. People surrounded him. A man wearing
a turban driving the taxi, a woman, eyes closed in the back seat,
his meter in glowing red marking off time and money. What did he
care about time and money, now? An attractive brunette walked along
the sidewalk on the far side, her foot paused mid-air, mid-step,
inches from the sidewalk. Her hair, wispy around her head and face,
shone in the afternoon sun. A oriental man in a suit hailed a cab,
arm raised, a harried expression gracing his face. A group of women
entered the Chinese food restaurant across the street, gossipping,
their voices silenced, for now.
He returned his attention to the brunette. Yes, she had lovely legs,
and a beautiful face. He wondered where she was hurrying to, what
her life was like. What she looked like naked. Good, he thought.
He walked over to the girl, walked around her slowly, careful not to
brush against her statuesque form. He could wake her, all it would
take was a bit of concentration, a bit of convincing, and she would
probably do what he wanted. She would be his.
He backed away from her, power coursing through his veins.
The world was his.
"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," he whispered to the uncaring
girl. He laughed for a second. He hadn't succumbed to the Siren call
of power, had he? Control. Control. Control. Was it all a game?
Glancing back across the street, he saw the outline of the security
desk, the blonde lab manager spread out for him, her sex glistening,
her bottom begging to be struck. His hand prints etched on her
skin.
He shivered.
Should he have let Sandra go?
He stood there for a while, looking at the marble desk, the guard
who had witnessed the acts. Her body, bare and pliant. He blinked
and the image dissolved.
She hadn't deserved his attentions, hadn't deserved to be naked and
forced to crawl for him. But she was safe now, returned to blissful 
ignorance that she'd performed for him. Did any of them deserve his
attention? Would this brunette deserve being under his control?
It was exciting. Oh, yes.
Shaking his head, he began to walk, dodging the frozen world
sometimes stepping out into the street to avoid obstructions.
He couldn't get attached to them. It was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Control didn't work like that.
It had been fun. It had been stimulating. Sandra had been
co-operative.
He needed more. Much more.
He missed her. Sandra would have been fine, he was sure. But she
was too close to him, even if she didn't recognise him. No, better
to avoid complications. She had been wonderful practice, and he'd
passed the test. He'd let her go, even while he longed to continue
controlling her, making her crawl, making her strip. But she wasn't
chosen. Of that, somehow, he was sure.
He wouldn't be lonely for long. No. He didn't think so.
Fatigue began to gnaw at him. Tired. Sleep beckoned.
But there was so much do. So much.
Danger in not thinking straight.
He nearly collided with another attractive girl listening to a
portable stereo. He was reminded of Amy -- the girl had similar
facial structures -- liked to listen to music. He was tempted to see
if the girl had similar breasts, too. Tempted to make her beg.
Tempted to walk with her down the street, the girl deliciously 
naked.
He'd know who he wanted when he saw her. Of that, he was sure.
Not this girl. Much as she attracted him, he could come back for
her, if he wanted to. He stepped around her, and continued, his feet
taking him towards his next destination. Things to do.
As he passed a burger place, he stopped, his head cocking to the
side in confusion. A ripple. A ripple in time. He sensed it like an
electric charge in his head. Close and threatening. And then the
sensation subsided.
He relaxed. Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing.
His steps became more determined, more directed. His hand fell to
the gun tucked into his waistband. The safety engaged, he wasn't
worried about hurting himself with it, but the gun simply wasn't
enough.
He needed equipment.
                         <---===***===--->
A groan reached Dawn's ears, nudging her awake. As she blinked,
bright light pierced her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Another
groan insisted that she remain with the living, and she cursed the
owner of the incessant voice silently under her breath, until she
realised that the groan had been in her voice, weak and miserable.
She pressed her hands against the cool grey tile, disoriented. As
she rose to her hands and knees, a wave of vertigo overcame her.
Slowly she lay back down and closed her eyes, rocking herself
gently, cradling her head in her hands and trying to ignore the
hardness of the floor.
"Dawnie, where have you managed to get yourself, now? And what the
hell were you drinking last night?" Her voice disappeared into the
room, no echo, no response.
She didn't remember drinking after John had left, but her head ached
enough that it had to be a hangover. A bad one. Her stomach
flip-flopped, but she managed to contain the gorge from rising.
Barely.
She vaguely remembered getting up in the morning, watching the
sunrise. She vaguely remembered walking to school.
With a start, she remembered John's fist crashing into her bare
belly, the nearness of rape. Her ribs ached at the memory, and she
struggled with the nausea filling her senses.
When she opened her eyes, the room spun, but she could see sneakered
feet, a whole row of them, seemingly stretching all the way to the
horizon.
The nausea began to subside a little, as her eyes began to focus.
Perspective deepened, and Dawn's mind began to clear.
The floor. The exam room floor.
Gingerly, she pushed off the tile again with her hands, first rising
to her hands and knees, and then rocking back to kneel easily.
Another wave of vertigo washed over her, but she closed her eyes,
gulped some air, and managed to keep it under control.
The other students remained unmoving along their neat rows,
steadfastly ignoring the pretty girl sick and kneeling on the floor.
She wanted to scream at them, make them sit up and take notice. How
had they missed her falling, her groans? Most of them sat, pens in
hands, writing, ignoring her pain and discomfort. A broken pen,
hers, stared up at her from the tile, twinkling in the lunchtime
sun. She didn't remember snapping the pen, but its black ink formed
a puddle against the grayness of the tile; the puddle was beginning
to dry, probably to permanently stain the floor.
"Hello? Anybody?"
But nobody was in a talking mood. She remained on her knees for a
few minutes. Her fingers explored her body, gingerly touching her
ribs through her sweatshirt, her shoulder. When her index finger
brushed her head near her right temple, she winced, her voice crying
out in pain. A small lump screamed back at her, and she quickly
lowered her hand. Upon examination, her fingers revealed no evidence
of crimson, so she presumed that she wasn't bleeding. But she'd
passed out, and that meant concussion, didn't it?
She glanced down the row. The students hadn't moved a millimetre
from when she'd awakened. Blinking, she saw only one of each person,
only one proctor, only one of each desk.
Her head pounded.
Memories began to flash.
No. She'd nearly passed out last night, hadn't she -- no concussion
there? After John had punched her, and nearly raped her. She
struggled to remember. She'd done something. Something strange. And
he'd left, dazed and confused.
"Time is fluid," she whispered. Nobody turned around. Nobody paid
her the least heed. "Time is fluid," she repeated a little louder.
She'd stopped the world, somehow, after John had attacked her. And
now, she'd stopped the world completely, though she had no
recollection of how or why.
"I'm the key," she said, and though her words seemed to hold a trace
of unknown, mystical menace, they confused her spinning mind. Key?
What key?
She'd stopped the world.
Hadn't she? Tears began to form behind her eyes. Her fists beat
gently at her thighs.
Time is fluid. Time is fluid.
Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, nearly falling as she swayed. Her
fingers grasped the side of her exam table.
She knew it was a sign of insanity, but any voice was better than
the utter silence that greeted her if she didn't move.
"Dawnie, don't fall," she whispered. "Nobody to fix a busted hip.
Nosiree."
She began to giggle, but it only lasted a moment.
Carefully, she stepped over to her neighbour, a girl frozen with a
look of concentration on her face, her left hand holding a pen.
"What is your favourite nebula?"
Dawn shook her head. After a few minutes, she waved her hand in
front of the girl's face. No reaction. None. Not so much as a blink.
Her index finger recoiled automatically, her skin crawling, as Dawn
touched the girl's face. The girl was like a statue, immovable, her
skin like marble, or cold, cold concrete. She wasn't breathing, and
Dawn didn't need to touch her throat to know that the girl's heart
wasn't beating in her chest.
In horror, Dawn backed up until she bumped into her exam table. It
didn't budge as she impacted with it, though her hips complained
about the impact.
"I've killed them all," she whispered.
Despite the remnants of nausea, despite her unsteady legs, Dawn ran,
her footfalls reaching her ears in muted waves.
Her fingers entwined with the doorknob, yanking in a panic.
Locked. Why would they lock her in with these -- dead -- oh Christ
-- dead people?
She began to scream, the door not even rattling in its frame as she
tugged at the unyielding handle.
	

Chapter 14

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

The yellow and red sign beckoned to him, and he stared up at it for
a moment.
"Home Hardware," it proclaimed.
The concourse was busy as he'd walked down the length of the long
corridor. Shops opened to either side of the wide mall, most he
passed without interest. People of all different sizes, shapes and
creeds, walked briskly to and from their irrelevant lunchtime
destinations. Not one paid him any heed as he slipped around their
frozen forms. He mostly ignored the people, unless a particular girl
caught his attention. He would have played with many of them.
Can't, he thought. Time isn't an issue, not here, but he did have to
sleep, and there was a great deal to do before sleep could claim
him. He could sleep first, he supposed, but that was -- undesirable,
too.
An old man was in the process of shuffling into the Home Hardware
store, probably about to break the laser to trigger the entrance
chime. The man began to walk towards the entrance to the store; he
doubted if the entrance chimes would greet him.
It was a small store, little more than a standard mall kiosk.
Friendly service, and we have everything you might need.
The Timeman smiled as he slipped into the store.
After perusing the silent aisles, he spied some of the equipment
that he would need. Hardware stores were interesting places. But he
was going to need some of that interesting service. Some things he
couldn't chance. Wouldn't do. Not at all.
There was a pretty brunette woman, in her mid-thirties crouched
examining a quart of paint. She was wearing a tight sweater that
stretched wonderfully across her breasts. The gunman smiled, a
memory of Kimberly washing over him. That girl, from so long ago, in
a hardware store, not so different than this one, not so different
from the woman crouched in front of him. Kimberly had been
stretching up to investigate paint. But Kimberly had been younger,
and suffered a fair bit.
He'd almost awakened the paint girl, when he reconsidered. Leaving
her frozen, he walked towards the front of the store, fingering the
odd piece of merchandise as he meandered.
The girl at the cash register wasn't a beauty, not by any means. In
fact, she almost had taken pains to ensure that she was mildly
unattractive. For a moment, the gunman considered returning to the
paint section, and retrieving the Kimberly look-alike. He didn't
really need expertise for what he required. For that matter, he
could take both girls, couldn't he?
No, one was enough. At least for now.
The girl at the cash register looked bored, leaning on the metal
surface of the counter, examining her nails. Her nails were painted
black, similarly to the rest of her -- her eye-shadow, her lipstick,
and her hair. Jet black. He idly wondered if her toenails were
painted black, too. A ring pierced her eyebrow, and a stud graced
her nose. Her hair was short and spiky. She would have looked more
at home in a black leather jacket than in the silly Home Hardware
smock.
Underneath it all, her facial structure seemed pretty, and her body,
while hidden, at the moment, by her clothes and the yellow uniform,
seemed trim and fit.
He balanced the gun in his right hand, finger on the trigger. The
safety remained engaged, but she wouldn't know that. At least he
thought she wouldn't.
The transition was sharp as she began to share his time. She
continued to examine her nails critically until she finally raised
her eyes for a moment. But she wasn't really looking at him, and her
eyes hadn't rested on the weapon yet; she was merely aware of his
presence in her space.
"Can I help you," she inquired without focusing on him. Her voice
didn't match her image; it was soft and almost sultry. If he closed
his eyes, he could have imagined it belonging to any of the screen
greats: Audrey Hepburn, Ingrid Bergman.
Perhaps it was the lack of an echo, or maybe it was the unusual
silence of the world, but she finally looked up sharply, her eyes
torn from her nails at last.
"Nice makeup."
The girl looked confused for a moment, her eyes scanning. They
stopped, riveted to the gun that he was now holding easily by his
right hip. A trace of irritation flit across her face, as if his
comment were inappropriate somehow. Then her eyes dropped the gun,
and widened a little.
Her voice trembled.
"Uh. Is that loaded?"
"No point to carrying an unloaded gun."
The girl's face began to register fright even below that black
makeup. After a second, she began to raise her hands.
"Don't need a gun, mister. I'm not stupid."
"Stupid? I never said that you were."
"You could have just used a note, you know. Like the other guy."
The gunman slipped back a step. She didn't look like she'd try
anything, and he was sure that he could re-freeze her in a flash if
she did. Her voice continued, brave, but still trembling.
"You know. 'Give me all your money and nobody gets hurt.'
Misspelled, and barely legible. I'll give it all to you, you know.
That's how we're trained. You can put the gun away."
She was babbling, scared. He couldn't blame her.
"You were robbed before?"
She laughed humourlessly and nodded slowly. "You can have the money,
mister. If I lower her arms, you won't shoot me?"
He sighed.
"No. Keep your hands where I can see them for a moment."
She did.
"Please. Just take the money and go," she was keeping her voice
down.
"What's your name?"
She wasn't wearing a tag proclaiming her a smiling employee.
"My name? Why?"
He raised the gun a little. She paled underneath the black makeup
and stuttered a quick answer.
"My. My. My name is. Kelly. I can get the money for you in a second,
if you'll let me put my arms down."
Her arms trembled. He wasn't sure if it was fatigue or fright.
He nodded. "You can put them down, Kelly."
She immediately began to fumble with the cash register. For a
moment, he let her; the action of opening the drawer seemed to calm
her a bit.
"Kelly?"
Kelly looked up, a few twenties in her left hand. She held them out
to him, a hopeful expression in her eyes.
"I don't want money."
The girl looked confused for a moment.
"Huh?"
"I don't want money," he repeated patiently.
"Wh-what do ..." she clamped her lips together as the gun rose
again, centred between her breasts. Her eyes pleaded. The bills fell
from her fingers, floating down to scatter about the floor. What
she'd released probably was more than she made in two weeks,
scattered about her feet.
"I need some help, Kelly."
"Help?" she asked quietly. Confusion graced her face.
He nodded.
"I. I'm just a cashier. I really don't know anything. Walt might be
..."
He smiled gently at her, lowering the gun from her chest. Her eyes
followed it.
"That's okay, Kelly. I don't need to know which drill will do the
best job, or which rope is best for tying things up."
She paled a little, but she refused to look at him.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
"First, I want you to strip," he said it calmly and surely, as if
customers always asked cashiers to remove their clothing.
She looked up sharply, understanding dawning in her features.
"What?"
"Strip. Disrobe. Take off your clothing for me."
She shook her head violently, her fear escalating. Gone was the
somewhat smart aleck demeanour when she thought he wanted money, and
that this was a typical robbery.
"You can't do this. You can't rape me. The mall ..." her voice
trailed off. She looked at him, her eyes still frightened. "I'll
scream."
"Kelly?"
She looked up quickly, but lowered her eyes again.
"I'm not going to rape you. I want to test a few things with you,
and I need you nude to do it. Screaming won't help you. It will
really only irritate me. Do you want to irritate me?"
The confusion on her face deepened.
"What? What are you going to do to me?"
She looked up then. He'd moved closer to the counter and levelled
the gun again. The barrel wasn't touching her, but it was aimed
point blank between her breasts. The girl held her breath.
"Kelly," he said reasonably. "I'm not going to hurt you, but if you
are uncooperative with me ..." he let his voice trail off
menacingly.
"But," she began desperately. "I can't strip. Not here. It's the
middle of the afternoon in a mall. Someone will see. You'll get
caught."
He smiled. "So, you're concerned about me?"
She thought for a second, a tear welling in her right eye. She shook
her head. She was sensing that something wasn't quite right, that
her stripping in the middle of the store wasn't going to attract
attention.
"Please," she whispered. "I. I'm shy."
He nearly laughed. Her demeanour, her attire, her carriage cried out
for attention. He grabbed her hand. She flinched, but didn't resist.
The gun touched her chest, and he pulled it back, but didn't lower
the weapon.
He held up her hand, the nails facing her.
"Black nail polish, and you're shy?"
She nodded once, trying desperately to control tears.
Gently, he spoke to her.
"Kelly, I know you're scared. I would be, too, in your place. I
promise. Nobody but me will see you."
"That's bad enough."
He touched her chin with the barrel of the gun, cold steel touching
soft flesh. She jerked back, eyes widening.
"You won't rape me?"
"I won't rape you. You aren't my type."
Truthfully, she wasn't. It was one of the reasons that he'd chosen
her.
"You won't hurt me?"
He considered that for a moment.
"You might be in some discomfort for a while, but nothing you can't
handle. I'll try to keep you comfortable. At least as long as you
cooperate."
He punctuated the last sentence with another touch of the gun barrel
between her breasts.
She looked confused, but seemed convinced.
"Where?"
It was his turn to look confused.
"Where?"
"Where do you want me to take my clothes off?"
He lowered the gun, aiming it back at the floor. Kelly visibly
relaxed.
"Right here."
"Here? Not in the back room?"
"Put your clothes on the counter, okay?"
She glanced nervously at the mall entrance, though it wasn't
remarkably visible from where she stood behind the counter.
"You won't hurt me?"
"No."
Kelly inhaled deeply, and let the air back out in a nervous whoosh.
"I don't want to do this."
"I know."
After a brief pause, she swallowed heavily, glanced at the gun, and
sighed.
"All right. I'll strip."
	

Chapter 15

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

Kelly's yellow smock lay over the checkout desk like a discarded
rain slicker. Her street clothes, draped on her body, shone darkly
under the fluorescent lights, as black as the paint that graced her
fingernails.
Black, black and more black. He idly wondered if the girl was
depressed.
She looked at him with a pleading look, which didn't find solace.
After a moment of hesitation, her fingers began to unbutton her
black blouse. Her eyes shifted left and right, refusing to meet his,
looking perhaps for assistance, even at the risk of exposure.
Her blouse joined the yellow smock reminding him of a bumblebee,
black stripes on a big yellow body. Her skin was milky white, except
for her face which was artificially darkened by a strangely coloured
dark rouge. A band of black, her brassiere, stretched across her
chest, enclosing her breasts.
She hesitated again at her black jeans, but her fingers fumbled at
the clasp, and finally urged the denim down her thighs. Standing
behind the counter, he couldn't see her thighs, except for the odd
flash as she bent to tug the fabric over her feet. She left her
pants somewhere hidden behind the counter.
He adopted a practised look of non-pity, setting his features into a
strict pose. When she rose, and looked at him inquiringly, she
didn't ask the question that he could have predicted.
"More?" didn't issue forth for her.
Instead, with a tremble and a sigh, she reached up behind her, with
surprising flexibility, and somehow unclasped her bra with practised
ease. Except there was no mirror here, and he was reasonably sure
that she'd never undressed in her place of employment before.
For a moment, she held the bra against her breasts with her hands.
"Please?" she whispered.
"Kelly, you know what I want."
The girl sighed, and with a quick movement, like that of a child
removing a Band-Aid, the bra joined her blouse against the yellow
smock. Another stripe on the insect.
She shivered, but made no attempt to cover her bare breasts. Her
breasts weren't overly large. That would cut out one of his plans,
but perhaps not entirely. However, she definitely didn't need the
bra, her breasts lovely, and perky, her nipples beginning to harden.
Her left nipple wore a small ring; her belly button was adorned with
a similar silver hoop.
"Now what?" she asked. Now that she'd agreed to strip, and had done
so, her voice had returned to an edge of defiance.
"You aren't done," he remarked easily. He gestured towards her black
panties with the barrel of the gun. She paled at the gesture.
Her panties were fancier than he'd expected -- not briefs, but not a
thong either. They didn't cry out: "Fuck me", nor were they frigid,
standard briefs. He could only see the tops of them, but they looked
French cut, or something.
"Please. I've stripped enough for you. Please let me get dressed."
He smiled kindly at her, but gestured again with the gun.
"Please no." Her voice had lost that defiance again.
He nodded.
With trembling fingers, she hesitated for a long time. Her fingers
hooked under the waistband of the cloth protecting her last modesty.
He didn't press her, let her take her time with this one. The
waiting, for her, would be worse than taking that Band-Aid approach.
She seemed to realise that, after a few minutes, and without warning
pushing the cloth down her legs in one fluid motion. Her pubic
region remained hidden below the desk, but she probably didn't
realise that.
She stood back up slowly, after pushing the panties over her feet
hidden somewhere below.
"Now what?"
"Come around here, please," he said quietly.
"Why?"
He let her stand there for a moment, shifting her weight from foot
to foot, arms clasped under her breasts, almost hugging herself. He
gave her credit; once she'd stripped, she hadn't tried to cover
herself.
"I want to see you."
Slowly, she stepped over the clothing that was undoubtedly scattered
on the floor under the register, and with a glance towards the mall
entrance again, she slipped out of her carrel to stand fidgeting
near the opening to behind the counter. She had finally,
unconsciously, clasped her hands in front of her pubic hair, which
before she did that, had revealed a trim patch.
Her feet remained encased in white Keds, somehow incongruous with
her image, but probably comfortable for a job that required her to
stand all day. Her ankles sported short black athletic socks.
He motioned her over to where he was standing.
She stepped slowly towards him, her surprise registering on her face
as he moved away. The girl was still expecting to be raped -- he
could see it in her eyes.
He hopped up easily to the counter, sitting over the bar code
reader, his feet swaying easily. He half-expected the register to
beep. One time-manipulating bastard: $15.99. All sales final. His
fingers ran over her blouse and bra; the bra still retained some of
her body heat, her blouse was cold to the touch. Her jeans and
panties lay in a jumble on the rubber mat below the cash register.
Two green twenties peeked up from beneath her jeans.
Kelly stood in the spot that he'd vacated, a spot with a much better
view of the mall. She was shivering, but her hands had moved from
her nervous fidgeting, affording him a view of her pubic region; her
hair matched her eyebrows, matched the spiky hair on her head. The
ebony colour wasn't a dye as he'd assumed prior to having her
undress for him.
Her eyes rested on the old man, about to enter the store. Confusion
reigned over her face.
"Kelly?"
She tore her eyes from the entrance, a look of fear adjusting to her
face.
"What's wrong with him? All of them?"
He wasn't sure if he needed to answer, but in the end, he did.
"They're frozen, Kelly."
"Frozen?"
"That's why I can get away with having you naked. Nobody can see
you, but me. Even here."
"Really?" she asked hopefully. It was almost as if she was relieved,
but intrigued at the same time, despite herself.
He nodded slowly.
"What now?" she asked simply.
"First, I want you to take off those shoes and socks."
"Can't," she answered.
He raised the gun.
"Why not?"
At the sight of the gun, she gulped but tried anyway.
"Not allowed to go without shoes in the store. Might get a nail in
the foot. Customers sometimes spill them."
He laughed kindly.
"Let me worry about that, I won't fire you, and watch where you
walk."
She swallowed, obviously not liking the notion of losing her last
bit of clothing, but after a moment, crouched and began to unlace
the Keds on her feet. After both shoes were loose, she stood, and
carefully kicked the footwear to the side. After that, she pulled
the socks off with her toes, the results like two small black garter
snakes on the tile of the store floor.
"Happy?" she asked. But there was no defiance in her voice. She
merely wanted to be done with this.
Her toes were painted the same shade as her fingernails. He wasn't
surprised somehow. Her second toe on her right foot sported a band
of silver.
"You look nice, Kelly."
She shifted from foot to foot, nervously. It was obvious that she
wasn't used to compliments about herself.
"Can I get dressed now that you've seen me? Gotten your thrill?"
Then she blushed, as if aware that provoking this man might not have
been her best option. She cast her eyes down, inspecting her bare
feet.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Unfazed, he sat regarding the naked girl.
"Why do you dress like that?"
"Like what?"
"All in black?"
"What do you care?" she asked, but again, no defiance, merely a
question.
"I'd like to know. I'm curious."
"Just feel black most of the time," she answered simply. It was
obvious that she didn't mean racially, but somehow it related to her
moods. Females were wonderfully complex creatures, he thought idly.
"Can those be removed?"
"What?"
"The nose stud, and the eyebrow ring?"
"And the nipple ring?"
"Yes, and that, too?"
She nodded slowly, her hands rising to the ring set in her eyebrow,
turning it slowly through her skin. The band moving through her made
his skin crawl, but she didn't seem bothered particularly.
"Give me your jewellery."
She looked up sharply.
"The money in the cash register is worth more than everything I'm
wearing."
She was correct, as far as he could tell. The twenties scattered
about the counter were probably worth more. Nothing she was wearing
was gold; she probably had to buy all of her adornments herself.
Being a cashier would be thankless, and low paid.
With a sigh, she didn't wait for him to tell her again, but began to
loosen the eyebrow ring first. She began to fumble with her left
breast, looking for the tiny clasp on the ring there when he stopped
her.
"Not the nipple ring, you can keep that."
She regarded him quizzically, but worked the nose stud out, and
quickly unclasped her watch. She looked up questioningly when she
began to work on the belly hoop, but he didn't stop her so her
fingers continued until the silver joined the rest of her adornments
in her left palm. She began to move forward, but then stopped. Then
she knelt, and struggled to pull the ring off her toe. When she
looked up, her eyes were frightened.
"I. I can't get it off."
"The toe ring?"
She shook her head miserably, as if she expected to be shot because
the band wouldn't release her.
He shrugged easily.
"You can leave it on, then. No problem."
With a look of relief, she rose again to her bare feet. She
hesitated a moment, but then stepping forward warily, she held out
the jewellery to the man, upturning her palm to drop the bits of
metal into his hand. As he placed the rings and watch on the desk
upon which he sat, she retreated to stand near her shoes.
"Can I get dressed now?" she asked again quietly. "You've seen all
there is to see."
"Sorry, Kelly. I need you naked for a while."
She sighed, but seemed resigned to her fate.
"The black makeup all part of the blackness?"
She nodded, her eyes beginning to moisten again.
"You'd be a stunning girl without the black, you know."
She seemed to consider that for a minute, appearing small, barefoot
and naked in front of the gunman.
"I know," she said simply.
"Is there a bathroom in the store?"
She hesitated, finally shaking her head.
"'fraid not."
"Where is the closest one?"
"Down by the Harvey's restaurant."
"You need one."
She looked puzzled, unconsciously squeezing her legs together.
"I don't. I don't think."
"I need you to wash your face, get that gunk off so I can see you."
Kelly paled again, underneath the makeup. Perhaps she was actually
shy, he thought. She doesn't want to go out into the mall, even
though she knows that the people are frozen.
"Please?" she almost whimpered.
"Off."
The girl stood rigid for a moment, and he thought she might make a
run for it, but in the end, she whispered.
"I. If you'll let me to my purse, I can wipe it off for you without
going all the way down the mall."
He nodded, and she nearly ran to the desk, oblivious to his presence
upon it. She leaned over the desk, stretching for her purse. Her
bare bottom was so close, he nearly spanked it, thinking of his hand
prints on Sandra's behind, her squirming, her cries.
He controlled his hand, allowing the girl to finally straighten. She
rummaged in her purse eventually coming up with tissue, a tube of cold
cream, and her wallet. Slowly, she unzipped her wallet, and pulled
out two bills, a twenty and a five.
"It's all I have," she whispered. "Please take it and let me go."
He gently pushed the bills back into her hand, closing her fingers
around the money.
"There's four hundred dollars scattered on the floor, Kelly."
She began to cry, then, her makeup running in rivulets as two large
tears traced down her cheeks.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
He nearly reached for her, nearly pulled her in for a hug. She might
have let him. Might. But it might have scared her even more.
"You'll be fine, Kelly. You'll be fine," he whispered.
She managed to get control of her tears, sniffling.
"Let me go," she begged.
"Soon, Kelly. I promise."
"I don't understand."
"I know, Kelly. I know."
Another tear rolled unheeded down her left cheek.
	

Chapter 16

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

Her lips were red underneath the black makeup, and though she was
pale, her cheeks had regained colour with the simple act of removing
the dark rouge. Her face looked soft and delicate, that of a child.
Given longer, less severe hair, and the removal of the piercings,
and a more colourful wardrobe, the girl could have been pretty.
She stood again, shivering, but more controlled, at the end of the
first aisle.
He hopped down, his shoes slapping at the floor. She cringed for a
moment, but didn't cover her nudity at his approach.
"We need to gather some things."
Kelly nodded, along for the ride.
"Got any athletic bags?"
She looked confused, but turned slowly and headed down the third
aisle, her bare backside swinging. So unusual, being naked in a
store -- he wondered if she was too scared to enjoy the experience
at all. Probably.
He picked a large blue backpack and handed it to her.
She held the bag loosely by its top strap, dangling at her side
almost like a briefcase.
"Do you want me to put it on?"
The thought of her wearing nothing but a backpack aroused him, but
he shook his head. Too difficult to fill, and to play some of the
games he had in mind. No, he wanted her completely nude for the
remainder of this jaunt.
She waited quietly for him to guide her to the next equipment.
"You sell ropes and chains and padlocks, right?"
She paled noticeably clamping her lips together. After a few minutes
of her silence, he asked again, his voice taking on the tone of
irritation. She started, and began to walk slowly towards the back
of the store.
"Why do you want ropes and chains?" she asked as she walked ahead.
He didn't answer her, and he supposed that she was too frightened to
ask again. She stopped in front of packages of rope, and rolls of
chain. He pointed, and Kelly grabbed various lengths of rope and
padlocks from the shelves, dropping them into the backpack.
"Can you cut chain?"
Kelly looked up sharply. She had knelt to organise the items in the
bag.
"Cut chain?"
He handed her the bolt cutters that lay on the shelf.
"I can shoot you before you can brain me with those things," he
remarked conversationally.
The girl looked sheepish and guilty, but he decided not to push her
too much. He would be pushing her in a few minutes, anyway.
He chose a few lengths of various chains, and had Kelly place three
of them on the floor instead of in the bag.
At last, he had the equipment that was important. She stood eyeing
him warily, her hand resting on a roll of high gauge chain. It
looked like it was capable of restraining an elephant.
He approached her. She shrunk back, but didn't bolt.
"Kelly, turn around."
"Why?"
He swallowed. He didn't want to spook her, but she had to know what
was coming.
"I need to test the ropes."
"Test?"
"Test them. On you."
"You want to tie me up?"
She'd paled again, her body trembling.
He nodded.
"Not particularly tight, but I doubt if you'll get free without me
untying you."
"No," she said in a quiet voice.
He raised his eyebrows.
"No. You've forced me to strip. Forced me to walk around naked in
the store I work at. You've had your fun. I won't let you tie me
up."
The gunman leaned back against the chain display, the links rattling
ominously. She regarded him, her entire body shaking.
"Kelly?"
She turned her eyes towards him.
"Did you see the old man about to enter the store?"
"Yes ..."
"I can make you blow him. I can hurt you so badly that you'd beg to
blow him, just to make it stop."
Kelly paled.
"There's a woman in your paint section that I'd love to see you have
sex with."
The naked girl began to shake.
"And I've already spanked a woman for disobeying me." It was a lie,
not the spanking part, but the reason, however Kelly wouldn't know
that.
The man advanced on the naked girl. Tears had sprouted from her
eyes, threatening to overflow.
The barrel of the gun touched her chin again, and Kelly recoiled.
"Please. I. You could do anything to me if I let you tie me up. For
God sakes I'm naked. Let me dress, and I'll let you tie me up.
Okay?"
Her eyes shone with hope for a moment, the thought of her clothing
back on her body warming her.
"Kelly, I need to make sure that the stuff I'm taking will knot
against bare skin. Some ropes prickle, some ropes loosen."
Her cheeks flushed.
"Why?" she whispered.
"Doesn't matter, Kelly." The man tapped her chest with the gun
barrel. "I don't want to hurt you Kelly. I don't. I won't rape you
while you are bound. I won't hurt you at all. That's more than I can
say if you keep being uncooperative."
She swallowed heavily, one lone tear escaping down her cheek.
After staring at him for a moment, she turned around, presenting her
smooth backside to him. He smiled.
Gently, he pulled her wrists behind her, folding her arms, thrusting
her breasts forward. She gasped, but didn't protest.
He easily wrapped her arms together behind her.
"Test them."
He watched as she pulled against the ropes, her arms securely
trapped behind her. She slowly turned. Her cheeks flushed crimson.
"Satisfied? Will you untie me now?"
He laughed gently.
"No, Kelly. We have more shopping to do."
"I can't ..."
He knelt at her feet. At the movement, she backed away, her bare
feet sliding across the tile.
"Kelly, I'm going to hobble you. It won't hurt."
"Hobble me? What the hell is that?"
He picked up the chains that she'd laid on the floor a little
earlier, grabbing two small padlocks from the shelf above and
ripping them from their packaging. He unlocked them and slipped the
keys into his pocket.
"I'm going to fasten your ankles together with this chain, loosely
so you can still walk."
"Like hell, you are."
"Kelly, I don't want to play with the gun again. It's dangerous and
I don't want to shoot you."
She considered for a moment, then stepped forward.
"You don't have to tie me up, you know. I'll do whatever you want. I
have already, haven't I?"
The skin of her calf and ankles was soft and nearly took his breath
away. But within minutes, he'd locked a loop of chain around each
ankle, and a short length between then, holding them together but
allowing her enough motion to take small steps. He touched the ring
encircling her second toe. She stiffened at the touch, but didn't
back away.
He rose to his feet. Tears rolled down her face, and she pulled
futilely against the ropes holding her arms. He gently wiped the
tears from her cheek. She looked at him accusingly.
"It's just for a while, Kelly. I promise. Just a few more items, and
one more store."
Her resolve broke. Perhaps it had been the mention of another store,
perhaps it was merely the restraints holding her vulnerable and
helpless in front of him.
"Help! Someone! Help! Help! Help! Please!"
He let her scream for a while until she looked like she might
collapse. He moved closer. With the hobble and her arms bound, she
might fall and really hurt herself. She wasn't used to being bound
yet.
"Help," she whispered. He wiped at the tears again, his fingers
coated in salty moisture by the time she finished. At last, she
stood there, breath hitching in her chest.
"Why me? You said I wasn't even your type."
"You were female, and you were there," he explained patiently.
"Are you going to hurt me? Punish me? For screaming?"
He shook his head. "I can't blame you. I'm surprised that you didn't
do it sooner."
She looked down, past her bare breasts, towards the floor.
"I'm sorry. I ..."
"Panicked. Understandable. You're naked, a strange bastard is waving
a gun in your face, and he tied you up. I'd scream, too."
She looked up, almost gratefully. "What now?"
"There's a few more things to pick up, and then I let you go."
"You'll untie me?"
"No, Kelly, I'll let you go."
He turned the girl around with gentle pressure on her shoulders.
She stumbled, unused to her ankles being restricted, but she
managed.
"You'll release me."
"As if it never happened."
He pressed the top strap into her bound fingers behind her back.
The weight of the bag caught her off guard, and she stumbled again
adjusting to it. She didn't protest.
"Ready?"
She nodded. He watched from behind as her head bobbed slowly.
"Take small steps."
She began to walk with baby steps down the tile. He watched as she
struggled slowly, five steps to every one of his. She didn't
complain, but winced every time her steps grew too wide and the
chain bit into her skin.
	

Chapter 17

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

The plastic ones were multi-coloured, the wooden ones plain. Both
looked like they might be painful.
The girl could no longer help take items from the shelves, so the
Timeman fingered the packages of clothespins before taking them. Her
eyes widened, as if she were aware of what the ordinary household
items might be used for.
"Kelly, come here."
She hesitated for a moment, but in the end shuffled over to where he
was standing.
"Can't we take the chains off, at least?" she asked. "What's the
point in making me take small steps, it only slows us down. I'm not
going to run."
"Kelly, time isn't an issue. Your ability to run isn't an issue."
Time was an issue, but he didn't want her to know that. Besides
which, she looked pretty struggling to walk -- re-learning to walk.
Wonderfully adaptive, women, he thought. He doubted that if the
roles were reversed, if he'd have been able to walk as well as she
had, and not nearly as quickly. She rarely over-extended her steps
any longer, no longer digging the chains into her bones with
overlong strides. They'd traversed the store, picking up items, her
moving slowly, but determinedly, grasping the pack in her fingers,
her ankles restricted by the chains.
The clothespins were the last item. From here.
"I need to try these, too," he remarked to the girl.
She slowly shook her head.
"Not on me. Please."
"I need to know which type is worse, if they are completely
unbearable."
She shook her head, backing up as quickly as her bound feet would
let her. Moving backwards was more difficult for her; she stumbled
twice. He allowed her to move back a bit. His voice eventually
stopped her.
"Kelly?"
She halted, her eyes suspicious.
"No. Please, no."
He worked a plastic pin out of its package, and a wooden one out of
the next. He tested the grip against his finger. They hurt, but they
weren't unbearable. The plastic one with its ridged teeth hurt far
more than the plain wooden one.
"It doesn't hurt that much," he remarked conversationally as he
slipped the clamps from his skin. Of course, he wasn't really trying
them on sensitive skin, either.
The tears had begun.
"Please, no."
He walked behind her, unzipping the bag and dropping in the packages
of clothespins, keeping the two that he'd tested against his finger
aside.
He walked in front of her. She stepped back again. Her eyes were
riveted to the simple clothespins that he held casually in his left
hand.
"Would you rather have sex with the paint woman?"
She naked girl shook her head.
"The old guy?"
She shook her head again.
"Me?"
She hesitated at that one. Instead of a denial, she whispered.
"Would you let me go, if I did?"
"I'm going to let you go, anyway, Kelly."
"Where are you going to put them?" He looked confused for a moment,
but she nodded her head towards his left hand. "Those damn things."
Her body was shaking.
"I thought I'd let you choose."
She looked confused.
"Choose?"
"Breasts or lips?"
"Lips?"
She jumped as he touched her flat belly, finger trailing downwards,
brushing at her soft pubic hair. Frightened, she stepped back, three
baby steps, chains rattling between her ankles.
"Please, no."
He shrugged. "I can choose for you."
"Breasts," she said dully. "Please, how long."
He considered. He needed them on her skin for a few minutes to let
her get used to the pressure. He needed a female perspective, and
she was the only one here -- at least the only one unfrozen.
"We're going further down the mall after this."
She shook her head, perhaps more frightened of walking down the mall
in her condition.
"When we get outside this store, I'll take them off you. Okay?"
He could see in her eyes that she didn't think it was okay -- not by
a long shot, but she nodded slowly, acquiescing to her torture.
"If it hurts, will you take them off?"
He decided not to lie to her.
"Kelly. No. They will be uncomfortable, have no doubt, but I need
you to wear them for a few minutes."
He held up the clothespins, two simple implements of pressure.
Innocent, except if one was bound naked staring at them, knowing
where they were going. The plastic one shone shiny red under the
fluorescent lights of the store.
He held up the red clip.
"Which? Left or right?"
"I don't care," she said dully.
His fingers gathered in the flesh of her right nipple, his touch
impersonal, like a doctor's. She gasped as his fingers touched her
private skin, her nipple involuntarily hardening. She shivered. The
jaws of the clothespin began to close, ever so slowly, aiming behind
her nipple, not directly on the sensitive nub. He could feel her
twitching, wanting to turn away from the certain pain, wanting to
run.
"Please don't," she whispered.
Her voice rose to a short scream, which she cut off with an effort
as the jaws mercilessly clamped behind her nipple.
"Christ, that hurts. Take it off. Please."
Tears began to fall down her cheek.
Without answering her, her gathered her left nipple, and attached
the wooden one carefully but quickly. She screamed again, her
denials muttered.
"No. No. Please God. No."
He watched her for a moment twisting, desperate to release her arms
from their imprisonment behind her back. The pins stood erect,
almost like obscene gestures attached to her small nipples. Her
nipples began to engorge behind the clips. She was in no danger from
circulation, that he knew; they wouldn't grace her body long enough
to do any physical damage, but she was uncomfortable, no question.
He waited for her nipples to numb a little, and for her to get used
to the throbbing there. At last, she looked up.
"They hurt."
"I know, Kelly. I know."
"Why?"
"Because you aren't used to the pressure?"
She looked frustrated; clarified:
"Why are you hurting me, you bastard?"
Because I can? Because I think you are pretty that way? Because I
want to control you?
"It won't be for long, Kelly. I promise."
She couldn't understand, and he couldn't blame her. She was the one
in discomfort, after all. And he'd caused it.
"Please take them off me. Please?" she begged. Then after a moment
of silence. "I'll have sex with you, with the old guy, with the
woman. Anything you want. But please."
He gently shook his head.
She desperately shook her chest, perhaps trying to dislodge the
clamps. He could have told her that it was probably a mistake, and
she perhaps knew even before she did it. She cried out in pain as
the movement of her bare breasts translated to the clothespins
attached to her. The clips wobbled, twisting cruelly.
After she'd managed to quell the pain, but still crying, he turned
her gently and guided the naked girl towards the mall. All thoughts
of her humiliation and nudity out in the concourse forgotten, she
put all her concentration into taking small steps, as much as the
chains would allow her, and minimising the movement of her breasts.
He watched her rhythm, her hard won cadence forgotten, she continued
to push the chains between her ankles to their limits, the resulting
pain in her ankles, he was sure, minor compared to that in her
nipples.
The concourse remained as it was. He examined the old guy entering
the store, considering releasing him to see Kelly struggling towards
the mall, the clothespins still upright on her breasts. The shock on
the old man's face might have been worth it, but a heart attack
might not be a good thing.
In the end, he walked back towards Kelly, marvelling that he could
walk so easily. The girl looked decidedly envious.
"Take them off me, please?" she begged. "You can leave me tied up
forever, I don't care, just the pins."
He gently shook his head. It was obvious that she was hurting with
them, but the pain was dulling as she was forced to wear them
longer. She still pulled at her bound arms, but he could see that
she really didn't think that she could pull free to reach the
maddening clips.
"You can do it, Kelly," he whispered. She looked up murderously. If
she hadn't been bound, he didn't doubt that she would have attempted
to kill him then.
He retreated from the struggling girl, finding a spot on a concourse
bench between a young couple and an older woman. He ignored his
bench mates and watched Kelly approach.
It took her a while, and she stumbled with soft expressions of pain
once or twice. He enjoyed the view, though on some levels her pain
bothered him. She didn't deserve this, but he needed her for this.
His erection throbbed almost painfully watching her. He turned his
attention to the other pedestrians. The population was sparse at
this end of the mall, but there were others here that he could test.
He shook his head, imagining some of the walking girls, naked. He
could see them if he wanted. There was an Asian girl, sporting a
dark ponytail. There was a black girl, wearing a jump suit and
sneakers. A business woman her hand raised in greeting, her long
blond hair loose around her shoulders, her jacket stretched across
her breasts. They would all look wonderful nude.
"Mister?" Kelly's voice turned his attention back towards the
hardware store. He'd intended to stop her before she approached the
bench upon which he was sitting; it was out of the way for where they
were going, and with her hobbled, every step was a chore. She stood
naked in front of him, close, but not too close. She bit her lip,
glancing around nervously at the other frozen people surrounding
them.
"I don't even know who you are." He didn't say anything in response.
It was obvious that she'd been thinking while she struggled with the
clothespins grasping her tender skin. "I. I don't know what I did to
displease you. Maybe the black clothing? Maybe I offended you?
Maybe I was rude to you in a former life?"
He shook his head. She plunged onwards.
"Whatever it was," she paused here for a moment searching for a
word. She said it anyway, almost as if it left a bad taste in her
mouth. "Whatever it was, sir, I'm sorry. So sorry."
"You didn't do anything." But he liked the term she had chosen. Much
better than 'bastard'. 'Sir' reminded him of Christi and Jane. He
shivered.
She almost looked like she needed to believe that she had displeased
her captor in some minor way; something to deserve her punishment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll gladly stay tied up for you, and I
know that you don't have to do it, I know, but please, please,
please, take the clothespins off me. Please?" Her voice had dropped
to a begging whisper.
"Do they hurt?"
She looked surprised at the question. She didn't snap at him, though
a quick look of anger crossed her pretty features. Her voice emerged
controlled and soft.
"What do you think?"
After he didn't answer her, she concentrated, her face screwed up.
Finally she answered.
"No."
"No?"
"No. They don't hurt ... not like they did when you put them on in
the first place. My. My nipples ... feel ... numb. They throb.
Except when I move, then it hurts. Please."
He looked at her quizzically, prompting her with his eyes. She
hesitated, then continued.
"The plastic one hurts the most, the wooden one I could probably
stand for a while by itself. Please, don't make me wear them any
more. Please."
She shifted her weight as best she could, relieving tension on her
right leg. Slowly, he rose from the bench.
"Kelly?"
The naked girl looked up, her eyes pleading.
"They are going to hurt coming off, you know."
Her eyes widened, not fully understanding. She probably had never
put clothespins on her nipples before, or had anyone else do it
either.
"I don't care," she whispered. "Please."
The Timeman shrugged. Kelly winced, as his fingers touched the
wooden clothespin.
"You sure you're ready?"
She nodded once.
With a quick movement, to cause her the least discomfort, he
released the clamp and palmed the pin. Her face was a mask of
relief, for a moment, and then the blood rushed back into her
sensitised nipple.
"Ayiiiiiee," her voice rang through his eardrums. Her fingers
unconsciously released, and she dropped the backpack onto the tile
of the corridor with a dull thud. Before she could react, he
snatched the red one from her right nipple. Band-Aid approach. Her
cries of pain intensified for a moment, and he was sure that she
would collapse. Gently, he caught her, and lowered her bound body to
the ceramic tile of the concourse. If she'd fallen, she had no hands
to break her fall. She lay moaning there, struggling in vain against
her ropes, bare ankles kicking futilely against the chains that held
them.
"My nipples. My breasts. Oh God," she moaned.
He settled back onto the bench, watching her, making sure that she
didn't roll and hurt herself further. It didn't take long before she
quieted, her cries subsiding, as her blood refilled the tormented
skin. At last, only her breasts and ribs hitched in quiet sobs.
After a while, she looked up.
"Thank-you," she whispered.
He wasn't sure if it was meant for him finally removing her torture,
or if it was because he hadn't let her fall bound to hurt herself or
break bones on the ceramic. She certainly wasn't thanking him for
the pleasure of having her nipples squeezed mercilessly by mindless
springs and pegs, oblivious to her discomfort.
He knelt beside her for a moment.
"You okay?"
She nodded, biting at her lip.
"Can you walk?"
She nodded again after looking at the floor on which she lay with a
grimace.
Gently, he lifted her back to her feet. He stooped, picking up the
blue backpack and pressing it into her fingers again. She didn't
complain about having to carry it. Her breath still came in long
inhales and exhales, as if calming jangled nerves.
He opened the backpack behind her and slipped the two tormenting
clips into it. He heard them settle against some of the other
hardware stored there.
Without another word, he began to guide her, she taking five steps
to every one of his, towards the far end of the mall.
	

Chapter 18

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

They were half-way to the last store when she spoke.
"The plastic one. The red one."
He continued to walk with her slowly, one hand resting on the soft
skin of her right elbow.
"What?"
"It hurt more. A lot more. Both going on and coming off. Please,
don't use them. On anyone."
She seemed to know what he had planned. He supposed it didn't take a
genius.
"Only for punishments," he responded.
Kelly thought about that for a minute.
"No. They aren't fun. Maybe for some women, but I'm not good at
pain. I don't think anyone deserves the plastic ones."
He stared at her as she concentrated on walking with her bare ankles
in the chains.
"You pierced your eyebrow. And your nipple."
She nodded. "That didn't hurt. Not like the clothespins." The
thought about it for a moment. "Well, the nipple hurt, for a few
days. Almost like the pins." She flushed, perhaps at the memory of
exposing herself for the piercing, or the pain that resulted from
her own decision.
She lapsed into silence. They passed a shoe store, and a dollar
store. A pet store, with a frozen puppy in cage, slipped by.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
She accepted it, not really having a choice.
"What did you need the drill for?"
He'd dropped a blue drill into the backpack, her grunt attesting to
its weight.
"Projects."
"With women? Like me?" The nude girl stopped for a moment, her
breath coming quickly and regularly. She shivered.
"I'm not going to use it to torture anyone, especially you. Relax."
Even the suggestion of using the drill directly on a woman repulsed
him.
She didn't look convinced, but turned again.
"Ropes? Chains? Hooks? Rings? Bolts?"
He smiled at her. She stopped again, out of breath.
"Just fun things."
"Fun for whom?" She looked like she knew the answer to that. She
gathered in her breath.
"Leashes?"
He touched her shoulder gently and she began to move. They were
almost there. He could see the red sign, the last shop at the end of
the mall.
After a few steps, her bare feet whispering across the tile, she
cried out. The blue pack slipped from her fingers, and even through
her arms were secured, she tried to catch it. The pack fell with a
thud. They both stopped, fright spreading across Kelly's features.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please."
He smiled and picked up the pack.
"I'm surprised that you managed this long," he said.
He watched as she slowly flexed her fingers, trying to release the
cramps of carrying the weight in such an awkward position.
She didn't say anything, merely waited for him to press it back into
her fingers.
"If I untie your arms, and let you wear it properly, instead, would
you freak out?"
"Freak out?"
"Panic. Run. Try something silly."
She slowly shook her head. Her face revealed a faint hope, the hope
that her arms might be released.
"Where would I go?"
Smart girl.
"Would you let me re-tie your arms in front of you?"
"God. Please," she said, almost begging, her voice sincere.
He knew that she'd rather be free, but hands in front was infinitely
better than folded arms behind. At least for her.
He put down the pack, and began to work at the ropes holding her
arms. After a few minutes, she shook out her arms, rubbing at the
skin displaying the marks of the ropes. She sighed.
Her arms held out, almost as if she were asking for a embrace, he
slipped the loops of the pack over her arms, and over her shoulders.
She remained still and didn't complain, even when he brushed her
bare breasts to adjust the straps for her frame.
Without prompting, she crossed her wrists in front of her, allowing
him to loop the rope around her wrists lashing them together
securely. She pulled weakly against the bonds, but didn't complain
even though he knew that he'd tied them tighter than her arms had
been before.
She looked up at him.
"You don't need to tie me up, you know." She sighed. "I know you
won't let me go, you like me like this, but I won't attack you, or
try to hurt you."
He nodded silently, acknowledging her earnestness. He touched her
shoulder and urged her to begin walking again.
She sighed and stumbled back into her short stepped walk.
They were in front of a coffee shop, one of those ridiculous and
overpriced cafes. He noticed her eyes shift towards it, then towards
their destination.
"No," she whispered as she realised where they were heading.
He shrugged. "Need some stuff from there, too."
"I'll bet."
They finally stood in front of the red sign.
Adult Palace.
She sighed, resigned. She'd been propelled through the mall, dodging
frozen people, naked and bound. What worse could be in here?
"Women aren't pets, you know."
He turned towards her.
"Pets?"
She gathered in her breath, as if leery about treading here.
"Pets. You took dog collars and leashes from the store. You aren't
going to put them on dogs or cats, are you?"
He looked at her, cocking his head a touch to the left.
"We aren't here for you to hurt, and tie up at your whim. We feel,
you know." Kelly looked down at her breasts. Her nipples still
looked sore, swollen. "We aren't here to rape."
He smiled gently.
"This is my world, Kelly. And if I want to put clothespins on you,
or anyone else, I can."
She looked at him for a moment, her eyes soft and sad.
"I know you can, but we hurt. We feel. We get embarrassed. And
humiliated. Even if you don't care. Do you have any idea how hard it
was for me to strip for you?"
He turned, and gently pushed open the door to the adult store. She
sighed, and stepped forward. It took her ten steps to get to where
he was standing holding the door open for her. It should have taken
her two. Pulling gently at her bound wrists, she spoke again as she
passed into the brightly lit store, her voice barely above a
whisper.
"We're human."
	

Chapter 19

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

The store was empty but for the bored girl leaning against the cash
counter. She didn't look old enough to be working in an adult store,
but perhaps. Girls sometimes looked younger than they were.
Racks and racks of bare flesh, both male and female, barraged him
with gaudy packaging, obscene titles, and poor puns. He picked up a
box with three large-breasted women cavorting on the cover, running
nakedly through trees.
"Forest Hump?"
Kelly laughed behind him, her voice warm, honest, and real. He
picked up another film box.
"Good Will Humping?"
Kelly laughed again, her voice cutting through the silence of the
world. He turned; she tried to wipe the smile from her lips.
"I should make you watch it. That might be some better torture for
you."
"I'd watch it. No problem. Get some popcorn, stretch out. I've
watched worse."
He dropped the box back into the rack. The rack rattled in protest.
"It has women severely objectified," he remarked.
Her voice turned serious.
"What do you think I am, at the moment."
He turned to look at her. She stood naked, her hands tied in front
of her, backpack straps cutting into her shoulders, a chain
stretched between her ankles. She leaned easily against the counter
in front of the frozen clerk. Her hands rose as one, and she
scratched at her nose delicately.
She sighed. "It's nice to be able to do that."
"What?"
"Scratch my nose. When my hands were behind me," her face clouded
for a second, probably as she remembered not being able to reach her
own breasts when she desperately wanted to. "I couldn't reach my
nose. And I didn't want you to scratch it, either." She forced a
smile to her lips. In a moment, it was genuine. "So I didn't ask."
He approached her while she watched him warily.
"What do you want?" she asked, her voice registering her alarm.
He grasped her upper arms, pulling her backwards.
"Oh!"
He lowered her gently to the carpet, turning her, legs outstretched
in front of her, still clipped together by the short lengths of
chain around her ankles. The Timeman wandered over to the magazine
rack, rifling through the exposed skin.
He selected one, and returned to where she sat quietly watching him.
He dropped it on her bare thighs.
Kelly looked up at him quizzically.
"Lesbian Fantasies?" she enquired. "You got a fetish that I don't
know about?"
"Silly girl. Leaf through that. I have to grab some stuff, and with
your slowness, it will take me all day. Maybe you'll enjoy it."
"Slowness?" she huffed indignantly. "You could try releasing your
funky hobble." She nodded pointedly at the chain between her ankles,
rattling it with a short shake of her bare foot.
"Just read it. There will be a pop quiz, later."
Kelly looked like she was about to say something sarcastic, but
began to work the cover of the magazine over with her bound hands.
It didn't look easy, but she managed.
He wandered through the store, picking up various toys. Dildos,
nipple clamps, leather cuffs, straps, hoods, and there, behind the
counter, he retrieved a nasty looking riding crop. The girl behind
the counter stared blankly at him as he slipped behind her and
released it from the wire ties holding it to the black grate.
Kelly, her eyes on the pictures in front of her, didn't see him
remove the implement. He leaned it against the counter, out of her
sight. The sight of the crop might seriously disturb her, he
thought.
He slipped the other toys into the backpack, and the bare girl
wearing it only looked up for a moment. She flipped the pages
easily, now, having mastered the technique with her tied hands. So
adaptive, he smiled.
"Almost done with the perverted shopping?" she asked, not looking
up.
"It's equipment, and I'm not the one with my nose stuck in a lesbian
mag."
Kelly stuck her tongue out, before getting a scared look on her face
and dropping her eyes back to the pages laid out on her lap. The
chain jingled between her ankles.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
He laughed, and she looked more relieved. She turned her attention
more fully to the magazine.
Last thing. It was difficult to find these things anywhere else but
in adult stores.
Under the counter, hidden by glass, they lay in a decorative arc. He
idly wondered if the female clerk had arranged them, perhaps feeling
stirs in her groin as she did. He almost woke her to find out.
He gathered the handcuffs and placed them on the glass of the
counter with a clatter. Kelly looked up at the noise, but shrugged,
not surprised any more by his tastes. After a second, she continued
to gaze at the magazine. She flipped another page with an audible
rattle.
He slipped most of the handcuffs into the pack on Kelly's back, but
kept one pair out to test on the naked girl.
He stepped in front of her, the steel swinging from his right index
finger. Slowly, she closed the magazine with her bound hand, using
only one, and ignoring the obstruction of having both hands held
together by the rope. It worked that way.
"Let me guess," she said. "I'm going to get untied." She shifted the
magazine to the floor and off her thighs.
He nodded and knelt beside her. His knee pressed into her warm bare
thigh. While he unwrapped the rope from her wrists, she spoke
quietly.
"Why did you give me that magazine?"
"Which one?"
"Lesbian Fantasies?"
He stopped releasing her for a moment. There was true curiosity in
her eyes. Then his fingers continued to unwrap the rope until it
fell unheeded to her thighs. She made no attempt to push the coils
from her legs, but rubbed absently at her sore wrists where the rope
had cut into her skin.
"I'm not a lesbian," she whispered.
He smiled. She automatically held up her wrists, close together, as
if waiting to be cuffed.
Instead of slipping the cuffs onto her, he reached forward to work
the backpack from her shoulder. She flinched at his movement, but
recovered when she realised what he wanted. Shrugging her bare
shoulders, she helped as much as she could. The heavy pack left wide
red marks on the skin of her shoulders. While he settled the
backpack against a rack of movies proclaiming the best orgy scenes
ever, she rubbed at her shoulders.
When she noticed him watching her, she held up her wrists again.
"You are going to put them on me, aren't you?" she asked resignedly.
"Yes, but not in front of you."
She paled.
"If you have to restrain me, it's more comfortable in front.
Please?"
He gently shook his head.
"You aren't going to hurt my boobs, er, breasts again, are you?"
"No, Kelly. I think you've had enough."
She sighed and pulled her arms back, placing her hands behind
herself.
"I've been good," she said, though in a voice that proclaimed that
she knew such behaviour wouldn't help her.
He knelt behind the naked girl and slipped the cuffs over her
wrists, tightening them, but not cruelly. She could twist her arms,
but not release them.
"Why?"
"I want to show you something. Can you kneel?"
She looked confused for a moment, and wary, but she bent her legs at
the knee, and struggled to get her calves under herself. With her
hands bound, it wasn't easy, but she somehow managed. At last, she
knelt, her thighs resting easily on her bound ankles.
She looked up, her eyes flashing.
"I don't know how long I can be like this. My thighs ..." she said
carefully, as if expecting him to force her to remain like that
despite her discomfort. He supposed that she had a point.
"Tell me when it gets uncomfortable."
She bit her lip for a moment, and nodded.
He reached for the magazine that she had discarded a moment before.
Kelly began to look worried a little.
"Kelly, dear?"
Her lips set, almost as if biting back a comment about him calling
her 'dear'. He continued on, ignoring her unspoken comment.
"What was your favourite picture in here?" He held up the magazine
for her, unnecessarily.
"I'm not a lesbian," she murmured.
"Nevertheless, women are beautiful, more so than men, don't you
think?"
She slowly shook her head, as if denial would make it so. Moisture
began to form near her eyes.
"Don't make me do this."
"Are you bisexual, Kelly?"
She looked up sharply, a flush rising from the tops of her bare
breasts to her throat. He didn't really need to ask her again.
"Which picture?"
Kelly lowered her head, eyes refusing to acknowledge him.
"They were kissing," she whispered. "Naked, and kissing."
He began to flip through the pages, women cavorted naked, touching
each other in private places. He paused at a picture where one
woman, on her hands and knees, licked at the ass of another woman,
head back in mock ecstasy.
He almost flipped past one. The girls were kissing, tongues
touching, moaning for the camera, legs wide, lips spread, hips
tilted obscenely. He held it up. Kelly raised her eyes for a moment,
regarding the image for only a second before shaking her head.
"That's not it."
He continued. Near the back, it hit him. The girls sat together in a
porch swing. Their complete nudity, almost inconsequential. Their
legs intertwined, no stiletto heels, no push up bras. Just simple
natural femininity. The girls were kissing, fingers trailing along
bare skin, tenderly. He wasn't sure, but it didn't look faked like
all the other images.
"Kelly?" The naked girl looked up, in response. "This one?"
Miserably, Kelly nodded, then lowered her eyes.
He left the magazine open to her picture, and slid it along the
carpet towards the back of the store, out of the way.
He grasped her chin, tilting her face upwards. She resisted, but
only for a moment.
"If I woke the clerk, would you like to have sex with her?" he
asked, but not unkindly.
Kelly answered too quickly, her voice strained.
"No."
He released her chin, and she looked back down at her bare thighs.
"Kelly?"
"Yes," she whispered. He wasn't sure which question she was
answering.
Slowly, he left her and retrieved the crop from behind the counter.
He sat in front of her, cross-legged. When she looked up, her eyes
widened, but she didn't say anything.
"Would you like to feel this?" He swished it through the air. It
whistled and she flinched. He couldn't imagine any woman being able
to take the pain this would inflict at full strength. Horses, maybe,
but a girl? And yet, he knew that some women might take it,
especially without choice. With pain, yes, but ... he'd used one on
Jane. She could take it. Oh yes. Never at full strength, he would
have killed her, but painful, he was sure. He glanced up, breaking
out of memory.
Not Kelly. Her face had paled, and her entire body had begun to
shake.
"No, please. God, no. I thought ..."
He swished it through the air again, liking the sound it made as it
broke the air like a lightning bolt.
"I'll do anything. I'll crawl for you. I'll ..."
"Kelly, shhhhhh," he remarked gently. She clapped her mouth shut so
hard that he heard her teeth connect.
She shook in terror, as he dragged the tip across her bare thighs,
up her hip, tickling her ribs, which were trembling as she struggled
for breath. Kelly couldn't go anywhere, couldn't back away, not from
the kneeling position, couldn't move her hands, not with the
handcuffs. He touched the underside of her left breast with the tip
of it. She moaned, but didn't move from her position.
"I'll have sex with her. I want to have sex with her," Kelly
whispered. "Please don't hit me. Not with that. Please. Oh God,
please."
Her thighs trembled. The nude girl was feeling the strain of her
position, afraid to say so. Those thighs, striped, angry welts, swam
into his vision. One quick strike, like a snake. She'd scream, but
she'd be fine in the long term, wouldn't she?
Kelly closed her eyes, waiting, her body begging visibly not to be
struck through her tension and pose. He could see her holding her
breath, bracing herself for the inevitable scream issuing forth as
the blow would connect with her, as yet, unmarred thighs.
He inhaled deeply, and lay the crop down harmlessly beside her, its
length lying beside her bare calf, its tip kissing the side of her
left foot. She collapsed in tears, her pent up breath escaping in
an undignified whoosh. Her hands pulled weakly at her bonds.
"Oh God, thank-you. Thank-you. Thank-you," she repeated the words
until they lost all meaning. He wasn't sure if she was thanking him,
or the object of her silent prayers.
"Kelly?"
She looked up, fright on her face.
"I'll do whatever you want. You don't have to hurt me. I swear ..."
"Do your thighs hurt?"
She looked at him blankly for a moment, but then nodded her head.
One can only kneel in strict position for so long without aching.
Her words were quick, though.
"They ache, but I'll stay like this for you. Anything ..."
"Give me your feet."
She looked at him, unsure whether to trust him. The ache in her legs
convinced her to trust, whether she believed or not.
She rocked back slowly, and with an audible sigh, she uncoiled her
bent legs, and extended her bare feet towards him. There were no
complaints forthcoming when he began to play with her toe ring. No
flinch. No retraction of her limbs. He was careful not to tickle
her.
He fished the keys to her locks from his pockets. He felt her tense,
but then relax as he inserted the key into her locks and released
the chain. The chains jangled to the carpet in a useless heap. Can't
push a chain.
After he'd released her ankles, she pulled her feet back towards
her, curling them beside her. He was reminded of a feline, relaxing.
She did it hesitantly, as if she needed permission to pull her toes
from his grasp, but after he didn't stop her, she relaxed more. She
was a little exposed in this position, the view between her slightly
spread legs causing him more of an erection. He nearly told her to
cover herself, but she'd grown less self-conscious, and he thought
he could handle her, this time.
The Timeman stood, leaving her on the floor. Kelly made no attempt
to rise to her own bare feet. She looked up at him, eyes
questioning.
"Do you want to go home?"
She looked puzzled.
"Just like that?"
"If I let you go, then you'll return to your cash register, forget
any of this ever happened. It didn't happen. Not for you."
"You'll let me go? You aren't going to rape me?"
"I said I wouldn't. You aren't my type."
She looked downcast, almost like a school girl, turned down the
first time she'd raised the nerve to ask a boy to dance.
"You aren't going to hurt me?"
He shook his head gently.
She was silent for a moment, the silence of the universe engulfing
them. Only the ragged edge of her breathing broke the quiet.
Finally, she raised her eyes.
"I want to go home."
He crouched, his finger touching her shoulder. She twisted a little
as if to avoid the contact, but the handcuffs prevented her from
moving too far. After a moment, she twisted her shoulders again,
connecting herself with his outstretched fingers willingly.
"I know you won't remember, but Kelly, you weren't my type," he
elaborated. "Not back behind that desk. You are a remarkably
beautiful girl, if you'd let yourself be. The black, it isn't you,
and you know that. Sitting there, being yourself -- even if you
weren't naked and handcuffed. That is my type. I didn't mean to hurt
you."
Kelly nodded slowly. He thought that she just might understand, now.
"I'm sorry," he said simply.
Kelly kissed him then, her lips brushing the edge of his cheek. She
smiled.
Rising to his feet, he urged her to her own bare feet. Her hands
impeded her, but he let her struggle to rise on her own. At last,
she stood proudly, her nudity not bothering her any longer. Her
breasts lifted naturally, without support, her hands remaining
behind her back.
"You are beautiful," he said.
"Thank-you," she murmured, a flush rising again. It disappeared
almost a quickly as it had appeared.
He concentrated, the bubble beginning to retract, he could feel her
presence beginning to fade from the timeline.
"I am bisexual," she whispered.
He smiled, and watched as she faded.
"Good-bye," he whispered to the air that she had filled only moments
before. The handcuffs that had graced her wrists fell
unceremoniously to the carpet with a jangle of metal.
He stooped to pick them up, the chrome still warm from her wrists.
He was going to miss her, he thought, as he gathered up the blue
pack. He considered waking the girl behind the desk to fill Kelly's
void -- she was attractive. But in the end, he simply began to walk
toward the door.
At the door, he turned. He was missing something. He returned to
the desk, bent to pick up the crop. He touched the frozen girl's
chin with the tip. She didn't react. Then he walked back to the
doorway, turning for a last look into the brightly lit adult palace.
The magazine on the floor was open to the kissing girls in the
swing.
He pushed open the door, slipping out into the mall. The handcuffs
jingled against the chains in the backpack dangling in his left
hand.
He had places to go.
	

Chapter 20

© Copyright 2003 - Crimson Dragon - All Rights Reserved

Dawn raised her head wearily from her hands, her body still jerking
with quiet sobs.
Dead? How could she have killed them all? She didn't even remember
how she caused the first blip, but she'd been under stress. John was
about to rape her, and had knocked her around; her ribs still ached
to attest to that. The exam? She shook her head in denial. No. She
never worked herself up over an exam. It wasn't worth it.
She allowed another tear to roll down her cheek, but savagely
brushed it away with the back of her hand.
How?
She forced herself to her feet, approaching a brunette girl in the
first row. Jeanette? Dawn thought the girl might be named Jeanette.
Fighting more nausea, Dawn crouched in front of the girl. Dead.
Killed for no reason at all.
It didn't make any sense.
Dawn could sense her, could feel her presence if she tried hard
enough. It was like floating out of a plane without a parachute,
knowing that she would plunge towards the earth, but the dive of
death not happening. She could sense the girl in there somewhere,
didn't know how, or why, but suddenly Dawn was certain that she
wasn't dead. She didn't have a pulse, didn't breathe, but she wasn't
dead.
She'd always scoffed at psychics before, but she could feel the
girl, sense her life. Somehow, the universe was more in tune with
Dawn, guiding her.
Dawn peered back into Jeanette's blank stare.
Suspended somehow.
"Time is fluid," she whispered.
Jeanette was outside of time. It came crashing into Dawn, like an
aerial assault. When time resumed, if it resumed, Jeanette would
continue on, alive, and well, and unharmed, as if nothing had ever
happened. She didn't know how she knew it; Hawking, and Einstein,
and quantum mechanics hadn't told her, though she knew the theories
ad nauseam, but somehow, incredibly, the universe had bent, and
hadn't taken her with it. Why?
Suddenly nausea overtook her senses again, and her head began to
pound. She cried out, a soft cry, like that of a cat in pain, and
she crawled towards the door, away from the staring statues of
students, away from Jeanette, eventually leaning her back against
the door's solidity, her head cradled between her knees.
Her mind drifted from her, riding on the wave of her pounding mind.
"Please," she begged. The pain intensified, her nipples aching
suddenly as if they'd been clamped. She began to cry again, big
tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, her
mind reaching through the fabric of the universe around her.
Suddenly, she was aware of disturbances in the pathways of the
universe that she could sense somehow. The wonder began to override
the incessant pounding in her head. The disturbances looked like
spinning tennis balls in a smoke tunnel, the whirling smoke parting
and swirling around them. She tried to call out, to ask what was
going on, but the world was strangely silent around her. Lights,
like from a disco strobe, flashed unrelentingly around her. She
squeezed her eyes shut, but the lights continued. The balls
continued to spin.
She wasn't alone here.
Her hands yanked back to cradle her breasts under her sweatshirt, a
sharp pain driving through her nipples like nothing she'd ever felt
before. Puberty hadn't been kind to her, her breasts sensitive as
they'd grown with her body. A relatively clumsy teen, she vaguely
remembered banging her breasts into walls, desks, her nipples
aching, suppressing screams. This sensation was worse, and she cried
out as her breasts felt like fire had engulfed them, centred on her
nipples. But her nipples had grown out of the painful and sensitive
stage, long ago, hadn't they?
"Kelly?" It was a man's voice.
Dawn heard the voice as if it were in the room with her, but it
wasn't. Somehow, she was sensing the classroom and somewhere else
simultaneously; someone else, the voice ringing more in her mind
than outside of it. But her mind insisted that sounds came from
without, didn't originate in one's own head. That was the way to
insanity, wasn't it?
"Who's there?" she whispered. But nobody was listening.
Who the hell was Kelly?
"They are going to hurt coming off, you know." The male voice rang
through her mind, calmly and coldly, as if he were standing
whispering in her ear.
Dawn looked up sharply. The room continued to ignore her. Tears of
pain and confusion slipped unheeded down her cheeks.
What was going to hurt? And suddenly she knew, could sense with
certainty that it was going to hurt. Badly. The ache in her right
nipple released, for a moment. Dawn sighed, relief flooding her
beyond what she might have felt by herself, relatively safe leaning
against the doorway.
Then the pain hit, dulled by distance, but blinding because she
wasn't ready. Her right breast exploded in agony, her nerves
screaming at her. Her left nipple joined her right, and tears
coursed down her cheek. Her voice, screaming, filled the uncaring
room around her.
Elsewhere on the timeline, Kelly felt herself lowered to the ground
gently, agony, far more personal and close than Dawn's, racing
through her bare breasts and nipples.
Dawn fell to the side, her shoulder striking the tile, her hands
pressed ineffectually to her chest.
And then it was over, at least for Dawn, a whimpering voice finding
her ears. With a start, Dawn realised that the voice was her own,
and she no longer was connected to the other girl. She pulled her
hands from her breasts, her nipples normal, but achingly erect. No
agony. No clothespins?
(Clothespins?!?!)
Breathing raggedly, Dawn climbed to her feet. She was reasonably
sure that the classroom was frozen in time, and that they couldn't
see her, but she turned towards the door anyway, away from Jeanette,
and the others.
Her fingers shook as they lifted her sweatshirt. A flush rose into
her face as she realised what she was doing, where she was. But she
had to know. Had to.
With a glance over her shoulder, she lifted the sweatshirt over her
head. Her hair crackled with static, her lips dry. She tried to
ignore the ugly bruise on her right side -- the one that John had
graced her with.
She reached behind herself, her fingers unable to pop the clasp on
her bra. Frustrated, she pushed the straps over her shoulders, and
down her arms. The cups fell away slowly. Embarrassed, she glanced
over her shoulder again. No one, not Jeanette, not any of the males
in the classroom, paid her the slightest heed. Her pink sweatshirt
dangled from her left hand.
Her nipples looked normal, no different than they had in the shower
this morning. She was sure that there would be marks -- tiny teeth
marks, from mindless pressure. Torture. Of her nipples. From?
The answer appeared in her mind, unbidden, and unexplained.
(Clothespins?)
She hurriedly pulled the straps of her bra back up, tucking her
breasts easily into the support, and she pulled her sweatshirt over
her head. She smoothed her hair back down, brushing her bangs out of
her eyes.
The image of clothespins pinching her nipples rose into her cortex.
She shook the image out of her head.
Who the hell was Kelly? And why had she felt the girl's pain? Why
wasn't she feeling it now?
Slowly, afraid, Dawn lowered herself back to the floor. She hugged
her knees, rocking. She sat there a long time.
At last, she pressed her hands to her nipples, and cast her mind
out, riding the smoke, riding the tides of time. She sensed the two
tennis balls again. One had the bends of the universe around it, the
other less so, almost as if controlled by the main ball.
She was naked, walking into a store, a dirty store, where she didn't
want to step in bare feet. Bare feet? But she didn't speak, didn't
complain, not wanting to attract attention, afraid to attract
attention. Whose attention?
(His.)
In another place, she could see the outline of her sneakers, still
firmly covering her own feet. But she could feel the difference in
texture, from tile to carpet. It was that carpet that she didn't
want to step on. Somehow, incredibly, she was in two places at once.
Welcome to Schroedinger's cat's world, she thought.
(But will the poison get me in the end?)
Dawn shuffled forward, something restricting her steps to short baby
steps. Kelly, didn't seem to be worried about whatever it was that
was shortening her steps. It felt like chain, between her bare
ankles, jingling quietly with each short step she took. Kelly
understood, Dawn didn't.
Images of bare skin surrounded her, both male and female, but mostly
female, and voices were muted here. Dawn's nipples ached dully, the
fiery pain of the clothespins diminished, but not completely gone.
Surprised, she realised that she was aroused, Kelly was aroused,
could feel the throbbing of her blood in her clitoris in concert
with Kelly. She gasped, unsure of this aspect of the experience. But
she plunged on, not really having much choice. It was the whole
experience, or none.
Her hands were handcuffed behind her securely.
(Handcuffs?)
Dawn realised that she was breathing shallowly, her lips flushed. It
wasn't only Kelly, somewhere else. In the quiet classroom, her
breathing matched the other girl's, fast and quick.
Why was she aroused?
The answer flowed to her, without prompting.
Because Kelly was slightly aroused. Despite the pain, despite the
discomfort, the other girl was aroused. Dawn fought the response
from her own body, sitting safe against the door.
An image of two girls that she didn't recognise appeared in a porch
swing, naked, kissing. The image aroused her more. Dawn groaned, her
nipples aching, her clitoris throbbing in time with her quickened
pulse.
"That one," she murmured, surprised as her own lips formed the word.
The word's didn't make sense to her, but the image faded as she
spoke them.
The sensations eased for a moment. Then she was kneeling, her thighs
trembling from the position. Even though Dawn sat relatively
comfortably against the doorway, not kneeling as Kelly was, her
thighs ached as if she were.
The sound of a swish frightened her.
(What the hell was that?)
A crop.
(A riding crop?)
A riding crop.
She imagined the pain of the thing driving into the softness of her
thighs. She held her breath until her heartbeat thudded against her
sore ribs, until the pain in her lungs became unbearable. Distantly,
she heard a girl's voice, begging. Begging not to be struck. And
tears. The imagined agony drove Dawn to cry out into the uncaring
room. But the blow never came, only a soft tickle along her left
breast, and then along her right calf. Dawn moved her leg
instinctually.
"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you," Dawn whispered, unaware of her
own voice disappearing into the echoless room.
Then nothing for a few minutes, only darkness and the sound of her
own pulse beating rhythmically in her own eardrums. She struggled to
reconnect, almost like switching channels during commercials. The
images resumed as Dawn concentrated, focusing on the smaller of the
two balls spinning in the smoke. She avoided connecting with the
larger ball, the controlling ball, some survival instinct whispering
to her not to enter, danger lurked.
The chains were no longer as cold as when he'd put them on her,
aeons ago. She sighed with relief as the metal was removed from her
ankles, jangling to the floor. Now she understood the baby steps.
"Thank-you," Dawn whispered.
Dawn wiggled her toes in her sneakers. Kelly's feet were bare, a toe
ring gracing the second toe on the right.
(A toe ring???)
Her toe nails were painted ebony, like a void leading into the heart
of the universe.
(Black nail polish? I don't own black nail polish.)
"I want to go home," she whispered. Dawn didn't quite know what that
meant, or if had even come from the girl in the experience. Dawn,
herself, didn't want this. Oh no. Home sounded nice right about now.
Dawn rose to her feet, her back still against the doorway. Kelly
rose, her hands still cuffed behind her, her head tilted, waiting
for the tingles.
Dawn's limbs tingled, and then there was nothing.
She could sense him, somehow knew that he'd sent the girl named
Kelly back, released her. Her mind spun, feeling her way through the
smoke. She could sense the girl, her unique stamp weakly imprinted
in the smoke near the tennis ball of the man.
(A hardware store? A cash register?)
The man had hurt the girl, Kelly, why, she didn't know. Neither had
Kelly. Dawn had sensed that.
She returned to the trapping classroom, her eyes wet with tears. Her
hands touched herself, her breasts, between her legs through her
jeans. She gasped. The arousal hadn't left with the departure of
Kelly. God.
She glanced at Jeanette in the front row, solid and frozen.
She hadn't killed them. Hadn't even caused the time shift.
The man had. Whoever he was, she had to find him.
But Kelly? He'd taken Kelly. Played with her. Was Kelly his
girlfriend, into kinky games?
Dawn flushed. She'd been inside Kelly's head, however briefly, and
she'd known. She wasn't his girlfriend. Somehow.
Visions of clothespins danced in Dawn's mind, visions of clothespins
attached to naked nipples, visions of riding crops and handcuffs and
chains wrapped around female ankles.
Christ, she needed to masturbate, her body insistent, more insistent
than she'd ever experienced before. But not here.
She couldn't think like this. And she needed to think, badly.
Concentrate.
(Concentrate, girl)
She tried to douse her arousal mentally. It only worked a little.
Her body cried out for the attention of her fingers, demanding.
"Damn," she swore, more to try to drive her body into obedience. Not
here. It was an exam room. Jeanette was sitting right, there.
(NOW!)
She snatched her right hand from tickling her own nipple.
She had to find the man.
"I don't want this," she whispered. But the room didn't care. Not
at all.