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Subject: {ASSM} Jomadi: _To Explore Potential_ (m(m)/F, inc, s/m)
Date: Tue, 23 May 2000 05:10:05 -0400
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This is a work of fiction. Please do not read it if you are offended by
sexually explicit imagery. Forward constructive comments or criticism to
the author. As with all artistic or intellectual works, this work is under
copyright from the moment it is produced in a fixed medium (which includes
computer storage).
Contact Jomadi: mr_asher@hotmail.com
Copyright 2000 by Jomadi
_To Explore Potential_
"She must be like... 40 or something," Peter said. The woman bound to the
chair in the middle of Simon's furnished basement gurgled her objection
incoherently. Her wrists and elbows were held fast to the arms of the old,
wooden frame chair with duct tape, and a similar method had been used to
hold her shins against the legs of the chair. Bands of the dull grey tape
also wound around her stomach and ribcage, just below her breasts, and held
her torso snugly against the back of the wooden frame. A large, hard rubber
ring was wedged firmly between her teeth, holding her jaw open wide. Nylon
straps ran from each side of the O-ring, across her cheeks and around each
side of her head. Fastened tightly at the back of her cranium, the pressure
of the bindings kept the ring pressed cruelly against the working of her
jaws or the feeble push of her tongue.
"She's in her 'mid-thirties'," Simon quoted. He'd been chatting with the
woman for months online, but only when his parents had taken their vacation
did he have an opportunity to meet the woman in person. Her screen name was
'WetOne', and both of the teenage boys, neither more than 16, had taken to
calling her simply 'Wet'.
"What did she say when you opened the door. I mean, she must have been
disappointed at your age," Peter said nervously. He'd been pacing the room
as Simon worked to bring the woman back to full consciousness.
"She had a frank, heart to heart talk with me," Simon said, wiping down
Wet's forehead with a cool, damp rag. "She understood I was a curious young
man with feelings that got the better of me." He smiled coldly into Wet's
wide, worried eyes. "When I figured out she was going to beg off, I excused
myself and then returned with a rag soaked with ether." Wet moaned and shut
her eyes. That explained the lingering, but unfocused, headache. She
thought she'd been struck unconscious, but ether did seem more likely.
"She looks afraid," Peter said. He perched nervously on a tattered ottoman.
"She should be," Simon said, smiling. "She remembers every little thing we
fantasized about together online. I think she's beginning to realize I'm
not just some kid with an internet crush." Wet stared at her captor. He
was a slim, but obviously strong, young man, and his eyes were as cold as
she'd ever seen. She'd been so stupid agreeing to drive the two hours out
of the city to meet him. She should have known better. She'd just been so
lonely since her husband left two years ago. She'd been so desperate to
find a man she could talk openly with about her life, her frustrated
sexuality. Instead she'd found some adolescent boy far crueler than even
her estranged husband. Her pleas for reasonableness were voiced as a
drooling, open-mouthed series of grunts. Simon smiled down at her.
"My parents won't be home for two weeks, Wet," he said mildly. "I hope you
took plenty of time off from work." He stroked her forehead again with the
damp rag.
"Someone will miss her," Peter said. His fingers twisted and untwisted in
anxious fists. "I mean, we can't keep her for two weeks. Besides, if we
let her go, she'll go right to the police."
"Not with those chat room logs I kept," Simon said, moving from Wet to the
rarely used wet bar that had been installed in the basement on a lark by his
parents. "Whatever she tells the police, those logs will cast doubt on her
unwillingness. I've let you see them, Peter. You know how fucked up this
cunt is." Wet shuddered at the familiar obscene monicur. What for her had
been online fantasy was obviously something Simon wanted in reality --
something he had been hoping to implement since they began chatting. Simon
continued, "Speaking of which -- say, Wet, do you remember the first time
we really talked? Do you remember that image I described?"
Another inarticulate gurgle whimpered from the bound woman. She twisted
vainly in her chair, her movements accomplishing nothing against the winding
layers of sturdy duct tape.
"I think that was a 'yes'," Simon said, smiling. He came around the end of
the wet bar and stood before Peter. With deft fingers, Simon was stringing
steel washers onto a twist-tie and then looping the twist-tie through the
coiled spring in a clothes-pin.
"What was it?" Peter asked nervously.
Simon continued his preparations. "The image was of a woman lying on her
stomach on a wooden table with her breasts sticking through two
strategically cut holes in the table's surface. Weights were clamped to her
nipples, and over the course of days her lover added weight, slowly
stretching her nipples until the attached weights would almost brush the
floor." He smiled at the finished products -- two new, snug clothes-pins
with several steel washers attached to each by a twist-tie.
"I don't think a chick's nipples can stretch like that," Peter said slowly.
"I guess we'll see," Simon replied with a wink. More incoherent whimpering
and drooling poured from Wet's open mouth, and her persistent struggles
threatened to tip over the wooden chair, despite her lack of progress
against the tape.
Simon approached her with a patronizing air. "Easy now, Wet. You said
yourself that this was such a hot image." Casually, he knelt before her and
began to stroke one of her exposed nipples with his thumb and forefinger.
Wet's struggles eased, and she watched the boy's diligent ministrations with
anxious eyes. Quietly Peter walked around to watch the scene from a
distance.
"She acts like she's scared, Peter, but you can see how fast her nipple is
getting hard," Simon said thoughtfully. The areola was beginning to
wrinkle, and the large nipple, perhaps the size of Wet's little finger from
the last joint to the tip, began to darken and swell. "She said online that
she had big, pointy nipples. What do you think, Pete?" Simon asked,
continuing his persistent teasing.
"They look big to me," Peter said, drawing slightly closer.
"I think we can make them even bigger," Simon said with a grin at Wet's
worried eyes, and he delicately positioned one of the weighted clothes-pins
near her erect nipple. Wet grunted her protest, but her efforts to twist
her body away only made the adhesive tape tug painfully against her ribs.
With a steady hand, Simon opened the jaws of the clothes-pin and settled the
device over the base of Wet's nipple, the jaws clamping down as far back as
the areola. The clothes-pin stuck straight out from her breast, and Simon
slowly released the tension from his fingers.
When the full strength of the coiled spring finally clamped the wooden jaws
around Wet's nipple, she managed her first semi-articulate word -- a wailed,
hoarse cry of 'no'. The initial pressure on her sensitive nipple was
excruciating, and a throb of agony ran through her shuddering body. She
dared not try to jerk away as her instincts insisted she do. The horrible
little ad hoc device was tenacious, and the pain began to develop a rhythm
with her rapid pulse. Only when Simon saw the tears well up in Wet's eyes
did he remove his fingers completely, and let the full weight of the
clothes-pin and attached washer swing down against the lower part of her
breast.
Peter covered his ears against Wet's sobs. Each twitch of the woman's body,
each throaty sob, swung the cold steel washers like a sadistic pendulum.
Simon sighed in appreciation at the effect. Wet's nipple was pulled rudely
downwards by the weight, and the clothes-pin held fast onto her flesh
despite her sporadic movements. The oscillating arrangement of clothes-pin,
twist-tie and steel washers stretched her nipple visibly, and the flesh
around the point of contact became an angry, protesting scarlet.
Simon quickly began to pinch and tease Wet's other nipple, enjoying her
pitiful, throaty sobs. Her eyes streamed tears, and a trickle of mucus
appeared between her nose and upper lip. She shook her head in the negative
slowly and almost unconsciously. Simon worked more quickly with the second
nipple, and he quickly attached the second weighted clothes-pin and let if
flop downwards free.
Simon stood back quickly as the chair holding Wet went up on two side legs.
The woman's cries were louder than he imagined, but he was worried she'd
suffocate if he stuffed anything into her opened maw to muffle her. Her
nose ran because of her weeping, and between screams she sucked gasps of air
through her dry mouth. With a sharp clack, the chair righted itself, just
barely, back on four legs, and Wet began to expend her energy pulling
against the tape fixing her wrists and elbows to the arms of the chair. The
result was to set the weighted clothes-pins swinging laterally and viciously
yanking at her tender nipples with the inertia.
"Shit. Someone will hear!" Peter stammered.
"Easy, man. Let her figure out she's only making them hurt worse," Simon
said cooly. He watched her flushed, wet face carefully, and he smiled to
himself as she gnawed ineffectively down on the rubber ring shoved between
her teeth. Wet was in agony, and the juxtaposition of this scene with her
acceptance of their lurid, online fantasies made the moment even sweeter.
After a few moments, Wet's screeching overuse of her throat dulled her cries
to a desperate rasp, and the energy in her body seemed to degenerate into an
uncoordinated trembling. The clothes-pins still swung gently, and Simon was
happy to see they remained firmly clamped at the base of Wet's nipples. Her
frantic struggles had not succeeded in coaxing them to slip off
significantly.
"How does that feel, Cunt?" Simon said, stepping forward and taking Wet's
chin in his hand. A weak shake of her head was the woman's only response.
"Jesus, Simon. I think you're really hurting her," Peter offered.
"That's the point," Simon snapped back, not removing his eyes from Wet's.
"You apparently talked a lot of shit, didn't you, Wet?" The tormented woman
fixed her eyes upon Simon's and nodded vaguely. Despite her dishevelled
hair, her tear smeared cheeks and her mucus caked upper lip, a gleam of
reason appeared in her eyes. Simon smiled down at her. "You get it now,
don't you? You wanted this. Hell, you even showed up hoping for it," he
whispered vehemently.
Wet's stomach churned at the thought of the elaborate, perverse fantasies
she'd shared with Simon online. The clamps upon her breasts, the agonizing
weights swinging from her nipples, were only the beginning of what she'd
expressed to him.
"Fuck it," Simon said suddenly, and he roughly released the velcro strap of
the ring gag at the back of her head. He quickly extricated the heavy
rubber ring from between her teeth, and tossed the apparatus to the floor.
"You're the one that wanted to try out new things. You're the one that
complained how vanilla and boring your ex-husband was. Fuck, the moment you
walked through that door you were glad to find some excuse to avoid facing
your fantasies," Simon spat.
Wet's jaw was terribly sore, and the pulse-timed ache in her nipples made
thinking difficult. "I... I thought you were at least 18," she managed in a
hoarse whisper.
"I told you the truth. I told you I was much younger than you. Hell, you
didn't bother to even ask about specifics," Simon said, pacing the floor
angrily. "Did you want to be used like a whore or not?" he demanded.
Wet looked away and shut her eyes. The boy was right in that she was hoping
subconsciously for some excuse to call off the meeting. For the entire
drive out of the city, she'd played out a mental dialogue, debating the
merits of this risk. "I pictured it... so differently," she said distantly.
"You wanted to be taken and used," Simon said slowly. "You wanted to be
bound hand and foot so your conscience would be freed, your inhibitions made
moot. Don't begin to treat me like I don't understand what you came here
seeking," Simon said darkly. "You know exactly what we talked about. You
know exactly how I want to operate," Simon said with a sigh. "This is your
chance to explore without any responsibility -- to experience without any
need for self-restraint." Simon strode up beside Wet and forcefully pushed
his hand between her thighs. Hastily he kneaded his fingers across her
slightly exposed pubic mound, pressing her hair and labia between his
fingers until he found her almost hidden clitoris.
"Simon..." Wet began nervously.
While the fingers of his left hand mechanically circled between her legs,
Simon grabbed her hair viciously with his right hand. "Address me as
'Sir'," he said cruelly.
Tears welled again in Wet's eyes. "Yes, Sir," she said quietly. Beneath
the sharp, throbbing pain in her nipples, she began to feel the rough, crude
stimulation on her clitoris. "Sir, please..." she started, but she could
not find the direction she wished the plea to go.
"You and I both know you can orgasm like this," Simon said confidently. The
circling of his fingers was rough and hurried, but her clitoris did respond.
Despite the increasing ache in her nipples from her increasing pulse, she
knew Simon would soon feel moisture between his fingers. She looked at the
menacing boy. His face was flushed, no doubt in part from anger and in part
from arousal, and his eyes held a dangerous intensity. God help her, he was
attractive. Moreover, he also seemed to know exactly what he was doing.
"I admit, I could orgasm like this," Wet confessed. The slick, fleshy
sounds of her damp labia being rubbed reached her ears, and she watched a
knowing, harsh smile spread across Simon's face. Almost upright in the
wooden chair, Wet's position made the reach between her thighs awkward at
best. It was enough, however, for his strong fingers to slide vertically up
and down between her labia, spreading her own moisture onto her awakening
clitoris.
"I want you to think about how much your nipples hurt," Simon said sternly.
Wet nodded nervously. The command wasn't hard to follow. The persistent,
pulsing pain was increasing with her arousal. Even as Simon used her own
wetness to facilitate the motion of his fingertips over her clitoris, the
cruel pull upon her nipples seemed to strengthen.
"They do hurt," Wet said quietly. Her voice trembled, and she couldn't look
away from his eyes. The press of his fingers seemed more insistent, and Wet
felt her legs begin to tremble.
"This is so fucking hot," Peter said quietly. Wet had almost ignored the
other boy -- he was moot during the worst moments of her pain. His presence
now, however, was somehow important. It somehow validated her arousal. The
situation was fucking hot, Wet thought.
"The pain isn't totally unwelcome, is it?" Simon whispered. Wet shook her
head in the negative, and the tears began to spill from her confused eyes.
The wet sounds made by the boy's circulating fingertips seemed obscenely
loud in her ears. As the fluttering presence of genuine erotic pleasure
manifest in her stomach, Wet felt herself begin to rock ever so slightly in
her bonds.
Peter's eyes were fixed on the hypnotic sway of the bundled steel washers.
"Fuck, Simon, look at how her nipples are all stretched out," he muttered.
"Your nipples are like little pendulums, Cunt," Simon said, still looking
intently into Wet's eyes. "Every moment the weight pulls harder and harder
-- each swing stretches your flesh more and more." He was correct, and
Wet's pain increased geometrically with each passing moment. The fluttering
pleasure in her lower stomach also increased, however, and the crass ache in
her clitoris set the muscles in her thighs twitching.
"I'm going to cum, Simon," she breathed.
"'Sir'," Simon corrected.
"I'm going to cum, Sir," Wet stammered. The bubbling sensation in her
stomach suddenly leapt, and a sharp, painful throb arose in her body. The
harsh mixture of pleasure and pain set the muscles in her vagina clenching
madly and sent a spike of sensation into her suddenly hypersensitive
clitoris that caused Wet's vision to darken. In counter-point, her nipples
echoed the intensity of feeling in her lower body by screaming out in
pulse-driven agony. She couldn't still herself, and Wet paid no heed to the
vicious jerks upon her nipples or the raw stretching of her skin beneath the
bonds of the duct tape.
Simon's eyes didn't waver, and his leering smile remained fixed in Wet's
vision during the course of her violent orgasm. In some primal,
inarticulate way she knew she would endure two weeks with him, though her
more sane moments might bring doubts. The boy was right -- she had no
responsibility for this, no need to constantly adhere to her half-formed
inhibitions. She might never again be allowed on this side of the line, and
to retreat now would be existential cowardice.
"We're going to have a great deal of fun over the next two weeks," Simon
said into her dazed eyes. His fingers slowed their pace and stopped,
allowing Wet's inadvertent rocking to slow. "I just wanted you to face how
good this will be for you too."
Wet tried to nod, but her head lolled stupidly and her vision swam. Her
nipples still throbbed in carnal protest, but somehow the pain was distant
and unimportant. Without protest, she accepted the ring gag back into her
mouth, and as her consciousness faded she felt Simon fix the velcro clasp at
the back of her head.
"Fuckin' A," Peter said. "She's alive, right?"
"God, Peter," Simon answered, "of course she's alive. I just think the
position and the pain in her nipples pulled the blood from her head. She
passed out -- like she stood up too fast." Peter nodded nervously,
convinced of his friend's greater wisdom.
"So... what now?" Peter said finally.
"We let her rest for a bit," Simon said. "After that, we'll see how really
cooperative she's decided to be."
-End
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