Message-ID: <24795asstr$961503044@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Message-ID: <20000619205919.17009.qmail@nym.alias.net>
From: Delta <delta@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} RP "Garden of Contemplation" by Delta (rape and retrib)
Date: Tue, 20 Jun 2000 08:10:44 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/24795>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: gill-bates, apuleius, IceAltar
RE
Should you wish to comment upon my story, I can be reached by
E-mail at:
delta @ nym . alias . net
Comments and critizisms are welcome.
Standard disclaimers: This is a work of fiction - no character
within is a depiction of any real person, living or dead. No
place or event described within exists outside of the writer's
imagination. Copyright retained by the author and this post
is for private use of the reader only. It is not to be published
in any form whatsoever, including being made available on BBSs,
or on Web Pages, without the express prior consent of author.
Any readers who are underage in the jurisdiction in which
they reside are asked to please pass by.
Delta.
THE GARDEN OF CONTEMPLATION
by Delta, 1997 all rights reserved.
The town bell tolled nine times and I heard an almost
imperceptible click behind me. I was free to go--if that was
what I desired. I did not move. I remained in the meditation
posture which I had been taught as a child. It was a posture
I was familiar with, yet one I had not practiced in many years.
Back then I remained only as long as was required. Today was
different, and today my decision was to stay.
In the 'Garden of Contemplation' Exalted Ones, Acolytes,
Novices and even Lay Persons adopted the common posture and
meditated on whatever they had decided to meditate on. I was
one of the latter. We all wore the rough white robe of
contemplation and we all were silent.
The position was the standard position of meditation.
One knelt down and lowered the buttocks between slightly spread
lower legs down onto the ground between the heels. One sat
straight and held one's arms behind one, shoulders back, wrists
close together, fingers curled. Like I said, the standard
position.
Of course this was very difficult for one who was not
used to that position. The knees suffered and the ankles
and thighs were stretched intolerably. For one who had not
practiced for years this position would be impossible to
hold. I was such a one. For us there was the modified
standard position. Same basics, but a pillow or support
was placed under the buttocks, raising them off the ground
a few to several inches so that the one could meditate without
pain. I had just such a support.
I had arrived an hour and a half earlier, half an hour
before the Garden was actually open for Contemplation, and
had taken my place. I had not moved in that hour and a half.
Now it was nine of the clock in the fore noon and I was free
to leave. Well, not actually free. There is always a price.
I did not want to pay that price and so I remained--straight
and upright. I remained and I contemplated.
She had told--I never thought she would tell. She had
told and they had come for me. They had come for me and they
had found me. When they had found me I had been slightly
drunk--too drunk to put up much of a fight, even against
women. There had been a short trial and a sentencing. My
testimony was ignored. Hers had been short, sharp and to
the point. The sentence had been an hour and a half of
Contemplation--or how ever much Contemplation I decided on
as long as the minimum was met.
There had always been quiet rumours floating around
that such a society existed but I had paid them no mind.
Women were weak and were here to be used. Laws protected
them, but I believed in the law of strength--the law of
male dominance. Now I had time to Contemplate that belief,
for I was not yet ready to leave the Garden.
She was young and blonde and I called her Foxy. Something
about her made me want to be with her, though it was obvious
that she did not want to be with me. When she turned me down
publicly I made my decision: I would have her whether she
wanted me or not.
Yes, I decided to have Foxy, and the night before last I
had found her and realized my decision. It had been late and
I had come upon her unawares. Before she knew what was happening,
the tape was over her mouth and I was carrying her off the path.
How she struggled; and her struggles only served to excite me
all the more. It was but a moment's work to remove her clothes
and force her, face down, onto the soft grasses. I used her
sash to tie her hands behind her back, then forced her legs
apart and knelt between them to keep them open. With one
strong hand in the small of her back I used the other to make
her ready for me.
Oh, there was joy within me as I listened to Foxy's muffled
cries for mercy, of denial. She had brought it on herself and
I enjoyed every moan. Then I lay down on top of her, brought
my hands up under her shoulders and held on tight as I entered
her. She squealed into the tape and tried to squirm away, but
I wasn't letting her get anywhere. With my hands both pulling
her back and me forward I was soon in all the way.
Once in Foxy, I put it to her fast and hard, loving the
sound of the breath exploding out of her nostrils, the grunts
and groans as I had my way with her. It took a long time, for
I was enjoying it too much to allow it to end early, but I
finally spent myself inside of her. Foxy realized what was
coming and made a last futile effort to get away and I laughed
as I buried myself within her that last time.
Foxy might have thought I'd just leave her, but I'm not
a cruel man and I wanted her to have her pleasure, too. Thus,
when I recovered, I turned her over and began playing with her
treasures. She was unresponsive, mostly; her muffled sobs
going on and on. Finally I guess she realized that I was going
nowhere until she, too, got off and she got into the spirit of
it, moving and moaning and thrashing about until she, too, came.
It had been an object lesson and I doubted that she would
turn me down again. In parting I thanked her for the good time
and let her know that I had four upstanding fellows who would
swear we'd been playing cards all night. It would be useless
for her to go to the Law. Worse than useless for, should she
be so foolish, after I'd been exonerated I would simply find
her again. I expected no trouble at all.
Foxy had not gone to the Law. Instead she had gone straight
to the Society. The Society had caught up with me last night as
I had staggered home after partaking of a couple too many shots
of alcohol. They had allowed me to sleep it off--to a degree--
then had the trial at six hours of the clock in the fore noon.
Foxy had made her case in five minutes. My angry rebuttal had
sealed my fate when my last words after denying everything were
to say that, "Anyway, she deserved it."
The Society was big on people taking responsibility for
the consequences of their decisions; and their sentence was for
me to Contemplate that very thing for a minimum of one and one
half hours, starting at seven and one half hours of the clock in
the fore noon, here in the Garden of Contemplation. After that set
period it would be my decision whether I would stay for further
Contemplation or whether I would go.
There were too many of them for me to fight--besides which I
was hobbled--and there where too many other sentences which could
have been much worse, so I decided to accept the sentence.
I was stripped and forced to put on the long white
aforementioned robe. Then, just before seven and one half of the
clock in the fore noon, I was taken into the Garden of Contemplation.
They brought me to my place of Contemplation, my wrists in hand-cuffs
behind my back. There I was shown my support. It was no ordinary
support.
Sticking straight up out of the support was what looked
like a column of ball-bearings, maybe five-eights inches in
diameter. The column was, perhaps, five inches in length. The
support was not fixed, either. As they demonstrated, when one
sat down on it, it lowered about an inch and levers inside it
forced the column up another inch or two, making the fully
extended column some seven or eight inches long.
I was no fool. I knew exactly where those seven or eight
inches of ball-bearings were going. At the back of the support
was a small clamp, and I knew exactly what that was for, also.
There was nothing I could do, so I simply stood and watched
as Foxy prepared the support for me. She liberally coated it
with a petroleum based grease so it would remain lubed for as
long as I decided to sit on it; then she cut a small hole in
the back of my robe, poked a finger in and lubed me as well.
Foxy positioned me and had me kneel down. Then, very
carefully I lowered myself down. Foxy made certain the column
slipped through the hole in my robe. I stopped when I felt
it touch me. For the first time Foxy spoke.
"Is it properly positioned?" she asked.
I nodded and she slowly pushed me back and down. The
varying diameter of the column made me intimately aware of
each bead as it stretched and entered me then allowed me to
relax again before the next stretch. Foxy looked me in the
eyes, no expression on her face, as she slowly pressed me
down. Finally my bottom reached the support. She continued
to press me down and the column raised those extra inches,
impaling me well and truly.
Foxy moved around back and fastened the links of my
hand-cuffs to the clamp. Finished, she explained it all to
me.
"At nine of the clock in the fore noon the clamp will
open. At that time it will be your decision as to whether
you remain or leave." She paused and looked me in the eyes,
making sure I understood.
I understood. By nine of the clock in the fore noon
the Garden would be well populated and, should I decide to
leave, all would see the support and all would understand.
I would be a marked man. The news would spread quickly.
"At eight of the clock in the after noon," she continued,
"should you still be here, we will return to see if you desire
help in leaving. Should you decide that you do desire aid,
that aid will come at a price. The price is for you to allow
me to do to you what you did to me." Foxy stared hard at me,
letting me know just what decision she was hoping for.
"One last thing. Being unaccustomed to this position,
you will find that your knees will lock if you let them remain
in position for a long period of time. If you go twelve hours
without moving, you will need help." For the first time a
trace of a smile came to Foxy's face.
I didn't let any emotion come to my own face, but it was
clear that Foxy knew that I understood. To keep my knees free
I would have to rock up and down on the support. Doing so would
drive the column in and out of me. It was my decision whether
or not I did myself back there. If I didn't do myself, then
she surely would, for I would be unable to get up without
help when they finally came for me. And I would be here then,
barring some great good fortune which would see the Garden
cleared.
Foxy hung the key to a clothes locker about my neck.
My street clothes would be within. She showed me the key to
the hand-cuffs and placed it under one of my knees. In front
of me she placed the traditional pitcher of water and cup.
Then she and the others left, but not before she said one last
thing. "Oh, yes. Be ready for a surprise."
Now it was nine of the clock in the fore noon and I heard
the small click. The clamp had released the cuffs. I could now
rise up off the support if I so decided. I decided not to.
A few minutes later I found out what the surprise was as
the column started to vibrate. I jerked and looked around,
shocked, hoping no one would hear, would notice. I felt myself
becoming hard and I clamped my thighs together. If I relaxed
them, my erection would become obvious. I decided to keep them
tensed until I could deal with the problem.
Soon I found out that the vibrator worked on a random
timer. It would be a constant source of vexation throughout my
period of Contemplation. My knees were locked and I knew I'd
have to move them. It was painful, but a thing that needed
doing. I raised up and the column, bead by bead, withdrew.
There were tears in my eyes as I slowly lowered myself once more
and the column, bead by bead, reentered me.
I felt so helpless. It was only worse that this helplessness
was of my own choosing, for I could stand up and leave at any time.
It was so humiliating, and more tears came to my eyes. I flexed my
knees once again and again felt the column move in and out. The
tears started running down my cheeks.
A Novice, who was making the rounds, stopped in front of me
and wiped away the tears on a cloth kept for just that purpose.
It was not uncommon for those in Contemplation to vent tears.
For the one in Contemplation to break the position and wipe
away one's own tears was not done. Neither was it permissible
to break the position in order to drink. The Novice filled my
cup and offered it to me. A slight shake of my head and he
replaced it.
If I drank now, I would have a bladder problem to worry
about later. I had to make a decision between thirst and that
problem. I chose thirst. The Novice moved on.
Furtively, I looked around. There were always several
people in my area of the Garden. Some left, others arrived, but
there were always several. Almost always, at least one of the
others was a woman. At no time did I catch one of them looking
at me, yet I had the feeling that members of the Society were
there, watching. This served two purposes. They would burn
my face into their memories and it would prevent me from being
able to get away unseen. As I would never know if those there
were aware of my plight or not, I would not feel able to risk
letting them find out. I had never seen the face of even one
of the Society. The only face I had seen was that of Foxy.
Then I realized something else. Even if the area was
clear and I did get away unseen, the tell-tale support would
be left behind and any who saw it would understand, and those
Novices who made the rounds would connect it with my face. At
that point I knew I would still be here at eight of the clock
in the after noon. Never before had I felt so completely
powerless.
As the hours passed, the Contemplation drew me in. I
was never free of the reminder which penetrated me. I could
sit still, yet the random attacks of vibrations focused me
if I lost focus. My arms and shoulders became stiff, yet
my decision had to remain the same. I had to take it.
Tears came and went. My face burned with humiliation when
a Novice came to me during the vibrations and noticed--must
have noticed--the erection. It didn't matter to me that
Novices must have seen many such things, for the Contemplations
brought varied responses. It didn't matter, for this wasn't
someone else, this was me.
And how many knew why I was here? How many had been in
this place themselves, I wondered. Some must know and I
felt diminished by that knowledge.
The bell tolled seven of the clock and by seven and
one half the Garden had emptied. The last Novice made the
last round and offered me my last chance at water. I accepted
and was absurdly grateful. He looked at me questioningly, for
I was the last. I gave a small shake of my head, indicating
I would stay for a little while longer and he left.
The bell tolled eight of the clock and they appeared as
if from out of nowhere. I tried to get up but my knees were
locked. I couldn't move. My shoulders were a sea of pain
and even without the hand-cuffs on I probably wouldn't have
been able to raise myself from the column.
Foxy stood in front of me, wearing a robe which was held
closed by a sash. I knew what lay under that robe. She raised
her eyebrow? She was waiting for my answer.
I closed my eyes for a moment and when I opened them there
was a look of satisfaction on her face. She knew.
"Help," I whispered.
"You know the price?" she asked.
The thought of remaining here for the night was too much.
The thought of remaining for one more hour was too much. I had
to get out--now. I made my decision and nodded. "Yes. Help,
please." I hoped she would spare me. My hope was in vain.
I was caught almost unawares as her hand slapped across
my mouth, sealing it with tape. Before I knew what was happening
she put her hands under my arms and pulled me off the column
roughly, to an upright position on my knees--which hurt like hell
at being moved. It was the work of a moment to raise my robe
up around my upper body and to force me down on my front across
a large pillow-like cushion that one of the Society had brought.
I was on my belly, over the cushion, knowing only too well what
was coming. I struggled, but that only seemed to excite her.
My hands were useless, trapped by the hand-cuffs. She forced my
legs apart and knelt between them to keep them open. With one
hand holding me down she lubed me up--an unnecessary bit of
work--to make me ready for her.
I was crying into the tape, begging her to stop, to let me
go. I had learned my lesson. Of course, she could not understand
a word I was trying to say. She merely lay down over me, her
artificial phallus at my entrance. I tried to squirm away from
what I knew was coming, but she held on to my shoulders and
levered herself forward. It was thicker than the column and I
squealed as it entered me. After a several long slow strokes,
during which I could feel every bead go in and out, she stopped
and reached down between us.
The phallus started vibrating and she laid into me, hard and
fast, the vibrations exciting her. It took a while, but finally
she rocketed into me, held me tight and cried out her
release in my ear.
I had never before been so badly used. There was not the
slightest hint of pleasure in it for me. The idea of it beginning
to feel good after a while was somebody's sick rationalization.
Foxy began to slowly recover and she turned the vibrations
off. She slowly withdrew from me. I just wanted her to leave,
to leave me here in my shame. Foxy had other ideas. She turned
me over--which hurt some more--and began fondling me. It did
no good. There was nothing at all exciting about what had
happened. Why couldn't she just leave me alone. But no, she
kept on.
Finally she inserted a finger and began massaging my
prostrate gland. I began to get an erection and tears of shame
began to flow. She went to work on it, not content to just walk
away. I knew that she would keep on until I came, so I tried
to think thoughts which would help me ejaculate. Finally,
together, we succeeded and my semen spilled out and over my
stomach and chest.
Finished with me, Foxy . . . no, not Foxy, Trista, her
name was Trista. Finished with me, Trista uncuffed my hands
and walked off, leaving me to fend for myself.
As I slowly pulled myself together I knew that every
decision which had led to this point had been mine. It was
I who was responsible for the consequences of my actions and
decisions. Everything, including the decision to accept the
humiliation, could be laid at no one's door but mine.
There would be no further retaliation. It would stop
here, I decided. I could live with it if she could. Besides,
I now had a real fear of the Society. But it was more than
that and I decided that another visit to the Garden of
Contemplation would not be out of order--only this time
on my own terms.
End of "Garden of Contemplation" by Delta.
delta @ nym . alias . net
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+