Message-ID: <25934asstr$966899403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Jason D" <archondaniel@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} A new story for the faithfully warm and devotedly glowing.
Date: Mon, 21 Aug 2000 19:10:03 -0400
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This stoy is about something very, very dicey to deal with in everyday life.
The use of intimidation and the knowledge of someone's vulnerabilities to
gain their submission and cooperation. As I alawys caution, rape is a crime
that will get you so very much time, and is something left best to the
imagination and fantasy land. Any actions taken by you that mirror or mimic
this story are your own responsibility, not those of the writer or anyone
else who might speak of such a fantasy. BTW, this story may be reproduced
and passed along freely for personal use, but may not however be posted on
any other site or web page, without the express consent of the writer. All
rights reserved and long live ASSM.
On to warmer topics, namely the inspiration for this particular story comes
from a reader of ASSM's stories, who wrote me and requested a simple story
for her very own fantasy, and from that suggestion grew this, a definite
departure in form--if not theme--from my first two postings here, but I
think perhaps a welcome one in style.
Emma's pictures .. By Jason D L .. ((archondaniel@hotmail.com ))
(M/F, bond, Rape)
Standing and arching her back, Emma walked from the light table where her
latest films were arranged, the patient she had last shot showing his bones
to her in the most intimate fashion, naked of flesh in the view of her
expensive equipment' eyes. With a sigh she stood and realized her floor was
alomst empty of sound, the day having closed round her quickly, no
appointments scheduled for her after the last and just a little bit of
paperhandling to sort out before she slipped off home to a bit of
self-indulgence with her new playthings. When she emerged from the closet
they called her office, she was startled to see a man in blcak clothes,
thermal shirt and jeans bot deep black, as his soes and even his hair was,
and if she could trust her own eyes, his eyes as well, sitting on her table,
swinging his feet. With a gasp, Emma saw that her door was wedged shut with
a chair and the lights to the anteroom outside the door were dark, as if she
had shut down for the day. On the table beside the man--smiling at her
shocked silence as if he knew her somehow--were cloth restraints like she
used on patients the local bobbies brought in who were injured. Beside the
restraints were metal rods with stirrups on one end and clasps to attach
them to the table at the other, along with a a rubber bit with elastic
straps on it. All in all a frightening mini-tableauz with a curiously
dahunting actor presented for her to diegest in the seconds it took for him
to slide off the table edge and walk towards her. Awaking from her
trancelike shock, Emma realized the man was standing right beside her, his
fingers pressed over her mouth softly, his other hand on the nape of her
neck, bringing her face close to his as he spoke softly to her. "Silence,
Emma, will determine your immediate future. With the slightest scream from
your mouth you will be bundled up in all the accessories you see over there,
plus I will have to use the othr little toys I found on the surgical ward. I
think you might be just fine in a few of them, but should I have to use them
all, you won't like the way the rest of the evening unfolds. You may just
enjoy this evening otherwise." Shocked at the implications inherent in his
speech, Emma's arms and legs seem almost numb as he leads her with the hands
still at both her lips and neck to the table where so many patients have
lain in their gowns or underwear. Feeling his hands pushing her to sit, she
moves to question him, but feels him place his hand firmly over her mouth,
lifting her chin with his other hand now to force her eyes to meet his.
Softly, just above a whisper now, he informs her ,"The only thing, Miss
Emma, that I want you to say to me is this and this alone--you will say I
understand when you agree. If you are so foolish as to deny me something I
require of you, you may only tell me with a shake of your head signifying
no. Otherwise these pretty little lips stay closed, else I will close them.
Do you agree?" "I understand," sighs from Emma's lips before even has the
chance to stop them, the acceptance of his strictures instinctive, coming
from somewhere deep inside, a place that trusts this man to keep his word
even as she remains terrified of his plans for her. Hands stiff at her
sides, Emma braced against the edge of the table as he lifts her to sit on
its edge. He lifts Emma for just a second from the table's top, pulling the
skirt she wore today from underneath her hips, leaving her on the table with
her pantyhose-clad bottom sitting directly on the table. His hands on the
front of her shirt are hot, the fingers tracing the row of butoons from
Emma's navel to her neck, then slowly unbuttoning them, his voice almost
casually caressing as he works each little piece of plastic thru the cloth,
his knuckles brushing Emma's bare skin. "It is almost sensual, the way the
garment industry has reversed the way buttons are sewn on women's and men's
shirts," he begins. "It almost feels as if you are dressing or undressing
yourself--which was the intention, making it awkward for women to dress
women and men to fasten other men's clothes. A bit homophobic of them, but
Oh-So-convenient for lovers." Blushing at his commentary, Emma feels her
breasts puckering beneath the material as her ribbed t-shirt come into view,
sensing the man surveying the curves of them beneath the cotton's scant
covering. When he yanks her shirt free of her skirt's waistband, Emma
shivers a little, the cool atmosphere of the office tightening her nipples
even more as the chill rushes thru the lighter cotton. When he pulls her
light tshirt free of the waistband as well, Emma suddenly feels the reality
of her situation hit home, tensing as the shirt and tshirt slide over her
head, exposing her breasts to his gaze, even as she tries to cross her hands
reflexively over them. Sensing her reaction, the stranger grasps her wrists
and sighc, moving Emma back onto the table, her botom still resting without
any covering save her panythose. Lying her back, The Man picks up the
restraints and bars he had placed on the table, moving the gag to rest
beside her head. He holds her hands loosely in his--stretching them above
her head--as he selects two of the restraints from the pile and fastens them
to the top of the table. Her body tensing and her mouth opening to question
what is happening to her now, Emma quickly falls quiet as the stranger holds
the gag up in front of her face, shaking his head at her in a blatant sign
for her to keep silent. Feeling her hands spread towards the corners of the
table and fastened in the cuffs one by one, Emma's feelings of surrender
grow, the seeming ease which this stranger has shown in quieting her will
and overcoming her understandable objections strangely enuff reassures her.
Pushing her down the table til her hips are nearly at the table's end, The
Man lets emma's legs hand off the end of the table as he moves to place the
bars on the table's end. When he has the stirruped bars in place, the
stranger lifts Emma's feet one by one and sets them in the stirrups,
fastening restraits on her ankles and affixing them to the bar to hold her
feet in place and legs widely spread, her shoes falling to the floor while
he first caressed her naked feet and then secured them. Feeling very, very
vulnerable now, Emma blushes as the man lifts her skirt to her waist and
undoes the waistband, rolling it in to a loose band of cloth around her wast
and ripping her tight thin ribbed shirt straight down the front, exposing
her more fully to his gaze. When she sees the scalpel, inhis hands, Emma's
panic rises for a moment, hen ebbs as he merely cuts the thoroughly
moistened cloth of her panties away from her crotch, strangely relieved that
he is not doing more than exposing her vulnerable lower body to his smiling
gaze. The next hours pass in a haze of pleasure and discomfort mixed
together and wrapped in a haze of bright light and disjointed sounds. When
she wakes the next morning still on the table and alone, the room dark
around her as she struggles with the knots in the gauze he fastened around
her wrists, the restraints and stirrups he placed her in gone, as is any
trace of the photgraphic equipment she vaguely remembers, the computer he
hooked up to the expensive assembly he used to record some of his more
inventive uses of her. She shudders at the memory, her inner thighs still
sore and her breats heavy at the thot, the survace of her areolae rough and
marked from his abuse of her body, a taking of her that still leaves her
shuddering. When she finally makes the last knot fall free, she looks down
at her wrinkled clothes, pulling her skirt down and closing her crushed
shirt as she finds her shoes with her toes and goes to the room's lights to
see the place of her humiliation, only to gasp as she sees a white envelope
and rose lying on a little tray close to the table she spent so much of last
night crying out her ecstasy and agonty on. Also, on the tray beside the
rose, is an envelope of decent size, full of what she feels thru the kraft
paper to be diskettes. On leaden feet and finding her watch lying on the
floor, Emma makes her way to her office, seeing she has but a few minutes to
examine what The Man left for her. Opening the white envelope, she sees a
tight scripted hand, inviting her to stay late again this Friday, to give
them an entire weekend to enjoy one another. Assurances in the note leave
her breathless, telling her that the contents of the other envelope would be
delivered to her employer, her father, her first lover, her current lover,
and every single getleman on her block of flats and also those who shared
this floor with her. Also in the note are directions on what to wear and how
to groom herself, as well as humiliating suggestions about diet and hygiene.
Stunned and unable to comprehend The Man's audactiy, Emma shakily opens the
kraft envelope, wincing as she shifts the wrong way in her desk chair,
leading her to wonder just what her dazed state is blocking out in her
memory. The first picture that falls out of the envelope with the 10
diskettes makes the memories start to rise to the surface, threatening to
make her relive the experience all over again, but her sanity is protected
by the only defense she can muster--blocking the thot of the woman in the
picture as herself. This woman is a different Emma in these pictures, this
woman is a wanton Emma who can derive pleasure from a stranger's hands while
he ties her to a table and uses her, recording it all and blackmailing her
to silence and complicity in her further humiliation. The picture sstill
burns in her mind as she loads one of the diskettes into her laptop,
clicking the files open in a cascade of her humiliation flashing past her
eyes-- that picture, framng her head arched back and her nipples hard and
distended, her eyes squeezed closed in what she recognizes as her own
orgasm, the dribbles of semen on her lower chest and stomach all too much
evidence of what had reently or just happened to her. But now, clicking past
her in slow motion it seems is a tableaux of this other Emma in pose after
pose of animal lust. Emma, lips ovalled around the base of a penis, her eyes
soft and pleased and satiated, the telltale dribble of The Man's orgasm
dripping fom her lips. Next pose, Emma-in apparent relish-bubbling semen
from her lips as the tip of her tongue flicks over The Man's cock, lifting
the last drop of his come from the glans.The next few, Emma writhing around
as a stranger's hand worms in between her legs and stretches her vagina
around first te fingers, then fingers, palm, and thumb, then finally, the
obviously clenched fist first just inside the mouth of her puss, then
disappearing as The Man's wrist and farther slip in her obviously pleased
ody, her face screwed in climax. Shakily her hands reach for a second disk,
one containing only one file, a video moving of her with legs pushed father
back by the stirrups as she begs The Man to take her harder, clearly in her
own natural voice, causing a gasp to rush from her as she wonders how this
other Emma could enjoy the brutal raping force of a stranger working himself
inside her that way. Almost afraid to try another diskette, but morbidly
curious at the source of her other pains and wanting her memory of the night
to be back, to own it, she simply loads the rest of the files onto the hard
drive of her computer, pulling the three other actual pictures from inside
the envelope as well, recoginzing an Emma she can relate to, crying ash she
is taken in the bottom, her least favorite experiment from college. But
recogninzing another two videos, Emma sees the other Emma coming forth
againas that Emma is again begging in an honest, uncoerced voice, for the
man to take her harder, where he clearly is buried in her bottom in both
videos, one showing her taking him hard and fast and her beigging and the
next showing her shuddering in an orgasm, this other Emma she barely
believes could be her calling out for his seed in her as the man obviously,
with shaking hips, buries his cock and then seed in her shaking body,
filling her body with come. The slideshow that floows of the pictures of
this other Emma shocks her. It shows her untied and welcoming this man on
top of herself, opening her highs and spreading her bottom for him as she
takes him and his playthingsin her body, even bending forward over the side
of the table for him to abuse her bottom with hand, whip, and paddle. Coming
in to the office later that morning, her coworkers comment to Emma, noting
her improved demeanor and more provocative clothes, the feeling of her
thighs rubbing together and aganst her uncovered smoothly shaven vulva
sending little thrills thru her, the pumps she is wearing for her
appointment this Friday evening clicking as she carries her garment bag with
her into the office. Cancelling a scheduled depatmental meeting she had
called earlier this week, Emma closes and locks the door to her office,
turning her laptop on and kicking her pumps off to hook her knees over the
arms of her chair, lifting her bottom to pull her skirt from beneath her
bottom and placing the hand towel from her purse beneath her bottom, sure to
catch the byproducts of her morning activities.
She smiles as she clicks on her special slideshow--whistling, looking
forward to her new life supplanting the older, more conservative Emma's
tedious days of restraint. When The Man comes tonight, she thinks, oh will
he be pleasantly surprised, maybe even overwhelmed. Jason D L
(JasonDkEldar@yahoo.com)
________________________________________________________________________
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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