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Message-ID: <36086asstr$1018699805@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Kenny Gamura" <turtlemeat69@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Beggars Can't Be... part  9 {Gamera} (FF rape FM nosex viol)
Date: Sat, 13 Apr 2002 08:10:05 -0400
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                         Disclaimer

This is piece of fiction.  Any imagined resemblance to
people living or deceased is either the result of dementia
on the reader's part or that the reader is, in fact, a
character of this story.   It is assumed that readers of
this story have the permission of the state, mom, dad, and
pastor and are able to tell the difference between real and
make-believe.  Furthermore, the writer is fully aware that
he is bound for hell, but welcomes both praise or/and well
thought out, humourous insults on his writing skill.  Note:
he already knows he cannot spell 'warth shet'.

The events and descriptions of this story are the sole
property of Kenny N Gamera and should not be recorded,
reposted, or profited from in anyway without express
written permission of the person hiding behind that pen
name. Reposting and free archiving will be tolerated given
the writer's name and address remains attached.  Archiving
by Deja.Com and ASSTR/ASSM is assumed and encouraged.

Thank You and Good Day,
Kenny N Gamera
turtlemeat69@hotmail.com

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Gamera/Beggars_Can't_Be

                Beggars Can't Be... Part 9
          Revenge of the Slightly Chunky Roommate
                            by
                      Kenny N Gamera


   It was Monday, my day off from the bookstore and my full
day at the lab.  This wasn't as bad as it may sound.  The
rocks had already been ground into a fine powder, treated,
dissolved, treated again, etc for a month.  My work had
reached a point limited to placing solutions into one
machine, recording the results a few hours later, and
moving the solution to another machine.

   I spent the rest of the day in the library looking for
boring geochemistry articles from obscure journals or at my
desk with boring geochemistry articles from obscure
journals and coffee. My concentration wandered most of the
day from a bit of excitement entitled "Paleozoic sea levels
of the Narnian super group: some interesting aspects."
Instead, my thoughts wandered to elsewhere and elsewhen at
every opportunity.  If you haven't a clue where and whence
then you have not been keeping up on the past chapters
(which I thought, I may add, that I had reposted earlier in
the week, for shame).

   The day (never mind how unproductive) complete, I found
myself walking through the side door into the kitchen.
With a quick toss, I sent my keys sliding down the counter
top and into the sink.  I dropped my bag o' books on one of
the three extra kitchen chairs and grabbed a can of soda
from the fridge. As I went into the dining (where I kept my
computer desk and other work stuff), I said hello to the
cat.  Glancing to my desk, I noticed that the answering
machine was blinking a LCD to get my attention.

   I rushed across the room and hit the play button.

   In answer to my prayers and hopes, the speaker parroted,
"Kenny, this is Jenny.  I stopped after school and got
videos.  I expect you here as soon as possible to make
dinner.  Stop and get something simple.  For three.  I love
you."  Then, it beeped and added in its own machine voice.
"Last message."

   Even before that beep, I had begun to strip.  After a
quick shower and shave, I dressed in something comfortable
but nice as opposed to something either/or.  I gave Charlie
Hitler {white cat with a black marking beneath his nose and
a very not pleasant personality) a scratch behind his ears
and a bowl of kitty crunchies to last the night.  In the
twenty minutes since receiving the message, I was heading
out the door.

   I drove the few blocks over to my favourite grocers with a
cheerful hum to the tape in the deck.  I rushed through the
aisles and quickly gathered up a package of "fresh" (i.e.
frozen) tortellini, fresh (not frozen) broccoli, and a tube
of neither fresh nor frozen pesto paste.  After a short
internal debate, I also picked up a half-pound of in-shell
shrimp (jet fresh, but thawing nicely, thank you very
much).  Jenny was worth the bother of the shelling and
deveining.  I felt in even higher spirits as I walked up to
the door of Jenny's apartment.  I had even started to
whistle aloud when I knocked on the door.

   "Come in.  The door's open," I heard Kim shout, and so,
I, of course, came in.

   In the event that you are wondering, the blow I received
to the back of my head didn't start to hurt until after I
woke up.

   Writing of which, I woke up in one of the kitchen chairs
(Jenny's not mine) in a state resembling bondage.  I was in
Jenny's bedroom.  Heavy blue curtains covered the windows.
Dim light, leaking around their edges, betrayed that the
evening sun was still in the sky.  Otherwise, candles
provided the only light in the room.  Shadows that the
table lamp cast on the walls and over the black shapes of
posters danced with the flicker of the candle flames

   My ankles were tied to the front legs; my arms were tied
together behind me and then to the back legs, and my chest
was tied to the back of the chair, I assume, to keep me
upright.  It also held me against any squirming I might
have taken a mind to do.  I did not want to contemplate on
the type of gag that I had in my mouth and its familiar
shape, nor do I wish to at this point (so leave me alone
about it).  I was, I should also note, still completely
dressed.

   Now, one would think that a couple of decades (okay,
nearly three) misspent reading Batman(r) comic books would
have given one some sort of clue as to how to escape in
such situations.  I am sad to report that it had not, and
so, in time, I quit tugging at the ropes that held me.
Instead, I scanned my environment to get some idea about
what in the hell was going on and exactly why it required
that I be tied to a chair.  I had some suspicion that it
would not be a fun thing.  Still, I needed to know about
how not fun it would be so to be at the proper level of
panic.

   In front of me, Jenny laid on top of her made bed.  She
was tied spread eagle and very, very, very naked.  The
posture in which her bondage held her pulled her breasts
completely flat against her ribcage.  Her breathing was
regular, her chest moving up and down at a relaxed rate.
Her head faced away from my view, but I could see the strap
of a gag running behind her head.  A blindfold of some
variety appeared to cover her eyes.

   I felt the growing sense that a rather high level of
panic would be in order for this occasion and put up
another useless fight against the ropes.  Then, I finally
remembered something that I had read in one of those comic
book stories.  I started to rock the chair back and forth,
to throw it on the ground.  Maybe (yeah, but just maybe),
the chair would break and...

   Jenny turned her head.  If her eyes had been uncovered,
they would have stared right into mine.  I imagined her
voice telling me not to worry, that everything would be all
right.  I listened to the voice and let myself grow calm to
patiently wait whatever would come.

   I honestly didn't expect it to be an open-handed cuff to
the back of my head.  The surprise of it bothered me more
than the pain, especially since the pain of the earlier
blow, the one that had knocked me out, easily overwhelmed
that of the cuff.  I twisted my head to see where the blow
had come from and who was its author.  I could see no one,
but, again, from behind my line of sight, a cuff landed on
the back of my skull.  I swiveled my head around in a
violent maneuver to face Kim.

   She slapped my left cheek.  She followed that with a
backhanded slap to the right cheek.  I then received a very
effective punch it the stomach. It took my breath away,
even as I tried (and failed because of my bindings) to
double over.  I began to choke on the long intrusion in my
mouth as I tried to pull air back into my body.  With great
effort, I forced myself to use my nose to breathe and to
ignore the instinct to use my mouth.  My mind concentrated
on this task; the thoughts welling up from deep below were
forgotten.

   God, I made time to pray, please don't let her hit me
again.

   God listened, and she didn't.  She just stared at me
without saying a word.  Tears filled her eyes, and she
quaked much like she had the other night, but she made no
sound, nor did she move other than for her trembling.  We
stayed like that for a moment, but finally, she moved her
hands down to the hem of the sweatshirt she wore.  She
pulled up.  The shirt came off, exposing her breasts.  They
were large and sagged a bit beneath their weight.  Each had
a pink, silver dollar-sized areola with a gumdrop nipple.
They swung back and forth slightly from the momentum of the
removal of her shirt.

   I looked away from her breasts, moving my gaze to her
face.  She looked straight into my eyes, the model of
control.  Keeping this eye contact, she undid her jeans and
pushed them to the floor.  She wore white granny panties,
which gave me a small measure of satisfaction.  After she
had stepped out of her pants, Kim slapped me one more time.

   She walked away from me and over to Jenny.  After
crawling onto the bed, she knelt between Jenny's legs.  She
glanced back at me and gave me one last dirty look before
lowering her head into Jenny's lap.

   Kim's tongue extended until it reached the outer folds
of Jenny's genitalia.  I snapped my eyes shut; however, my
imagination filled in for my vision with images based on
too many years spent with too much pornography and other
things best left forgotten.  I couldn't bear it; I opened
my eyes to a scene not quite like what I had expected to
see.  Kim did nothing violent to Jenny.  Her fingers merely
held Jenny's labia spread apart as her tongue darted along
their inside surfaces.

   As I watched, memories filled my mind with the tangy,
electric taste that I had enjoyed when I had done the same.
I remembered the smooth, wet feel of that inner skin on my
own tongue, in sympathy to Kim.  I concentrated on these
pleasant remembrances against the truth of what was
happening and the unhappy memories that fought to come to
the fore.

   A part of me began to wonder if the shrimp were okay.

   It looked so tender what Kim was doing to...to my
girlfriend!  Granted, Jenny was supposedly Kim's as well,
but Jenny was my girlfriend.  Despite the apparent
tenderness, she had been tied to a bed and forced into this
performance by Kim.  From long experience, I knew that was
not tenderness.  It was far from it entirely.  Jenny was
tense and fighting against Kim.  She tried repeatedly to
jerk herself away from Kim's manipulating tongue and
fingers.  The sounds that escaped from behind her gag had
the flavour of protest.

   At least, they had at first, but Kim knew the lover that
we shared too well.  Slowly, Jenny responded to what was
done to her.  Her actions grew more cooperative and then
demanding.  When Kim began to lick her clitoris, Jenny
trusted her hips forward; Kim found the button being
pushing into her mouth.  She began to suck it with earnest
energy, accepting Jenny's demand as her command.  Jenny
shuttered in an orgasm.

   I could not remember her having one as intense with me
at any time with our very short relationship.  My entire
body fell slack in my bindings.  I wondered why she would
bother with me if she had this from Kim.  Whatever Jenny's
role in all of this, I had no doubt that Kim had meant this
show to be for my benefit; it was a message of her
ownership over the woman I loved.  With this thought, I
dropped a little further down into my chair or at least as
much as my bindings would let me.  It wasn't very much.
Kim had tied me well.

   Damn her.

   Jenny shuttered again with another orgasm apparently
better than any that I had been able to give her with any
my previous fumblings.  Kim pulled away as the after shocks
ended their travels through Jenny.  She turned her now
shining face to me with a smile long remembered from show
off bullies on playgrounds long ago and never forgotten.
While staring at me, she spoke for the first time since
calling me into the apartment.

   "Your Kenny is here with us, Jenny.  He was watching me
eat you to orgasm.  Orgasms he could never give you, my
love."  Her cold smile turned into an even colder frown.
"He's just a man."

   Jenny lifted her head towards Kim, probably following
the sound of the former's voice.  Her body said that behind
the blindfold, she glared at the woman that had just raped
her.  Kim looked down at Jenny's covered face.  Their eyes,
except for the blindfold, locked together.  I could feel
something pass between them.

   "Jenny, I can't lose you."  Her voice started to tremble
and lose the measure of control it had.  "You are the only
good thing that has ever happened to me.  I can't lose you.

   "Especially to a man."

   She began to cry.  Hurt, tearless sobs shook through her
body.  She attempted to form words against her sobbing but
failed totally.  With this failure, Kim gave up trying to
speak and crawled up Jenny's torso.  She removed the gag,
which I saw to be of the standard ball type.  Though large
enough to be effective, it would not have been as
uncomfortable as the gag that I wore.

   Jenny started to speak but was stopped from the effort;
Kim lowered her sex over Jenny's mouth, using her fingers
of one hand to push the crotch of her plain, white bloomers
from over her pendulum. Kim parted her own lips, with two
fingers of the hand holding back her panties.  The other
hand began to maul at her own heavy breasts.

   Jenny's mouth kept at the teasing of her other lover's
labia.  Kim began to rub herself against Jenny's face, in
time with the hoarse, incoherent moaning that escaped her
throat.  Jenny didn't bother with much teasing.  Instead
her mouth worked quickly at Kim's sex.  Her tongue tapped
lightly against Kim's clitoris.  All hell broke loose.  Kim
threw her head back with a high pitched shriek that hurt my
ears.  The rest of her body began to make hard, little
rabbit thrusts into Jenny's face.  Jenny reached up and
caught the moving target of Kim's clitoris in her mouth.
Her cheeks caved in as she sucked in with force.

   Kim's shrieking became a series of loud, raspy gasps
that bore a great similarity to hiccups.  She bucked
against Jenny's chin with jerky, random movements that
finally pulled her free of Jenny's mouth.  Jenny's tongue
flicked out to find nothing but air.

   It seemed, as the old clich  goes, that I spent an
eternity watching Kim catch her breath in huge, tired
gasps.  She did, eventually, lift her body up from the bed
and the woman who lay beneath her.  With the back of her
hand, she stroked Jenny across the cheek, which was wet
with the emissions of Kim's orgasm.

   The look on Kim's face was familiar: Nancy loves Ronnie.
Jenny turned away from the source of the affectionate
gesture and looked up futilely through the blindfold.

   "Kenny?"

   The smooth, liquid motion of Kim's arm flowing to the
nightstand, picking up the alarm clock, and flinging it at
me registered in my head about two seconds after the clock
struck my chest.  With a loud cry of "you bastard" she
followed like a cavalry charge behind a screen of
artillery.  Her first punch knocked me onto the floor,
chair and all.  Unlike my old comics, it stayed in one
piece.  I stayed trapped in it as foot after bare foot
landed in my stomach and points both north and painfully
south thereof.  I fought for air and against the ropes in a
vain attempt to wiggle out of the way.

   "Kim! In the corner."  The rain of kicks stopped.  I
opened my eyes to a cop.  It held a switchblade knife,
which popped open with a snick.  "Jesus Christ, you
could've killed him."

   I heard no answer, as I felt the knife against the side
of my cheek.  It slid beneath the band of the gag.  A
slight extra pressure came just before the strap broke and
the pressure released altogether.  I felt the gag withdraw
from my mouth.  I held to it reflexively along the length
with my lips.  With a smooch sound, my lips came together
when the head escaped.

   Wow! I thought, I could breath.  I could learn to enjoy
this.

   With several more sharp tugs, the ropes joined the gag
strap in a state of no longer wholeness.  The cop helped me
up into a sitting position.  I drew my knees tight against
my chin and took pleasure in my deep unobstructed gasps of
air.  I felt the cop stroke the back of my neck.

   "You okay?"

   "Shrimp?"

   "Ken, are you okay?"

   "I think so," Wow, I thought as I shook my head clear,
the cop was someone I knew, "Sherry."

   "Good, I'll take care of Jenny."

   As the sharp blade of the switchblade cut the ropes that
held Jenny, I looked around the now fully lighted room.
Kim knelt in the corner.  She had her knees spread and her
hands locked together behind her head.  This would
certainly be called `The Position' in most relationships of
the sort that she and Sherry shared.  She wore a stunned
fish look on her face.

   A quick glance into the full-length mirror on Jenny's
closet door demonstrated to my satisfaction that I had a
matching expression on mine.  After a long moment, I also
realized that my quick glance was actually a long stare.

   "Kenny?" Sherry had knelt down next to me in my absence.
"Can you get yourself home?"

   I nodded my head for about two nods more than necessary.
She helped me up to my feet and led me to the door.  I
borrowed her support all the way to my car.  I sat at the
wheel for a moment.  I turned to Sherry, smiled weakly, and
reached into my pocket for my keys.  The car started with a
twist of my wrist, and I found myself on the road.

   Part way home, I looked into my rear view mirror and
found that I had a cop on my tail.  Nothing happened.  He
just followed me until I pulled into my driveway and pulled
to the curb across the street; I waved and went inside.  As
I closed the door, I could see him pulling out and driving
away.

   I gave Charlie a scratch behind the ears and went to the
basement.  I closed the door behind me and in front of him.
I walked alone down the stairs to the sound of his pawing
at the door.  At the bottom, I leaned against the old
dresser drawers that I used for a tool chest.  I released
something between a long breath and a short sigh.  Moving
in front of the dresser, I took both pulls of the top
drawer into my hands.

   With a swift tug, the drawer came out of its place, and
then with a heave that merged seamlessly with my previous
motion, I sent it sailing across the room.  It hit a
support beam and shattered into kindling of a satisfying
size.  Wrenches and screwdrivers scatted around the cellar,
like so many frightened mice.

   I looked up at the of rusting coffee can of assorted
rusting nails that sat on the jury rigged shelf.



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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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