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Message-ID: <40713asstr$1044486605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [012/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Wed,  5 Feb 2003 18:10:05 -0500
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Author's Shortened Preface:
====================================================================

In the interests of reducing bandwidth the full preface is now 
available at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

I would encourage you to read it at least once. If you ignore
the full preface and end up offended, you have nobody to blame but
yourself. Caveat emptor. The really important bits:

This is a work of erotic fiction. As such there may be scenes with
nudity, sex, and even questionable non-consensual bondage. If you
are a minor, or you are irresponsible at any age, you shouldn't be
reading this -- find somewhere else to play. I won't be offended.
If you are looking for a quick stroke story, this probably isn't
it. For a piece of writing of 157 chapters, there is remarkably
little sex. You've been warned. Twice.

This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon.
Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but
do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written
permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my
words.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my
stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or
dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to
reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note.

Now, if you are still with me, onto the story,
 - Crimson
   (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

====================================================================

Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Chapter 12

====================================================================

(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

====================================================================

"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.


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