index


Message-ID: <40735asstr$1044580203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [013/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Thu,  6 Feb 2003 20:10:03 -0500
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

-----BEGIN PGP SIGNED MESSAGE-----

====================================================================
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 13

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

(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

He stopped, standing in the middle of the road. Normally, such a
position would have been fatal, his leg only inches from the
onrushing bumper of a moving taxi.

He listened.

The world was silent.

Alone.

After he'd returned the naked Sandra, back to her drab desk, talking
to the phone that didn't work, loneliness had settled in.

He turned in the middle of the road, making a small circuit of the
road paint marking the lanes. People surrounded him. A man wearing
a turban driving the taxi, a woman, eyes closed in the back seat,
his meter in glowing red marking off time and money. What did he
care about time and money, now? An attractive brunette walked along
the sidewalk on the far side, her foot paused mid-air, mid-step,
inches from the sidewalk. Her hair, wispy around her head and face,
shone in the afternoon sun. A oriental man in a suit hailed a cab,
arm raised, a harried expression gracing his face. A group of women
entered the Chinese food restaurant across the street, gossipping,
their voices silenced, for now.

He returned his attention to the brunette. Yes, she had lovely legs,
and a beautiful face. He wondered where she was hurrying to, what
her life was like. What she looked like naked. Good, he thought.

He walked over to the girl, walked around her slowly, careful not to
brush against her statuesque form. He could wake her, all it would
take was a bit of concentration, a bit of convincing, and she would
probably do what he wanted. She would be his.

He backed away from her, power coursing through his veins.

The world was his.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely," he whispered to the uncaring
girl. He laughed for a second. He hadn't succumbed to the Siren call
of power, had he? Control. Control. Control. Was it all a game?

Glancing back across the street, he saw the outline of the security
desk, the blonde lab manager spread out for him, her sex glistening,
her bottom begging to be struck. His hand prints etched on her
skin.

He shivered.

Should he have let Sandra go?

He stood there for a while, looking at the marble desk, the guard
who had witnessed the acts. Her body, bare and pliant. He blinked
and the image dissolved.

She hadn't deserved his attentions, hadn't deserved to be naked and
forced to crawl for him. But she was safe now, returned to blissful 
ignorance that she'd performed for him. Did any of them deserve his
attention? Would this brunette deserve being under his control?

It was exciting. Oh, yes.

Shaking his head, he began to walk, dodging the frozen world
sometimes stepping out into the street to avoid obstructions.

He couldn't get attached to them. It was dangerous. Very dangerous.
Control didn't work like that.

It had been fun. It had been stimulating. Sandra had been
co-operative.

He needed more. Much more.

He missed her. Sandra would have been fine, he was sure. But she
was too close to him, even if she didn't recognise him. No, better
to avoid complications. She had been wonderful practice, and he'd
passed the test. He'd let her go, even while he longed to continue
controlling her, making her crawl, making her strip. But she wasn't
chosen. Of that, somehow, he was sure.

He wouldn't be lonely for long. No. He didn't think so.

Fatigue began to gnaw at him. Tired. Sleep beckoned.

But there was so much do. So much.

Danger in not thinking straight.

He nearly collided with another attractive girl listening to a
portable stereo. He was reminded of Amy -- the girl had similar
facial structures -- liked to listen to music. He was tempted to see
if the girl had similar breasts, too. Tempted to make her beg.
Tempted to walk with her down the street, the girl deliciously 
naked.

He'd know who he wanted when he saw her. Of that, he was sure.

Not this girl. Much as she attracted him, he could come back for
her, if he wanted to. He stepped around her, and continued, his feet
taking him towards his next destination. Things to do.

As he passed a burger place, he stopped, his head cocking to the
side in confusion. A ripple. A ripple in time. He sensed it like an
electric charge in his head. Close and threatening. And then the
sensation subsided.

He relaxed. Nothing could hurt him here. Nothing.

His steps became more determined, more directed. His hand fell to
the gun tucked into his waistband. The safety engaged, he wasn't
worried about hurting himself with it, but the gun simply wasn't
enough.

He needed equipment.

                         <---===***===--->

A groan reached Dawn's ears, nudging her awake. As she blinked,
bright light pierced her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Another
groan insisted that she remain with the living, and she cursed the
owner of the incessant voice silently under her breath, until she
realised that the groan had been in her voice, weak and miserable.

She pressed her hands against the cool grey tile, disoriented. As
she rose to her hands and knees, a wave of vertigo overcame her.
Slowly she lay back down and closed her eyes, rocking herself
gently, cradling her head in her hands and trying to ignore the
hardness of the floor.

"Dawnie, where have you managed to get yourself, now? And what the
hell were you drinking last night?" Her voice disappeared into the
room, no echo, no response.

She didn't remember drinking after John had left, but her head ached
enough that it had to be a hangover. A bad one. Her stomach
flip-flopped, but she managed to contain the gorge from rising.
Barely.

She vaguely remembered getting up in the morning, watching the
sunrise. She vaguely remembered walking to school.

With a start, she remembered John's fist crashing into her bare
belly, the nearness of rape. Her ribs ached at the memory, and she
struggled with the nausea filling her senses.

When she opened her eyes, the room spun, but she could see sneakered
feet, a whole row of them, seemingly stretching all the way to the
horizon.

The nausea began to subside a little, as her eyes began to focus.
Perspective deepened, and Dawn's mind began to clear.

The floor. The exam room floor.

Gingerly, she pushed off the tile again with her hands, first rising
to her hands and knees, and then rocking back to kneel easily.
Another wave of vertigo washed over her, but she closed her eyes,
gulped some air, and managed to keep it under control.

The other students remained unmoving along their neat rows,
steadfastly ignoring the pretty girl sick and kneeling on the floor.
She wanted to scream at them, make them sit up and take notice. How
had they missed her falling, her groans? Most of them sat, pens in
hands, writing, ignoring her pain and discomfort. A broken pen,
hers, stared up at her from the tile, twinkling in the lunchtime
sun. She didn't remember snapping the pen, but its black ink formed
a puddle against the grayness of the tile; the puddle was beginning
to dry, probably to permanently stain the floor.

"Hello? Anybody?"

But nobody was in a talking mood. She remained on her knees for a
few minutes. Her fingers explored her body, gingerly touching her
ribs through her sweatshirt, her shoulder. When her index finger
brushed her head near her right temple, she winced, her voice crying
out in pain. A small lump screamed back at her, and she quickly
lowered her hand. Upon examination, her fingers revealed no evidence
of crimson, so she presumed that she wasn't bleeding. But she'd
passed out, and that meant concussion, didn't it?

She glanced down the row. The students hadn't moved a millimetre
from when she'd awakened. Blinking, she saw only one of each person,
only one proctor, only one of each desk.

Her head pounded.

Memories began to flash.

No. She'd nearly passed out last night, hadn't she -- no concussion
there? After John had punched her, and nearly raped her. She
struggled to remember. She'd done something. Something strange. And
he'd left, dazed and confused.

"Time is fluid," she whispered. Nobody turned around. Nobody paid
her the least heed. "Time is fluid," she repeated a little louder.

She'd stopped the world, somehow, after John had attacked her. And
now, she'd stopped the world completely, though she had no
recollection of how or why.

"I'm the key," she said, and though her words seemed to hold a trace
of unknown, mystical menace, they confused her spinning mind. Key?
What key?

She'd stopped the world.

Hadn't she? Tears began to form behind her eyes. Her fists beat
gently at her thighs.

Time is fluid. Time is fluid.

Unsteadily, she rose to her feet, nearly falling as she swayed. Her
fingers grasped the side of her exam table.

She knew it was a sign of insanity, but any voice was better than
the utter silence that greeted her if she didn't move.

"Dawnie, don't fall," she whispered. "Nobody to fix a busted hip.
Nosiree."

She began to giggle, but it only lasted a moment.

Carefully, she stepped over to her neighbour, a girl frozen with a
look of concentration on her face, her left hand holding a pen.

"What is your favourite nebula?"

Dawn shook her head. After a few minutes, she waved her hand in
front of the girl's face. No reaction. None. Not so much as a blink.

Her index finger recoiled automatically, her skin crawling, as Dawn
touched the girl's face. The girl was like a statue, immovable, her
skin like marble, or cold, cold concrete. She wasn't breathing, and
Dawn didn't need to touch her throat to know that the girl's heart
wasn't beating in her chest.

In horror, Dawn backed up until she bumped into her exam table. It
didn't budge as she impacted with it, though her hips complained
about the impact.

"I've killed them all," she whispered.

Despite the remnants of nausea, despite her unsteady legs, Dawn ran,
her footfalls reaching her ears in muted waves.

Her fingers entwined with the doorknob, yanking in a panic.

Locked. Why would they lock her in with these -- dead -- oh Christ
- -- dead people?

She began to scream, the door not even rattling in its frame as she
tugged at the unyielding handle.


-----BEGIN PGP SIGNATURE-----
Version: 2.6.3ia
Charset: noconv

iQEVAwUBPkLXYExM3srBk85hAQGZCAf+L1D0NdtPUz2Q/+2cgFPgJEItcfgfVN/W
qESSsTs4cj0F3DUlOrR0GsEdR8cPhOwr7M6HPwY9hziYIOQHlFkvvCX0L2vf9GaF
Ae05YQnxr3ok+UlNH41IE6CALNjZsZCg5WdhG15kx9+TaR9CPdbjOdCP3P2kiegR
C9DvLmmSH7zAB4nko744Vp1LpF3UYlXxPQ6cROVYRxaqPwOxOpTfPQMvmYxmQhh4
zilndxN1oM4h3Dj6SPoyphky/5S6nIsBzbLPOpvzRn9s9/SwqnOvNZSZduvFMlw/
iHY/N20XDVb+ouLXqz9+9TCAyaWtXxklRDVdrQ8UaxY27iPR4kNlBg==
=HaM0
-----END PGP SIGNATURE-----

-- 
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> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+