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Message-ID: <40736asstr$1044580204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [014/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Thu,  6 Feb 2003 20:10:04 -0500
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Author's Shortened Preface:
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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

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

Chapter 14

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

The yellow and red sign beckoned to him, and he stared up at it for
a moment.

"Home Hardware," it proclaimed.

The concourse was busy as he'd walked down the length of the long
corridor. Shops opened to either side of the wide mall, most he
passed without interest. People of all different sizes, shapes and
creeds, walked briskly to and from their irrelevant lunchtime
destinations. Not one paid him any heed as he slipped around their
frozen forms. He mostly ignored the people, unless a particular girl
caught his attention. He would have played with many of them.

Can't, he thought. Time isn't an issue, not here, but he did have to
sleep, and there was a great deal to do before sleep could claim
him. He could sleep first, he supposed, but that was -- undesirable,
too.

An old man was in the process of shuffling into the Home Hardware
store, probably about to break the laser to trigger the entrance
chime. The man began to walk towards the entrance to the store; he
doubted if the entrance chimes would greet him.

It was a small store, little more than a standard mall kiosk.
Friendly service, and we have everything you might need.

The Timeman smiled as he slipped into the store.

After perusing the silent aisles, he spied some of the equipment
that he would need. Hardware stores were interesting places. But he
was going to need some of that interesting service. Some things he
couldn't chance. Wouldn't do. Not at all.

There was a pretty brunette woman, in her mid-thirties crouched
examining a quart of paint. She was wearing a tight sweater that
stretched wonderfully across her breasts. The gunman smiled, a
memory of Kimberly washing over him. That girl, from so long ago, in
a hardware store, not so different than this one, not so different
from the woman crouched in front of him. Kimberly had been
stretching up to investigate paint. But Kimberly had been younger,
and suffered a fair bit.

He'd almost awakened the paint girl, when he reconsidered. Leaving
her frozen, he walked towards the front of the store, fingering the
odd piece of merchandise as he meandered.

The girl at the cash register wasn't a beauty, not by any means. In
fact, she almost had taken pains to ensure that she was mildly
unattractive. For a moment, the gunman considered returning to the
paint section, and retrieving the Kimberly look-alike. He didn't
really need expertise for what he required. For that matter, he
could take both girls, couldn't he?

No, one was enough. At least for now.

The girl at the cash register looked bored, leaning on the metal
surface of the counter, examining her nails. Her nails were painted
black, similarly to the rest of her -- her eye-shadow, her lipstick,
and her hair. Jet black. He idly wondered if her toenails were
painted black, too. A ring pierced her eyebrow, and a stud graced
her nose. Her hair was short and spiky. She would have looked more
at home in a black leather jacket than in the silly Home Hardware
smock.

Underneath it all, her facial structure seemed pretty, and her body,
while hidden, at the moment, by her clothes and the yellow uniform,
seemed trim and fit.

He balanced the gun in his right hand, finger on the trigger. The
safety remained engaged, but she wouldn't know that. At least he
thought she wouldn't.

The transition was sharp as she began to share his time. She
continued to examine her nails critically until she finally raised
her eyes for a moment. But she wasn't really looking at him, and her
eyes hadn't rested on the weapon yet; she was merely aware of his
presence in her space.

"Can I help you," she inquired without focusing on him. Her voice
didn't match her image; it was soft and almost sultry. If he closed
his eyes, he could have imagined it belonging to any of the screen
greats: Audrey Hepburn, Ingrid Bergman.

Perhaps it was the lack of an echo, or maybe it was the unusual
silence of the world, but she finally looked up sharply, her eyes
torn from her nails at last.

"Nice makeup."

The girl looked confused for a moment, her eyes scanning. They
stopped, riveted to the gun that he was now holding easily by his
right hip. A trace of irritation flit across her face, as if his
comment were inappropriate somehow. Then her eyes dropped the gun,
and widened a little.

Her voice trembled.

"Uh. Is that loaded?"

"No point to carrying an unloaded gun."

The girl's face began to register fright even below that black
makeup. After a second, she began to raise her hands.

"Don't need a gun, mister. I'm not stupid."

"Stupid? I never said that you were."

"You could have just used a note, you know. Like the other guy."

The gunman slipped back a step. She didn't look like she'd try
anything, and he was sure that he could re-freeze her in a flash if
she did. Her voice continued, brave, but still trembling.

"You know. 'Give me all your money and nobody gets hurt.'
Misspelled, and barely legible. I'll give it all to you, you know.
That's how we're trained. You can put the gun away."

She was babbling, scared. He couldn't blame her.

"You were robbed before?"

She laughed humourlessly and nodded slowly. "You can have the money,
mister. If I lower her arms, you won't shoot me?"

He sighed.

"No. Keep your hands where I can see them for a moment."

She did.

"Please. Just take the money and go," she was keeping her voice
down.

"What's your name?"

She wasn't wearing a tag proclaiming her a smiling employee.

"My name? Why?"

He raised the gun a little. She paled underneath the black makeup
and stuttered a quick answer.

"My. My. My name is. Kelly. I can get the money for you in a second,
if you'll let me put my arms down."

Her arms trembled. He wasn't sure if it was fatigue or fright.

He nodded. "You can put them down, Kelly."

She immediately began to fumble with the cash register. For a
moment, he let her; the action of opening the drawer seemed to calm
her a bit.

"Kelly?"

Kelly looked up, a few twenties in her left hand. She held them out
to him, a hopeful expression in her eyes.

"I don't want money."

The girl looked confused for a moment.

"Huh?"

"I don't want money," he repeated patiently.

"Wh-what do ..." she clamped her lips together as the gun rose
again, centred between her breasts. Her eyes pleaded. The bills fell
from her fingers, floating down to scatter about the floor. What
she'd released probably was more than she made in two weeks,
scattered about her feet.

"I need some help, Kelly."

"Help?" she asked quietly. Confusion graced her face.

He nodded.

"I. I'm just a cashier. I really don't know anything. Walt might be
..."

He smiled gently at her, lowering the gun from her chest. Her eyes
followed it.

"That's okay, Kelly. I don't need to know which drill will do the
best job, or which rope is best for tying things up."

She paled a little, but she refused to look at him.

"What do you want?" she whispered.

"First, I want you to strip," he said it calmly and surely, as if
customers always asked cashiers to remove their clothing.

She looked up sharply, understanding dawning in her features.

"What?"

"Strip. Disrobe. Take off your clothing for me."

She shook her head violently, her fear escalating. Gone was the
somewhat smart aleck demeanour when she thought he wanted money, and
that this was a typical robbery.

"You can't do this. You can't rape me. The mall ..." her voice
trailed off. She looked at him, her eyes still frightened. "I'll
scream."

"Kelly?"

She looked up quickly, but lowered her eyes again.

"I'm not going to rape you. I want to test a few things with you,
and I need you nude to do it. Screaming won't help you. It will
really only irritate me. Do you want to irritate me?"

The confusion on her face deepened.

"What? What are you going to do to me?"

She looked up then. He'd moved closer to the counter and levelled
the gun again. The barrel wasn't touching her, but it was aimed
point blank between her breasts. The girl held her breath.

"Kelly," he said reasonably. "I'm not going to hurt you, but if you
are uncooperative with me ..." he let his voice trail off
menacingly.

"But," she began desperately. "I can't strip. Not here. It's the
middle of the afternoon in a mall. Someone will see. You'll get
caught."

He smiled. "So, you're concerned about me?"

She thought for a second, a tear welling in her right eye. She shook
her head. She was sensing that something wasn't quite right, that
her stripping in the middle of the store wasn't going to attract
attention.

"Please," she whispered. "I. I'm shy."

He nearly laughed. Her demeanour, her attire, her carriage cried out
for attention. He grabbed her hand. She flinched, but didn't resist.
The gun touched her chest, and he pulled it back, but didn't lower
the weapon.

He held up her hand, the nails facing her.

"Black nail polish, and you're shy?"

She nodded once, trying desperately to control tears.

Gently, he spoke to her.

"Kelly, I know you're scared. I would be, too, in your place. I
promise. Nobody but me will see you."

"That's bad enough."

He touched her chin with the barrel of the gun, cold steel touching
soft flesh. She jerked back, eyes widening.

"You won't rape me?"

"I won't rape you. You aren't my type."

Truthfully, she wasn't. It was one of the reasons that he'd chosen
her.

"You won't hurt me?"

He considered that for a moment.

"You might be in some discomfort for a while, but nothing you can't
handle. I'll try to keep you comfortable. At least as long as you
cooperate."

He punctuated the last sentence with another touch of the gun barrel
between her breasts.

She looked confused, but seemed convinced.

"Where?"

It was his turn to look confused.

"Where?"

"Where do you want me to take my clothes off?"

He lowered the gun, aiming it back at the floor. Kelly visibly
relaxed.

"Right here."

"Here? Not in the back room?"

"Put your clothes on the counter, okay?"

She glanced nervously at the mall entrance, though it wasn't
remarkably visible from where she stood behind the counter.

"You won't hurt me?"

"No."

Kelly inhaled deeply, and let the air back out in a nervous whoosh.

"I don't want to do this."

"I know."

After a brief pause, she swallowed heavily, glanced at the gun, and
sighed.

"All right. I'll strip."


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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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