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Message-ID: <40881asstr$1045264204@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [020/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Fri, 14 Feb 2003 18:10:04 -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 20

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

Dawn raised her head wearily from her hands, her body still jerking
with quiet sobs.

Dead? How could she have killed them all? She didn't even remember
how she caused the first blip, but she'd been under stress. John was
about to rape her, and had knocked her around; her ribs still ached
to attest to that. The exam? She shook her head in denial. No. She
never worked herself up over an exam. It wasn't worth it.

She allowed another tear to roll down her cheek, but savagely
brushed it away with the back of her hand.

How?

She forced herself to her feet, approaching a brunette girl in the
first row. Jeanette? Dawn thought the girl might be named Jeanette.

Fighting more nausea, Dawn crouched in front of the girl. Dead.
Killed for no reason at all.

It didn't make any sense.

Dawn could sense her, could feel her presence if she tried hard
enough. It was like floating out of a plane without a parachute,
knowing that she would plunge towards the earth, but the dive of
death not happening. She could sense the girl in there somewhere,
didn't know how, or why, but suddenly Dawn was certain that she
wasn't dead. She didn't have a pulse, didn't breathe, but she wasn't
dead.

She'd always scoffed at psychics before, but she could feel the
girl, sense her life. Somehow, the universe was more in tune with
Dawn, guiding her.

Dawn peered back into Jeanette's blank stare.

Suspended somehow.

"Time is fluid," she whispered.

Jeanette was outside of time. It came crashing into Dawn, like an
aerial assault. When time resumed, if it resumed, Jeanette would
continue on, alive, and well, and unharmed, as if nothing had ever
happened. She didn't know how she knew it; Hawking, and Einstein,
and quantum mechanics hadn't told her, though she knew the theories
ad nauseam, but somehow, incredibly, the universe had bent, and
hadn't taken her with it. Why?

Suddenly nausea overtook her senses again, and her head began to
pound. She cried out, a soft cry, like that of a cat in pain, and
she crawled towards the door, away from the staring statues of
students, away from Jeanette, eventually leaning her back against
the door's solidity, her head cradled between her knees.

Her mind drifted from her, riding on the wave of her pounding mind.

"Please," she begged. The pain intensified, her nipples aching
suddenly as if they'd been clamped. She began to cry again, big
tears rolling silently down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, her
mind reaching through the fabric of the universe around her.

Suddenly, she was aware of disturbances in the pathways of the
universe that she could sense somehow. The wonder began to override
the incessant pounding in her head. The disturbances looked like
spinning tennis balls in a smoke tunnel, the whirling smoke parting
and swirling around them. She tried to call out, to ask what was
going on, but the world was strangely silent around her. Lights,
like from a disco strobe, flashed unrelentingly around her. She
squeezed her eyes shut, but the lights continued. The balls
continued to spin.

She wasn't alone here.

Her hands yanked back to cradle her breasts under her sweatshirt, a
sharp pain driving through her nipples like nothing she'd ever felt
before. Puberty hadn't been kind to her, her breasts sensitive as
they'd grown with her body. A relatively clumsy teen, she vaguely
remembered banging her breasts into walls, desks, her nipples
aching, suppressing screams. This sensation was worse, and she cried
out as her breasts felt like fire had engulfed them, centred on her
nipples. But her nipples had grown out of the painful and sensitive
stage, long ago, hadn't they?

"Kelly?" It was a man's voice.

Dawn heard the voice as if it were in the room with her, but it
wasn't. Somehow, she was sensing the classroom and somewhere else
simultaneously; someone else, the voice ringing more in her mind
than outside of it. But her mind insisted that sounds came from
without, didn't originate in one's own head. That was the way to
insanity, wasn't it?

"Who's there?" she whispered. But nobody was listening.

Who the hell was Kelly?

"They are going to hurt coming off, you know." The male voice rang
through her mind, calmly and coldly, as if he were standing
whispering in her ear.

Dawn looked up sharply. The room continued to ignore her. Tears of
pain and confusion slipped unheeded down her cheeks.

What was going to hurt? And suddenly she knew, could sense with
certainty that it was going to hurt. Badly. The ache in her right
nipple released, for a moment. Dawn sighed, relief flooding her
beyond what she might have felt by herself, relatively safe leaning
against the doorway.

Then the pain hit, dulled by distance, but blinding because she
wasn't ready. Her right breast exploded in agony, her nerves
screaming at her. Her left nipple joined her right, and tears
coursed down her cheek. Her voice, screaming, filled the uncaring
room around her.

Elsewhere on the timeline, Kelly felt herself lowered to the ground
gently, agony, far more personal and close than Dawn's, racing
through her bare breasts and nipples.

Dawn fell to the side, her shoulder striking the tile, her hands
pressed ineffectually to her chest.

And then it was over, at least for Dawn, a whimpering voice finding
her ears. With a start, Dawn realised that the voice was her own,
and she no longer was connected to the other girl. She pulled her
hands from her breasts, her nipples normal, but achingly erect. No
agony. No clothespins?

(Clothespins?!?!)

Breathing raggedly, Dawn climbed to her feet. She was reasonably
sure that the classroom was frozen in time, and that they couldn't
see her, but she turned towards the door anyway, away from Jeanette,
and the others.

Her fingers shook as they lifted her sweatshirt. A flush rose into
her face as she realised what she was doing, where she was. But she
had to know. Had to.

With a glance over her shoulder, she lifted the sweatshirt over her
head. Her hair crackled with static, her lips dry. She tried to
ignore the ugly bruise on her right side -- the one that John had
graced her with.

She reached behind herself, her fingers unable to pop the clasp on
her bra. Frustrated, she pushed the straps over her shoulders, and
down her arms. The cups fell away slowly. Embarrassed, she glanced
over her shoulder again. No one, not Jeanette, not any of the males
in the classroom, paid her the slightest heed. Her pink sweatshirt
dangled from her left hand.

Her nipples looked normal, no different than they had in the shower
this morning. She was sure that there would be marks -- tiny teeth
marks, from mindless pressure. Torture. Of her nipples. From?

The answer appeared in her mind, unbidden, and unexplained.

(Clothespins?)

She hurriedly pulled the straps of her bra back up, tucking her
breasts easily into the support, and she pulled her sweatshirt over
her head. She smoothed her hair back down, brushing her bangs out of
her eyes.

The image of clothespins pinching her nipples rose into her cortex.
She shook the image out of her head.

Who the hell was Kelly? And why had she felt the girl's pain? Why
wasn't she feeling it now?

Slowly, afraid, Dawn lowered herself back to the floor. She hugged
her knees, rocking. She sat there a long time.

At last, she pressed her hands to her nipples, and cast her mind
out, riding the smoke, riding the tides of time. She sensed the two
tennis balls again. One had the bends of the universe around it, the
other less so, almost as if controlled by the main ball.

She was naked, walking into a store, a dirty store, where she didn't
want to step in bare feet. Bare feet? But she didn't speak, didn't
complain, not wanting to attract attention, afraid to attract
attention. Whose attention?

(His.)

In another place, she could see the outline of her sneakers, still
firmly covering her own feet. But she could feel the difference in
texture, from tile to carpet. It was that carpet that she didn't
want to step on. Somehow, incredibly, she was in two places at once.
Welcome to Schroedinger's cat's world, she thought.

(But will the poison get me in the end?)

Dawn shuffled forward, something restricting her steps to short baby
steps. Kelly, didn't seem to be worried about whatever it was that
was shortening her steps. It felt like chain, between her bare
ankles, jingling quietly with each short step she took. Kelly
understood, Dawn didn't.

Images of bare skin surrounded her, both male and female, but mostly
female, and voices were muted here. Dawn's nipples ached dully, the
fiery pain of the clothespins diminished, but not completely gone.
Surprised, she realised that she was aroused, Kelly was aroused,
could feel the throbbing of her blood in her clitoris in concert
with Kelly. She gasped, unsure of this aspect of the experience. But
she plunged on, not really having much choice. It was the whole
experience, or none.

Her hands were handcuffed behind her securely.

(Handcuffs?)

Dawn realised that she was breathing shallowly, her lips flushed. It
wasn't only Kelly, somewhere else. In the quiet classroom, her
breathing matched the other girl's, fast and quick.

Why was she aroused?

The answer flowed to her, without prompting.

Because Kelly was slightly aroused. Despite the pain, despite the
discomfort, the other girl was aroused. Dawn fought the response
from her own body, sitting safe against the door.

An image of two girls that she didn't recognise appeared in a porch
swing, naked, kissing. The image aroused her more. Dawn groaned, her
nipples aching, her clitoris throbbing in time with her quickened
pulse.

"That one," she murmured, surprised as her own lips formed the word.
The word's didn't make sense to her, but the image faded as she
spoke them.

The sensations eased for a moment. Then she was kneeling, her thighs
trembling from the position. Even though Dawn sat relatively
comfortably against the doorway, not kneeling as Kelly was, her
thighs ached as if she were.

The sound of a swish frightened her.

(What the hell was that?)

A crop.

(A riding crop?)

A riding crop.

She imagined the pain of the thing driving into the softness of her
thighs. She held her breath until her heartbeat thudded against her
sore ribs, until the pain in her lungs became unbearable. Distantly,
she heard a girl's voice, begging. Begging not to be struck. And
tears. The imagined agony drove Dawn to cry out into the uncaring
room. But the blow never came, only a soft tickle along her left
breast, and then along her right calf. Dawn moved her leg
instinctually.

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you," Dawn whispered, unaware of her
own voice disappearing into the echoless room.

Then nothing for a few minutes, only darkness and the sound of her
own pulse beating rhythmically in her own eardrums. She struggled to
reconnect, almost like switching channels during commercials. The
images resumed as Dawn concentrated, focusing on the smaller of the
two balls spinning in the smoke. She avoided connecting with the
larger ball, the controlling ball, some survival instinct whispering
to her not to enter, danger lurked.

The chains were no longer as cold as when he'd put them on her,
aeons ago. She sighed with relief as the metal was removed from her
ankles, jangling to the floor. Now she understood the baby steps.

"Thank-you," Dawn whispered.

Dawn wiggled her toes in her sneakers. Kelly's feet were bare, a toe
ring gracing the second toe on the right.

(A toe ring???)

Her toe nails were painted ebony, like a void leading into the heart
of the universe.

(Black nail polish? I don't own black nail polish.)

"I want to go home," she whispered. Dawn didn't quite know what that
meant, or if had even come from the girl in the experience. Dawn,
herself, didn't want this. Oh no. Home sounded nice right about now.

Dawn rose to her feet, her back still against the doorway. Kelly
rose, her hands still cuffed behind her, her head tilted, waiting
for the tingles.

Dawn's limbs tingled, and then there was nothing.

She could sense him, somehow knew that he'd sent the girl named
Kelly back, released her. Her mind spun, feeling her way through the
smoke. She could sense the girl, her unique stamp weakly imprinted
in the smoke near the tennis ball of the man.

(A hardware store? A cash register?)

The man had hurt the girl, Kelly, why, she didn't know. Neither had
Kelly. Dawn had sensed that.

She returned to the trapping classroom, her eyes wet with tears. Her
hands touched herself, her breasts, between her legs through her
jeans. She gasped. The arousal hadn't left with the departure of
Kelly. God.

She glanced at Jeanette in the front row, solid and frozen.

She hadn't killed them. Hadn't even caused the time shift.

The man had. Whoever he was, she had to find him.

But Kelly? He'd taken Kelly. Played with her. Was Kelly his
girlfriend, into kinky games?

Dawn flushed. She'd been inside Kelly's head, however briefly, and
she'd known. She wasn't his girlfriend. Somehow.

Visions of clothespins danced in Dawn's mind, visions of clothespins
attached to naked nipples, visions of riding crops and handcuffs and
chains wrapped around female ankles.

Christ, she needed to masturbate, her body insistent, more insistent
than she'd ever experienced before. But not here.

She couldn't think like this. And she needed to think, badly.
Concentrate.

(Concentrate, girl)

She tried to douse her arousal mentally. It only worked a little.
Her body cried out for the attention of her fingers, demanding.

"Damn," she swore, more to try to drive her body into obedience. Not
here. It was an exam room. Jeanette was sitting right, there.

(NOW!)

She snatched her right hand from tickling her own nipple.

She had to find the man.

"I don't want this," she whispered. But the room didn't care. Not
at all.


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