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From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [021/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Mon, 17 Feb 2003 21:10:04 -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

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

Chapter 21

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

Dawn stood slowly, her body aching from the effort of riding the
universe's tunnels with her mind. The arousal was still there, her
clitoris throbbing, but she ignored it, pushing herself away on her
sneakered feet.

(Black nail polish. Bare feet. Chains.)

She thought of him as Timeman, idly wondered who he was. He had to
understand physics, couldn't simply be an average character. Had to
know what he was doing.

She wished that she knew what the hell she was doing.

"Time is fluid," she said. It sounded wrong, the sound not returning
to her out of the silence. No echo.

(Strange.)

She deliberately kept her mind from examining why he might have been
playing with Kelly.

(Clothespins.)
(Handcuffs.)
(Lesbians. Naked girls kissing.)
(Sex. Sex. Sex.)

The images sent a stab of sexual energy through her, and she moaned,
couldn't seem to tear her mind from the distracting thoughts.

Not now. Not here.

(NOW!)

Her fingers closed around the doorknob, twisting it futilely. It
refused to turn, but now she began to realise that it wasn't
necessarily locked, keeping her in with the frozen, corpse-like,
students that would ignore her forever. The door was simply frozen
in time, along with the rest of the world. Except her.

And him.

A sensation of claustrophobia descended on her. She'd never suffered
from it before, but then again, she'd never been trapped in a silent
room with only vacantly staring statues before either.

If she had escaped the time shift, perhaps someone else had as well?
Was it only the two of them alone in the world. Even Kelly was gone.

Almost without thought, she began to bang her palm against the wood
of the door.

"Please! Someone. Help! Help!"

She didn't remember stopping, but the palm of her right hand stung,
and felt swollen, redness infusing the pads of her fingers and the
raised muscle by her thumb.

Bruised, probably.

"Please, someone, help."

Her voice croaked, her energy expended. She'd been tired to begin
with, and with the last of her energy expended, she was finding it
more and more difficult to prevent the images
    (Clothespins.)
    from invading her senses. She'd never fantasised
uncontrollably before, and never about pain. But she'd never been
trapped alone, surfing across smoke, sharing another woman's
experiences before.

(Who the hell was Kelly?)

She started at the suddenness, her body controlling her mind. A stab
of desire, almost painful, struck between her legs.

"No," she said, her voice finding volume with the simple denial.

She rose to her feet.

If he could do it, why not her?

She crouched in front of Jeanette, the brunette sitting in the front
of the row.

(What would she look like naked?)

Dawn shook her head, trying to ignore the hardening of her own
nipples. She'd never been attracted to girls before, and still
wasn't as far as she knew. Where had that thought come from?

(If I reanimate her, I could force her to strip. Find out what
she looks like under that sweatshirt and jeans.)

"No," she whispered. "No. No. No."

The thoughts retreated, and Dawn sighed. She glanced over at the
exam proctor, a graduate student with a Latin background. She
couldn't remember his name, but he was suddenly sexy. Too sexy. She
normally didn't go for the Ricky Martin look either.

The same nagging centred in her mind, but she was finding it easier
to push it away. Even when she glanced back at Jeanette, she could
feel the thoughts retreating. It wasn't gender related. Her body was
simply insisting on release, and wasn't discriminating about with
whom.

Dawn concentrated, imagining a soap bubble, one that she was trapped
within. She pushed it away from herself with her mind, could sense
it expanding, picturing her hands pushing against flowing curtains.
Pushing, pressing.

(Handcuffs.)

She forced the thought from her mind, the bubble collapsing as her
concentration faded.

"Shit," she whispered, helplessness infusing her. She wanted to cry.
Wanted to masturbate. Wanted to make all of this go away.

She crawled back, eventually sitting on the floor, her back against
the bricks under the blackboard. She rode out a wave of arousal,
insistent and close.

Dawn idly wished that she'd never connected with Kelly, never seen
the smoke.

(But if you hadn't Dawnie, you wouldn't have a clue, would probably 
 be sobbing and feeling sorry for yourself, screaming for help that 
 would never come instead of ...)

She snatched her fingers from her breast, her other hand beginning
to delve beneath the tight waistband of her jeans.

She knew that she could concentrate if she could just ...

(I know what I have to do.)

Gasping, she forced her thighs to stop squeezing together.

Not now. Not here.

(Dammit.)

She forced away the images that her body was insisting upon. Why the
sudden fascination with sex? She'd always been able to control her
arousal before, had done it quite successfully last night when
confronted with a nice view of John's bare ass. Another stab of
arousal flowed through her, making her gasp.

Instinctually, she knew it was because she'd connected with the
bound girl, and that she was helpless in the face of it, it was an
integral part of the experience. Perhaps the act of wandering
through timelessness sparked a flow of estrogen, female sex hormones
raging through her. She idly wondered if the Timeman suffered a
similar trait, or if he could even sense the universe around him as
she seemed to be able to.

(NOW!)

One couldn't separate the results from the cause any more than one
could hold her own breath to die. She'd wanted to search, had to
understand, simply hadn't known what she was getting into.

(I've done it now, make the best of it, Pandora.)

Purposely, she rose, and approached Jeanette again. Clearing her
mind, forcing it away from the throbbing in her nipples and
clitoris, she pushed at the soap bubble. It expanded, slowly at
first, and then more rapidly. When it touched Jeanette, Dawn
shivered. It was like the bubble had encountered a brick wall. The
bubble hesitated, and then flowed around the girl, like smoke around
a tennis ball.

With her concentration fading, the bubble snapped back. Jeanette
remained sitting as she had before, silent and staring, not so much
as a flicker of light in her staring eyes.

With a sigh of relief, Dawn noted that her body had seemed to give
up the assault on her mind, the sexual imagery fading a little. It
wouldn't take much to rise up again, she was sure, but she thought
that she could maintain the calm for a while this time, maybe long
enough to figure something out. The throbbing had reduced to a dull
ache.

Dawn walked slowly over to the front desk. She didn't know the
proctor for the exam from Adam, but anybody was better than being
alone here.

She repeated the mental exercise, concentrating harder now that her
body was calming down.

The bubble flowed around the guy without any indication that it was
possible to bring a living object through to this time frame. He was
no different than Jeanette.

Dawn collapsed, breathing hard and exhausted.

She wanted to sleep, her eyes grainy.

Manipulating her bubble of time drained her. She wondered how the
Timeman did it, and stayed on his feet with enough energy to torment
Kelly.

(Maybe, I need to ask him.)

She shook her head, not really sure if she did want to find the guy.
But that was something to think about later.

After she lay uncomfortably on the tile for a while, she pushed
herself up, slowly.

She glanced over at the door; it mocked her.

She stood in front of the door for about five minutes before she
gathered her strength for one more try. Not something as complex as
another human being, no. Just a door. Just a lousy, frozen, slab of
hinged wood. She'd opened doors like this one a million times over
her lifetime.

Her bubble expanded more easily this time, forming itself to the
wood of the door, around the frame, around the hinges.
  (Bare ankles)
  When she reached forward to twist the knob, the bubble
snapped back, like it had when she'd tried with people. But it had
worked, had surrounded the door, released it. If she could only
find the concentration to reach for the knob without losing her grip
on the bubble.

God, she was tired.

"I don't want this," she murmured.

She lowered herself to the tiles, sitting cross-legged. Her hands
rose, and cupped her face. She wept for a while, she didn't know for
how long. But time was fluid, wasn't it? It didn't much matter
here.

After the sobs had reduced, she sighed. She knew what she had to do.
Didn't want to do it. Not here. Not now.

She raised her head. Her body still throbbed insistently at her. It
wasn't as powerful as before, but was sapping enough of her will
that she couldn't concentrate. Not enough to do what she wanted. She
had two choices. She could ride it out long enough. Hopefully, her
body would give up, whatever imbalance was causing this obsession
with sex to fade. But she honestly didn't know if her body would
ever give up its hold on her. Wax and wane, yes, but release her,
she doubted it. She had always taken for granted her control over
her own arousal.

She didn't want to think of the alternative.

"All right," she whispered. "You win."

She lay back, her back uncomfortable against the tile. She
hesitated for a few minutes, her breathing ragged. She wept for a
moment, her body not compromising despite her misery.

As if of their own volition, her fingers stole under her sweatshirt,
insistently brushing at her right nipple through her brassiere. She
didn't try to stop them this time, tried to ignore the fact that she
lay at the front of a populated, if quiet, classroom. They weren't
there. She was in her bed, comfortable, at home. Please, fantasise 
something normal.

(Not clothespins, or crops. Please.)

Her other hand pulled at the top button of her jeans, pulled at the
button fly snapping it open in one quick motion.

She halted, forcing her fingers to stop.

(What the hell was she doing??)

Her fingers teased her, brushing at her vaginal lips through her
panties. Her breathing became ragged, her ability to resist sapped.
She was so damned tired.

It would be quick, wouldn't it?

The last of her objections silenced. She surrendered.

(Clothespins.)
(Girls kissing. Where had that come from?)
(Ankles in chains.)

(Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Please, stop it.)

Fingers entering her, stroking insistently, pinching at her
 (clothespins)
     nipples. The pad of her index finger knew her rhythm,
had known it since she was a small child, guiltily exploring in the
privacy of her own bedroom, late at night. Her fingers played,
stroked through her moisture,
  (moisture? wetness, more like ...)
  pushed her ever closer to release.

Her body arched, the climax crashing through every muscle in her
body. She recognised her own voice, crying out, more passionate than
her cries from last night with John.

And her body relaxed. She felt bare skin, cold against the tile. The
back of her head ached, where she'd arched against the floor.

Slowly, she knelt. She couldn't remember removing her clothing, but
all that remained on her body were her socks and sneakers.

With a cry of dismay, she rose, gathering her clothing, her
underwear, what small level of dignity she retained. Her arousal was
gone, like the wind over a still lake. Her clitoris throbbed, but it
was the sane sensation of release, of satisfaction at last. She
dressed hurriedly, glancing at the multitude of faces that had
watched her display herself, and pleasure herself. She thought that
she could sense Jeanette's disapproval.

Tears fell unheeded down her face.

"Oh God," she murmured.

She stood again in front of the door, flushed, still breathing
heavily as if she'd performed a marathon of sex instead of the
quick, almost effortless self-pleasure that she had. No, it hadn't
taken much this time, not like her more sedate solitary routine --
simply animalistic insistent sex.

Shame flushed her cheeks.

"Oh God," she repeated.

The bubble moved easier this time, though somewhere she knew that
she wouldn't be able to re-animate another person nearly as easily,
if at all. Her bubble of time slid around the doorway again, as if
it were a glove. Her mind was clear, almost consciously shying away
from the images that had haunted her from Kelly.

It took effort, but she was able to reach the doorknob this time,
able to concentrate on the two actions simultaneously. It was like
re-learning to walk.

(Like riding a bicycle, Dawn, my girl.)

She was suddenly certain, that with practise, it would be simple,
almost as automatic as breathing. Re-animating people, perhaps not,
but simple things like unfreezing doors?

The door swung open as she twisted the knob.

She cried out, relief flooding through her.

She stepped out into the silent hallway, stumbling as she crossed
from the room that had been her prison. The other students
continued to ignore her. A solitary student, a girl who looked a bit
younger than herself, was frozen walking by the door to the exam
room.

The bubble retracted as her mind lost its grip upon it; the door
snapped silently back into its former position.

She sank to her knees, and then to the floor.

"Thank-you, thank-you," she whispered. She nearly kissed the floor.

She closed her eyes, completely drained. Her strength seemed to ebb
with the immediate task finally completed. Her climax, the
sleepless last night, her bruised ribs, all conspired against her.
Sleep. Perchance to dream.

Only for a moment, she told herself. Only for a moment.

It wasn't like laying her head onto her pillow to search for sleep,
no, sleep reached up and grabbed her, pulling her into the darkness.

This is what passing out feels like, she mused.

Her head cradled on her arm, off the cold marble of the corridor,
she closed her eyes, a warmth suffusing her from within.


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