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Message-ID: <40946asstr$1045692603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [023/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Wed, 19 Feb 2003 17:10:03 -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 23

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

The metal things lay by her feet, inanimate, but terrifying.

She looked up from staring at them, and slowly shook her head. Red
strands of her hair obscured her vision.

"No, I won't."

She backed up until her back rested against the solid air behind
her. She wanted to scream, but couldn't find the will, her voice
frozen.

He rose, infinite patience in his stance. She suspected that he
wouldn't put up with much in the way of defiance, but he seemed
understanding of her, here and now.

He approached her, and she shrunk back as much as she was able.
    (How does air become solid?)
    Her eyes darted to the left, looking for an escape
route away from him, away from the gun.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

He shrugged. "You can call me, sir."

(Like hell, I will.)

She shook her head again.

"You won't get far, if you run," he remarked casually.

Kate trembled, determined to try anyway. The air crept, until she
could sense it nearly touching her arms. He approached through the
invisibly constraining tunnel. Somehow, she was aware that he wasn't
nearly as constrained by it as she.

Kate tried to step to the left, touched the wall; tried to step to
the right, same deal.

Her lips remained clamped as the gun barrel stroked her chin. Nearly
fainting, she tried to look away from his eyes. They were hardened,
almost uncaring. She could see a sparkle there; he was enjoying
himself, and could be compassionate, but she suspected that he was
the type of man that would do what he needed to in order to get what
he desired.

She swallowed heavily.

What he desired was her.

She was used to males desiring her, even encouraged it. But this
male had a gun. A damn gun.

"I could have let you run," he said.

She remained silent, trembling like the leaves were not.

He paused, then continued. "But you would have hurt yourself. You
can't see the division, can you?"

She slowly shook her head, not understanding. Her chin scraped
against the cold steel of the barrel as she moved her head.

"Like Sandra," he said. His eyes drifted away for a moment.

(Who the hell was Sandra???)

His eyes fixed her again, and she looked away.

"Do you still want to defy me?" he asked quietly.

Her voice wavered, carrying all of her fright with it.

"Are you going to hurt me? Rape me?"

He laughed, making her flush.

"Rape you? Not if I can help it."

That didn't make much sense to her, but she noticed that he had
conveniently left out the part about hurting her. Her groin tingled
for a moment, but her fear over-rode that sensation.

She licked her lips, the downward motion of her jaw pressing harder
into the gun. He lowered it a little to let her run her tongue over
her suddenly drier lips again.

"If I wear them, will you lower that gun?"

He nodded and stepped back. She let out her breath as the gun barrel
left her skin.

Slowly, she bent. The chrome handcuffs felt heavy against her
fingers.

She shook her head.

"I can't. Please."

She had sworn to herself that she wouldn't beg. But she had to try.

He softened a little, perhaps because she'd pleaded. Maybe he does
have weaknesses, she mused.

"It won't be for long. I just don't want to hold this gun on you.
It's dangerous."

She couldn't really see how she could possibly be a threat, but she
nodded. She didn't want him pointing that damn thing at her either.

As if in a show of good faith, he lowered the gun, aiming it towards
the ground. If he wanted to shoot her, he still could, but she felt
better. At least if there was a accident, she might not be in the
line of fire.

She slipped the edge of the open cuff around her left wrist. He
watched her with an intensity that she didn't particularly care for.
Each click of the ratchet sent shivers down her spine. It slowly
closed until it pressed snugly against the skin of her wrist. She
stared at it for a long time, slowly twisting her wrist within its
prison.

It dawned on her suddenly. She didn't have the key. He did. Without
him, her wrist was in the cuff forever.

She shivered, used her left hand to raise the remaining steel cuff
towards her right wrist. She looked up at him, her eyes pleading.

"I can't. Please," she whispered.

She thought she saw a whisper of hesitation, but it didn't hold. He
lifted the gun again; it aimed at her chest. She held her breath
until it hurt.

"Behind you."

"Oh, God," she whispered.

It was easier not having to look at the metal, not seeing her wrists
being trapped. She fumbled with the cuffs behind her, never having
had to close handcuffs on herself before.

If she left it loose, would he notice?

She was certain that he would. Somehow, he would know.

At last, her trembling fingers found the other band of chrome, and
fumbled it closed around her right wrist. The first of the mindless
ratchets engaged behind her back with a satisfied click.

She could still easily slip her slim wrist from its confinement.

Last chance.

She raised her eyes again. He watched her, not rushing her.

"Please?" she whispered.

He slowly shook his head.

"I'll do whatever you want."

But if he wanted sex, would she? She didn't think so. But how could
she fight with her hands bound? Was this how every girl felt just
before being raped?

She felt a single tear escape, trailing down her cheek. Ducking her
head, she hoped that he hadn't seen it.

(Weak girl, weak.)

He knew. And with a final inhalation, she steeled her will. The cuff
snapped through its final clicks in rapid succession until the cuff
had tightened against her skin.

Helpless, she thought. Completely, and utterly, helpless, now.

She pulled against the bonds weakly. She could twist her hands, but
the circles of metal wouldn't admit her hands through them. They
were behind her until he let her go from them. In a pinch, without
interference, she might be able to slip her legs through the loop of
her arms, get her hands in front of her. But what then? She still
didn't have the key. He did.

Her groin tingled again, and she thrust the feeling away like a
nagging mosquito.

She looked up when she sensed the walls of air retreat from her. She
reached out with her toe to the side without finding resistance; the
other side yielded the same result, though she could still feel the
wall behind her back.

He slowly approached.

"I can bring them back," he remarked, referring to the walls that
had retreated.

Kate flushed.

"I won't run," she said, but her voice wouldn't stop wavering.

He stopped in front of her.

"Turn around."

She gave him a confused look, but obeyed, presenting her cuffed
wrists to him. She shivered when his fingers touched her backside
accidentally. He grasped the chain between her wrists, pulling
upwards suddenly.

Kate cried out, her body forced to bend at her waist by the pressure
on her shoulders. Her cheek pressed against the invisible wall that
had been behind her back. His finger traced around each wrist,
attempting to wiggle under the bands that held her. There wasn't any
room; the cuffs weren't loose against her.

"Good girl," he said before dropping her hands. Her hands fell to
bang against the small of her back. Slowly, she straightened and
turned around.

"I'm not stupid," she said.

He nodded while he moved back from her a few steps.

He was silent, his eyes roaming her. She flushed at the attention.
It wasn't unusual for a man to ogle her, but this was a little more
blatant than normal. And she was handcuffed to suffer it.
Nevertheless, she tossed her head, shaking her red head to fall over
her shoulders.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"Do?"

"With me?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know quite yet."

Kate pulled against the bonds for a moment. His words brought her
eyes up again.

"What's your name?" he asked her.

She hesitated, but couldn't think of a single reason not to tell
him. In fact, it might be beneficial. With a name, she had to be
human, didn't she? Of course, people named their dogs and cats, too.

"Kate. Kate Cook."

"Kate."

She waited.

"Sit down, Kate," he said as he lowered himself to the grass. He'd
tucked the gun into his waistband. Kate didn't know much about guns,
but she silently hoped that it would misfire down there, shoot his
pecker off.

With care, Kate lowered herself to the grass. The man leaned up
against the tree under which she'd formerly been sitting.

She sat quietly, waiting for him to speak. He seemed tired, and she
half wondered if he'd fall asleep there under her tree.

"Kate?"

She looked up sharply. The handcuffs felt strange adorning her
wrists.

He paused, then continued.

"What's the matter?" he asked simply.

She nearly laughed, but managed to stifle it.

"You mean, beyond having a gun levelled at me, and being forced to
wear these? Not knowing if you are planning on killing me, or merely
raping me, or both?" Kate pulled her hands awkwardly to the side,
one arm stretching across her back to make the cuffs visible to her
captor.

"At least, the gun isn't pointed at you anymore."

She was thankful, in a way, for that.

"I'd rather not have the gun here at all."

He ignored the comment, clarified his earlier question.

"No, Kate, when I found you," he said, "you were sitting about here
and tearing up that leaf. Boyfriend trouble?"

She looked down, studying the grass in the hollow of her lap. Her
skirt had ridden up a little, something that distressed her, but
with her hands bound, there was precious little she could do about
it. She remained silent.

"Katie?"

Kate looked up sharply. Knowing it was dangerous, knowing that she
should simply put up with it. Instead, she spoke harshly.

"Kate. Not Katie. Kate. I hate that name."

He nodded. She let her breath out when she realised that her
outburst hadn't earned her a bullet.

"Kate, then. What was the matter?"

Kate looked back down, spoke to her legs.

"If I tell you, will you let me go?"

She glanced up, a look of hope in her eyes.

He simply shook his head slowly.

"I can't do that," he said quietly.

Kate looked back towards her legs, wiggling her toes in her runners.
She really hadn't expected him to agree to that. Truthfully, she had
no real bargaining power here. He had the gun, and that was enough.

"If I tell you what I was thinking about, will you at least tell me
what's going on? How long you are going to keep me like this?" Her
voice broke, but she managed to regain control of it. "Are you going
to rape me? Hurt me?"

She looked up. He regarded her for a moment, and then seemed to make
up his mind.

"Kate. I'll tell you what you want to know, as much as I can. But I
can't promise anything, and I can't promise that it will be what you
want to hear. But I want you to know that I'm humouring you. I
doubt if you are strong enough to prevent me from finding out, if I
want. There are always ways."

Her mind filled with pictures of herself, in pain, and agreeing to
tell him anything he wanted. The images were far too real,
especially sitting here like she was. The handcuffs jingled behind
her back.

She was sure he was capable of what he threatened obliquely. She was
also sure that nobody was going to help her. Not here. There was no
Superman here.

He tilted his head.

"I'll tell you what I can. You don't want to try the other way," he
said.

She gulped. No, she didn't. Not at all.

"All right," she whispered.


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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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