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Message-ID: <41212asstr$1047417005@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [032/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2003 16:10:05 -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 32

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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Her breasts jutted like disparate mounds. They weren't part of her,
were they? These two aching mounds upon her chest.

When she raised her eyes from the tight mounds on her chest, he was
standing in front of her. He held two white cylinders in his left
hand, only a few centimetres from her nose.

She instantly recognised them.

"Please no. I'll ..."

"... do anything," he finished her sentence for her. "You've said."
His voice seemed overly cruel, almost like he was forcing it.
Nevertheless, her pleading tumbled from her lips.

"Please no. God. I. What good are my breasts to you if you burn
them?"

He laughed, and she trembled. The ropes wouldn't let her fall, but
she was sure that she would have if the restraints weren't there.

"What makes you think that I want to burn your breasts?"

Her eyes followed the two virgin cigarettes held easily between his
fingers.

"Because. Because I said. I said you could."

"Do you think it matters what you say?"

"Oh, God. Please. Spank me. I'll fuck you. I'll have sex with you.
You don't need to do this."

He held up a lighter. Karen's lighter. The body glowed a fluorescent
pink underneath a metal shield and striker. Kate glanced over at the
other naked girl, still handcuffed to the tree. Karen was crying
silently, tears rolling down her face. At her glance, Karen looked
away.

He absently flicked the lighter. Kate cringed.

"Please."

"I'm not going to burn your breasts, they're much too ...
attractive."

Kate let her breath out in one long exhale.

"Thank-you. Oh, God, thank-you."

He placed the cigarettes against her lips. Karen's cigarettes. The
smell of unburnt tobacco assailed her.

"Please. I don't want to smoke."

"I know."

"No. You don't understand. I've never. Never even tried one. I. I
don't want to. Please."

"No time like the present to kill that resolve."

She shook her head, kept her lips together.

He sighed, and reached out with his free hand. Without looking, he
captured her left nipple. She tried to twist away, but the damn
ropes held her. She couldn't move her chest so much as a centimetre
from his fingers. Stabs of arousal travelled from her left nipple to
her swollen clitoris.

(Oh, God.)

He twisted, softer than Darren had, but amplified by the pressure of
the ropes. She tried to maintain her composure, until tears leaked
from her eyes. He continued to increase the pressure on her slowly,
until the pain flooded her like a tidal wave.

Despite herself, she screamed. Slowly he released her. She knew that
it had been minor, that the pain was nothing compared to what he'd
put Karen through. Darren had gripped her harder. The ropes
amplified her pain; she knew that deep in her mind, but it didn't
help. It hurt. Her clitoris throbbed.

(I can still taste Karen.)

"All right. All right. Christ."

Somehow, him forcing her to hold the vile things in her mouth seemed
to be worse than tying her to the tree, than making her feel Darren,
to make her strip, to make her have sex with Karen.

Weeping, she allowed him to place the things between her lips.

She fought with her mouth, somehow stopping herself from spitting
the cancer sticks from her lips.

She sensed the flame of the lighter, and suddenly her mouth filled
with acrid smoke. Surprised, she inhaled, and her lungs caught fire.
Coughing, she begged him to take them away. One of the smokes fell
from her lips and tumbled to the grass. She danced away from it,
holding her bare feet from the smouldering heater. As he bent to
retrieve it, she struggled not to inhale, breathing the second hand
smoke through her nose.

(I dropped one. Oh shit. What's that going to cost me?)

Slowly, he straightened, the cigarette smouldering in his fingers.
He reached forward and took the remaining one from her lips.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered, still coughing.

"Nasty habit."

"I don't smoke."

He smiled, and held up the burning rods.

"No, I don't suppose that you do."

She fell silent, trying to control the coughs. When she'd settled
down, he spoke again.

"What if I wanted to burn you somewhere else?"

She looked up sharply.

"What?"

"Burn you somewhere else."

He had the lighter in his other hand, snapping the flame on and off.
The pink body of the lighter danced in her view. Grog make fire.

"Please, no."

He flicked the lighter on, this time leaving the flame burning. He
had the thing turned up to its highest setting. Slowly, he passed
the flame under her bound breasts. Kate tried to shrink away; the
tree refused to let her fade through it like a ghost. She screamed,
even though the heat was only slightly uncomfortable as long as he
kept it moving. She closed her eyes. She could kick him, but somehow
she knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. He would tape the things
to her nipples, or grind them out on her taut flesh, if she raised
her foot.

(My breasts. Oh, God.)

She couldn't protect herself. Her shoulders had nearly separated as
she'd tried to avoid the flame. She stood still and hoped that he
wouldn't hold it still for more than a second.

(Please, God.)

He let the lighter fall cold again.

"No. Those breasts are too pretty to burn, as you so thoughtfully
pointed out."

"Please."

"How about a thigh? Your belly?" He held the smouldering cigarettes
towards her skin, kneeling at her feet. "I could put them out on
you, you know?"

Kate groaned.

"Spread your legs."

"Please no."

"Spread them."

His hand lightly slapped her thigh.

Crying, she spread her legs. His eyes were on hers, not on her sex
as she'd expected. His blurred face was upturned, centimetres from
her private places. She was under no illusions, he'd see her private
places if he wanted to, but
  (Please not like this)
  there were worse places to be burned weren't there?

"How about on the lips? Or inside? I could put them out inside?"

"On my breasts. Burn them if you want to. Just not between my legs.
Please."

Her eyes were closed, but she sensed him rise. She closed her legs,
afraid he was going to slap her again. But he allowed her her
modesty, and didn't slap her.

"Your breasts?"

"Yes," she said dully. "I said you could." She closed her eyes
again, and waited.

She screamed.

But the heat from the lighter kissed her nipples from a distance.
It was uncomfortable, but bearable. When the searing pain of a
cigarette being ground out against her bound breasts didn't come,
and the gentle heat of the lighter released her, she opened her
eyes. She couldn't see because the tears obstructed her vision, but
she whispered anyway.

"Thank you," she said simply.

"Oh, we aren't done yet," he said quietly.

"Please, don't do this."

"Control," he said simply.

"I'm in your control, you bastard."

Her eyes were clearing, and he was in front of her. The cigarettes
still burning. He held them up.

"Would you rather be spanked?"

"Than burned? Yes."

And despite her torment, her vagina screamed at her.

(Not now. Christ, not now.)

"Ask me."

"Ask you what?"

"To spank you."

(NO!)
(I'll do it anyway. He'll make me.)
(NO!)

"Spank me? Please don't burn me." And then, almost as an
afterthought, she added one word. "Sir." As she said the word, her
body shivered, and her wonderfully intact nipples ached.

"Control," he whispered. He dropped the cigarettes into the grass
beside the ones that he'd tortured Karen with, and ground them out
with his shoe.

(He could have made me put that out, with my bare foot. Oh, God.)

She let her breath out, and wept. He left her alone for a while, and
she didn't look up to see what he was doing. When she finally raised
her eyes, she swallowed hard. He was standing patiently in front of
her with a branch held like a sword at his side. It brushed easily
against his jeans.

Without warning, he reached out and tapped her right breast with the
end of it. The pain reached her mind almost immediately. She'd been
spanked as a little girl, but nothing like this. The pain coiled up
through her bound breasts and into her mind. She was sure that she
would pass out, but she didn't.

Her scream fell echoless into the silent world. She thought that she
could hear Karen screaming in the background as well. The second
tap, and Kate was sure that was all they were, landed against the
top side of her right breast almost as quickly as the one to her
other side. She couldn't even find the strength to scream.

He wasn't hitting her hard, she knew, but the branch stung against
her taut skin. She was sure that she must be bleeding.

Dimly, she heard his voice.

"One more, Katie."

Irrationally, she wanted to scream at him that her name wasn't
'Katie', but the next strike, harder than the others fell upwards
into her bound breasts. Sure that she was about to split, she
screamed again.

Her clitoris nearly jumped out of her body. She squeezed her legs
together, but it wasn't enough. Dammit, it wasn't enough. Her hips
pumped, against her will. Anything to make this go away. A climax
would dull the agony.

(Please, no.)

He left her alone in her pain for a few minutes, watching her writhe
in her bonds. After a time, he sat in the grass near Kate's dancing
bare feet. He ignored Karen's whispered admonition: "You fucking
bastard."

At last, Kate found her tongue.

"Please, no more. Please."

"No more Kate. No more. I promise."

Kate expelled her breath and took another deep one.

"I'll do anything you want. Just don't do that again. Please."

"That was light. I only tapped you. Probably won't be any marks."

But she could see a thin line of red across the tops of her breasts,
and she was sure that a mirror image would be on the underside where
he hit both of her sensitive orbs at once. Christ, but it had hurt.
The lines weren't bloodied, and she was sure that the marks would
fade, but for now, they were alive and well, thank you.

"I. I know. Please let me go. At least untie me."

She desperately wanted to cradle herself, do something to ease the
pain.

(But it isn't the pain, is it?)

He rose, and she watched warily. Noticing her gaze, he idly tossed
the branch to the side. It ended up beside Karen, the tip that had
tormented Kate resting against Karen's right thigh. The naked girl
crabbed away from it as if it were a hot poker.

"Are you all right?" he asked Kate.

Kate slowly nodded.

"I'll live. But you didn't have to do that."

He almost looked like he regretted it. Almost. He continued to look
into her eyes, ignoring her body. Except he wasn't ignoring her was
he?

She shivered as his fingers traced the ropes encircling her breasts.
Gasping, she tried to twist away, cried out as his fingertips traced
the shallow welts that the branch had caused.

"Please," she whispered. But she couldn't stop him any more than she
could have stopped him from hitting her a moment ago.

Relentlessly, his fingers traced down her body, toying with her
belly rope, and brushing her fine pubic hair. Kate forced her legs
together, thighs trembling.

Her clitoris throbbed with each touch of her skin with his. His
breath, which she expected would be stale, was sweet against her
cheek. She closed her eyes.

The fingers touched her thighs.

"Please, no," she whispered again. But she knew he could force her.
Hold up two cigarettes, or a branch. She'd do whatever he asked.

(Within reason.)

Helplessly, her nipples forced her legs to part. Only slightly. Her
toes curled into the grass.

"Oh, God," she moaned.

His fingers brushed at her sex. Her clitoris screamed. Her nipples
cried out.

And then one finger slipped inside.

Shamefully, she knew that there was no resistance there.

(Sopping wet.)
(Please, no.)

One electric touch to her swollen clitoris.

Her hips rocked towards that touch without her consent. It wasn't
quite enough, but it had been close. So damn close. One. Single.
Touch.

"Please," she begged.

The finger retracted, and she tried to follow. Her body tried to
follow, even if her mind refused to acknowledge her arousal.

And then he was gone, moved a step backwards, no longer close and
she couldn't follow, the ropes holding her, breasts aching, vagina
clenching rhythmically.

She couldn't help it.

"Please let me."

He stood quietly, eyes still on her face. She knew that she looked a
wreck. Couldn't help it.

"I want ..." she began, unsure if she could finish the thought.

"I know."

She wept for a moment, head bowed, body heaving. He wasn't going to
give her what she wanted. She didn't know why, but part of her
rejoiced.

"Let me go," she said quietly.

He shook his head.

"You liked it."

"Liked what?"

"This. You tied there helpless and vulnerable. Me hitting you."

Kate glanced over. Karen had become unusually still. She'd witnessed
her whipping, and maybe even the touching afterwards.
  (My breasts)
  But she was back into that slower time bubble for now.

Kate shook her head slowly, denying, denying.

The gunman smiled and held up his right hand. Kate could see her own
moisture there, knowing it matched between her legs.

"It made you hot."

Kate could feel the blush rising, and could do nothing to stop it.
Suddenly, anger flowed into her and she screamed.

"You fucking make me strip, like an animal. Make me have sex. Tie
me up so tight I hurt. Whip me. Threaten me. Caress me. What the
fuck did you expect to happen?"

He laughed, but it wasn't unkind.

"It happens to some women," he said slowly. "Reaction to stress." He
spoke as if he knew what he was talking about. Kate wondered for a
moment how many women he'd done this to.

"What the fuck did you expect to happen?" she whispered. The blush
hadn't left her cheeks. She didn't care. Tears began to roll down
her cheeks.

He slowly turned and began to walk away.

And despite her anger and her discomfort, her body continued to
insist. She wanted to climax and couldn't help it. Not at all.

"Are you going to leave me like this?" Even she didn't know what she
was referring to anymore.

He turned towards her, eyes still on her face, and smiled.

"Please?" she asked.

He mouthed a single word to her and then turned back towards Kresner
Collegiate. Even through the tears she recognised the words on his
lips.

(Control.)

She lowered her head then, and wept.


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