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Message-ID: <43169asstr$1057000205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [111/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Mon, 30 Jun 2003 15:10:05 -0400
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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 111

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

Monique stopped on the warm sidewalk, the sun caressing the skin of
her cheeks. The exit door swung closed quietly behind her.

"What?" she asked innocently, as he drew up beside her.

"Was that long enough?" he asked pleasantly.

She regarded him, confused. "Was what long enough?"

He stood watching her, not answering, waiting for her to figure it
out. She tilted her head slowly to first one side, then the other,
her brow furrowed. Then it dawned on her.

"Please, no. Not yet," she whispered.

He wore a curious mix of regret and anticipation upon his face. She
shook her head slowly, the tears already beginning to trace down her
cheeks. Her feet backed away from him slowly, her eyes wide.

"Not yet. Just a block or two."

"We had an agreement, Monique."

"I know. I know. But, please. Just a little while longer. It's not
fair."

He reached out, and took her right wrist. She didn't resist as he
coaxed her arm behind her back, then joined it with the other one.
As the handcuffs closed about her wrists again, she began to cry
harder.

"No. No. No," she felt her voice rising. She didn't want to do this,
she'd agreed to his conditions, and here she was standing outside
the mall entrance, trembling and fighting like a child. "No," she
said more quietly.

His eyes flashed in a strange mixture of desire, and disappointment.
She lowered her eyes, feeling the disappointment more than the
desire.

When she looked up, he stood in front of her. He held up the hunting
knife, its metal gleaming in the noonday sun.

"Please, no," she begged. "I'll do what you want."

"You won't, and that's fine," he said easily, his voice neutral and
almost emotionless. She shivered. "This will be easier than if I
made you take them off yourself."

"Please, no."

He touched the dull side of the blade to Monique's throat. She
swallowed carefully, and shivered.

"Please, don't hurt me. Please."

"I'm not going to hurt you, but if I were you, I'd stand still."

Monique inhaled, and held it, holding her body as rigid as she
could. Still she trembled, but he seemed capable with the weapon.
That frightened her even more.

She felt, rather than saw, the buttons pop from between her breasts,
and then the fabric parted from her neck to her bound wrists. The
blouse fluttered from her body like a butterfly on the wind. It
flapped for a moment near her bare feet, and then danced in the wind
towards the sparsely parked cars of the parking lot.

The denim about her legs rended as easily as if the knife had been
slicing through warm butter. She shivered, but tried to remain still
as the cold steel of the blade kissed her thighs, then her shins,
and exited near her ankle. She closed her eyes as he tugged the
white jeans from between her legs. As if of their own mind, her legs
parted a little to allow the fabric to come free of her body.

When she looked up, he was smiling and tucking the sheathed knife
into his waistband beside the gun. Tears fell unheeded and like a
river down her face.

"You fucking bastard," she choked out.

Instead of chastising her for swearing, and for insulting him, he
merely turned from her, picked up the backpack, and began to walk
towards the parking lot. The white, tight, denim fluttered against
her right ankle.

The cool spring air kissed her bare skin once again, as the tears
fell in hot rivulets down her cheeks.

                         <---===***===--->

The anger and sense of the unjust left her as quickly as it had
arrived. Her feet whispered through the grass beside the road,
while he walked near her but on the asphalt in his shoes. At least
he'd allowed her the freedom to walk in the grass again, despite her
outburst as her clothes had been forcibly removed. Now, it felt as
if the emotions had flown from her, like a dove fluttering from a
cage.

She stopped, and he did so as well, slowly facing her.

"Going to insult me again? Someone in your position might want to
reconsider." His voice was light, not angered as she'd expected. It
frightened her in an inexplicable manner.

She sighed, and willed back the tears that were about to fall from
her eyes again. Slowly, and awkwardly, she lowered herself to her
knees, the grass tickling her bare skin. She rocked back on her
heels, wishing that her hands weren't pinned behind her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her face upturned to watch him. He cocked
his head to the side, a hint of a smile flitting to his lips. "We
made an agreement, and I should have stuck to it. Instead ..." she
let her voice trail off.

He nodded, seemingly accepting her apology. He reached forward
towards her, but she rocked back and away from his fingers.

"It's not fair. I'm a human being, you know."

"I know that."

Ignoring him, she continued. "But I'm sorry. Punish me if you like,
but please leave the others out of this."

"I'm not going to punish you. And I wouldn't take it out on Kate, or
Leigh, either."

"You've done it before. To prove a point, that hurting others is
somehow worse. It is. I understand. But I'm the one that refused
you, that balked. Okay? I should take whatever punishment you have
in mind."

He crouched, his fingers urging her chin up to look him in the eyes.

"Monique, I'm not going to punish anyone. I'm frankly surprised that
you didn't try to run."

"I still might."

"And that's why I'm watching you. I should never have allowed you to
taste clothing again, if I'm intending to keep you without. It's too
... tempting."

Monique nodded. "I enjoyed it, while it lasted."

"A little too much."

Monique flushed, pushing away the anger. Anger wouldn't help her --
not here, not anywhere. She was naked. She was controlled. And she
was here. Nothing she could do to change that. Survive, and survive.
She nodded slowly.

"I'll stay nude as long as you want," she whispered.

He nodded, then lightly grasped her elbow. With his help, she
climbed wearily to her bare feet. The grass tickled the bottoms of
her feet as she began to walk again. She inhaled the cool air,
smelling fresh grass, and some perfume that she couldn't identify.
She sighed, somehow glad that he'd accepted her apology, and it
appeared that this would be the end of it.

They moved down the road again, backtracking towards the house, and
the other girls.

                         <---===***===--->

The bench was shaded, and Monique thankfully sat down near one
corner. The wood of the back of the bench pressed comfortingly into
her bound arms, and the slats under her bare bottom were smooth with
use. She sighed, and pulled up her legs, unconcerned now about her
nudity -- the jeans, and the loose blouse only a pleasant memory.
She missed the clothing, of course, but not as much as she thought
when it was being cut from her body.

Her feet ached, even though he'd let her walk the entire way in the
grass, and she nearly wished for the cold, harsh water of the
fountain to cool her heels. Her feet felt dusty and tired.

The vibration of his body lowering into the opposite side of the
bench brought her head up from inspecting her bare thighs.

She was silent, watching him. His eyes didn't fall against her
nudity, which surprised her, but rather sought out the girl standing
clothed, silent and frozen, about to board a city bus. The
distinctive red stripes and ever present advertising graced the side
of the vehicle. With a flush, Monique realised that she'd been tied
in that bus, had sex in that bus, with the girl.

Melanie didn't even twitch, but his eyes didn't leave the frozen
girl.

"You could be charged with sexual assault, you know?"

Slowly, the Timeman turned toward Monique, a smile gracing his lips.

"Sexual assault? I didn't rape her."

Monique cleared her throat.

"But you made me have sex with her -- that's sexual assault."

He laughed. "You offered. I only allowed you to take blondie's place
in the matter. That's hardly 'forcing' you to have sex with the
girl. But it was an interesting show, nevertheless."

Monique blushed, but tried to ignore her embarrassment. She'd had
sex with the girl, even brought her to climax. Something inside of
her was actually proud of that. It wasn't a fake, and she wasn't a
homosexual. No. She'd done it to avoid pain. Nevertheless, she'd
done it, and done it well. Apparently.

"I'd call you a bastard, but that might earn me another sex session
with Melanie."

He nodded, but then shook his head and said, "I am a bastard."

Monique nodded. "Sexual assault. I've dealt with enough to know."

Her smiled again. "Who's going to catch me?"

"It's not illegal unless you're caught?"

He sighed, and nodded slowly. "Something like that."

"You really believe that? That you can justify doing this to us? Me?
Her? The rest of them? Because you can't get caught?"

He leaned back into the corner of the bench and extended his legs
towards Melanie.

"You know how you got here, right?"

Monique nodded. "You chose me, for some reason, out of a few hundred
million viable women on this planet, as your plaything. And so I
sit here, naked and bound, because you want me this way. And there's
nobody to help me. It doesn't make it right."

"Time manipulation, Monique. Time."

"So what? We're as human here as we were out there," she said,
nodding towards Melanie.

"The Universe is a strange place, Monique. Things have dimensions."

"Height, width, length. Yes, I know."

"And time," he added patiently. "Without any of these, the Universe
cannot support it. If an object has no time, then it does not exist.
Cause and effect."

Monique didn't quite understand, but she nodded slowly.

"And we have time here. I exist. Here and now. What's the point?"

He gathered his thoughts for a moment. "For you, as long as I don't
share what I've seen, when I return you, you'll be as oblivious as
Melanie. What happens here, never happened for you. Period. You
never sat naked in that corner of a bus shelter bench, handcuffed,
in front of me, talking about philosophical issues."

Monique shrugged. The handcuffs jingled quietly behind her back.

"But I am here. And I feel. And I hurt. And I shame. The same as I
would outside of this -- timeline. What you're doing is wrong. Can't
you see that? Wrong to hurt girls, wrong to force them into sexual
acts for your own twisted gratification. Yes, you haven't raped us
- -- not directly -- not yet -- but you've subjugated us, made us into
less than we are."

He smiled. "Are you less than you were?"

Monique thought about that for a moment. Did sitting here naked and
handcuffed, forced to have sex with women make her less than she
was? She slowly shook her head. If anything, she was stronger than
she was before. She didn't need power suits to be what she was. Not
underneath. But she didn't express that. It was an important
question -- one to which she suddenly was unsure of the answer.

"It's still wrong," she insisted. Her voice seemed small in this
silent world. "We didn't do anything to deserve this. Being female
isn't a crime, in case you hadn't noticed."

"No. Being female is a wonderful thing."

"It's wrong. We deserve more."

"You think I don't respect you?"

Monique turned away, trying to conjure the image of him cutting her
clothes from her, forcing her head between Melanie's soft thighs.
But try as she might, it didn't fit. In a strange, and ironic way,
he did respect them. She didn't answer his question.

"It's still wrong," she said quietly.

"What's wrong?"

She cast him a glance of incredulity. "What's wrong?!?!?! You can
look at me sitting here naked and helpless, and still ask that?"

"Not that. Who determines right and wrong?"

"I don't know. The law?"

"Laws are different, country to country. In some strange countries,
as a woman, even exposing your face would get you beaten. And the
law supports it. Happily."

She thought for a moment. "I don't know. God?"

He laughed then. "Are we going to fall into a discussion of absolute
right and absolute wrong? The word of God seems to change depending
on who you are, and what you believe. The word of God gets women
beaten for exposing their ankles. Same country. Which word of God is
right?"

Monique shifted her weight, extending her legs and crossing her
ankles. The pavement where her heels touched was pleasantly warm
below. She swallowed.

"I don't want to get into a religious discussion. It's just wrong.
Can't you see that?"

"Are you a religious person?"

Monique faced him again, and slowly shook her head. He nodded as if
he understood somehow. She thought, maybe, that he did.

"I was raised Catholic, but I'm not sure what I believe any more."

"Let me ask you something else. If I think about raping Melanie,
there, but don't free her and don't throw her to the ground
screaming, and don't stick my penis deep into her. If I only think
about it, is that wrong?"

Monique stared up at the sky. The blue looked like a dome, the
shining disk of the motionless sun breaking the monotony, not a
cloud in the sky.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes," he repeated. "Have you ever heard of anyone successfully
prosecuting anyone for thinking about rape? Haven't you ever dreamed
about being raped?"

Monique closed her eyes, knowing the answers, and not liking either
one. She shook her head slowly. "But," she said slowly, "the
difference between second and first degree murder is intent. That's
not something tangible. Every first year law student knows that."

"But an act has been committed -- murder -- it's crossed from
thinking to action, right? At that point, it becomes more than just
thought. More than just fantasy."

Monique sighed, knowing where this conversation was going.

"And if these things never happened to me? I never sat here having
this conversation with you, then the crime never occurred, and you
can justify it? Your guilt assuaged?"

"No crime has been committed, Monique."

"And I'm sitting here without my clothes only because you're the
only law here."

He nodded slowly. "When you return, it would never have happened.
Not for you. No victim. No crime."

"But it did happen. Is happening. I feel. I hurt. I exist, both here
and at home, wherever that is." She jingled the handcuffs purposely
behind her back. He looked at her. "At least I won't remember all
this," she added quietly.

"You may find that you want to, by the end. But even I can't change
that."

Monique shook her head firmly. "I won't. And it's not right. If
you're honest with yourself, no matter what philosophy of life you
believe, whoever your God might be, it isn't right."

He sighed, and returned his gaze back to Melanie.

"I wasn't going to make you have sex with her again. I just like
looking at her."

Monique closed her eyes again and regarded the sky.

"It's wrong," she whispered, "here and now, for you and me, it's
wrong."

"Somewhere, in my heart, I think you might be right."

Monique sighed, and pushed herself back to her feet. She smiled a
little. Somehow, his words made her feel lighter, and more alive --
somehow easier to accept her captivity.

He didn't rise with her, but remained watching Melanie.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he murmured.

Having experienced the girl intimately, Monique could only nod her
head. "Yes, she's beautiful." For some reason, the words didn't make
her feel homosexual -- it was merely an admission of the beauty of
the girl standing motionless in front of them.

As he pushed himself from the bench, he turned to face Monique.

"Why did you take me?" she asked quietly.

"You're all beautiful," he said with a smile. He touched her bare
shoulder and Monique didn't resist. Her feet fell with a soft patter
as she began to walk again. Without asking, she moved back to the
grass bordering the roadway. The chain jingled quietly behind her
back.

Melanie's form receded as they moved up the street, two specks
moving in a sea of motionlessness. Monique turned once to regard the
girl, standing alone, and frozen almost out of sight. The Timeman
turned, too, but with a sigh began to walk again. After only a
moment, Monique turned as well, and caught up.

She approached him without making physical contact, walking through
the grass quietly, together.

Neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

                         <---===***===--->

At the sound of the front door, Kate poked her head from the
kitchen. She looked worriedly at Monique, but not seeing any
physical damage, the redhead lifted her eyes to the Timeman standing
easily behind Monique.

"You're late," she admonished.

He shrugged. "Captor's perogative."

Monique looked at him over her bare shoulder and shrugged. A look,
almost of grudging respect, passed over her features before it
flashed away.

Kate looked at them, puzzled. "Dinner will be served at seven.
Whatever the heck that means. About fifteen minutes." Her head
disappeared back into the kitchen, and quiet voices emerged from
within. The door swung shut with a creak.

He nodded and guided Monique towards the living room.

Andrea and Nicole looked up from what they were doing. Nicole
winced, her hand moving to her damaged ribs. Andrea slipped the
headphones back over her ears, closing her eyes after ensuring that
Monique didn't seem hurt.

He guided Monique to the sofa where he released her hands and then
cuffed her ankle back to the sofa leg with the handcuffs. Monique
didn't protest. She merely pulled weakly at her restraint, and then
tried to ignore it.

"At least you aren't Maurice," she said. Nicole looked up sharply at
that, but then returned her attention to Shakespeare.

He nodded, apparently understanding.

"Thanks for the walk," he said.

Monique picked up her book from the coffee table, and opened it to
the folded down page. The pages rifled under her thumb.

"You're welcome," she said quietly, then turned her attention to
Peter Straub and Mr. King. "Anytime."


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