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From: Thomas Ireland-Delfs
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Subject: {ASSM} The Weekend (M/f Bond nc?)
Date: Mon, 8 May 2000 07:10:07 -0400
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This is my second posting. Please send me comments & criticisms.
Thanks to Pami for her encouragement and Rebecca for her inspiration.
Again, please do not report without my written permission.
........
+7
<1st attachment, "Weekend.txt" begin>
The Weekend (M/F, nc?, Bond)
(for Rebecca)
He walked into the restaurant, an apparition from another time.
Rebecca, who was working her third straight late shift and hated it, looked
up and nearly fainted. A viking.....A Viking? She laughed aloud, then
stopped herself.
The man stood strong and attractive, at least 5'10" with wide shoulders
and what had to be a muscular chest under his shirt. It looked like linen,
sort of dust colored, with a v-neck opening. She let her eyes travel down
as the receptionist spoke with the man. He wore a broad leather belt and
leather pants, above a pair of leather boots that came up to his knees.
All of it dark brown. All of it decorated with colorful markings -- runes,
she knew. Off the belt hung what looked like an ax, but in a likewise
decorated leather sheath of some sort.
She watched him follow the receptionist toward her section. He barely
glanced at Vicki, but raked his eyes over the empty tables. He chose...a
corner booth, dark, secluded, and sat there. Vicki looked at him, shrugged
and gave him his menu. He looked up and smiled, thanking her, then looked
straight at Rebecca.
Rebecca caught herself staring into his eyes. His gaze held hers for a
long moment, judging, testing. Then he smiled at her....the grin of a
carnivore, a hungry animal. Rebecca approached the table and went into her
usual routine, a sort of comic patter that generally loosened things up.
She had never been afraid to meet and befriend strangers and almost always
got large tips because of her warmth. This time, though, the gaze from the
stranger was steady and firm. He was polite enough, listening to her
chatter, but he did not seem to return the friendship implicit in it. He
seemed more aloof, above her. After she finished, he reached out and
touched her hand while he ordered a cup of coffee and a hamburger, medium,
with a side salad. His voice was not a request, more a demand, politely
framed, but nevertheless. Rebecca shivered inside, an electric thrill
running through her.
+++++++++++++
When Tom walked into the restaurant, he realized he was hungry...for
food and adventure. He had come from dance practice...good solid country
dances that always involved heavy flirting. Two of the younger Barony
members had come on to him heavily, almost like a contest to see which
woman could bed him first. But he knew them both...flirts who never came
across in bed as they did on the dance floor. One was still very much the
innocent teenager, despite being in her mid-20's; she was a scared rabbit
if he tried anything beyond a straight fuck. The other was a cocktease for
sure...at least an hour of talk and necking had gotten him a handjob the
one time he'd called her bluff. He was not in the mood for their games
tonight.
He had danced the Viking callouts he had devised, a few rounds of
blacknag and Miller in the Middle, a very interesting hole-in-the-wall, and
then he'd called it quits. He had to work tomorrow, he said, even though
it was his "weekend" -- Wednesday & Thursday -- his days off from the
Borders where he was manager of the Human Sexuality section. So he came to
the restaurant, hungry, in more ways than one. He scanned the
receptionist. "Vicki" her tag said, and she was not for him. A little
overweight and quite assertive. He sighed inwardly. He knew he was a
sight in full garb, the leathers tonight, designed for dance, flirtation
and domination, not submission. He needed a submissive woman to play his
game tonight, and everything about his stance and carriage said so. He
followed Vicki (Gods, what a name, he thought, she's definitely a Victoria
if I ever saw one.) into a deserted section and chose a booth for himself.
She stopped, started to redirect him to a small table, but she saw his eyes
and shrugged. He smiled as she handed him his menu. She moved away,
looking at the waitress for the section and shrugging again.
He glanced at his menu, already knowing what he would eat. Then he
looked up into a pair of deep brown eyes. She had said her name was
Rebecca and she was spouting a little comedy line at him, trying to loosen
him up. He smiled, but maintained his contact with her, letting her know
that he was the boss. His eyes raked over her...petite, maybe 5'3 or 5'4,
slim, except for a very nice pair of breasts. Her nipples already were
visible under the starched white blouse she wore. Her legs were very nice,
naked under the short red skirt. He knew that she was just right for his
plans for tonight. He hoped she would be compliant. He tested her. He
actually interrupted her, taking her hand in his and giving his order.
From her reaction, he knew, immediately, that his hungers would all be
sated tonight. She physically shivered under his touch and whispered,
"Yes, Sir" clearly when he made his order. Just from that and the slight
downward motion of her eyes, he knew...and she did, too.
++++++++
During the meal, Rebecca stayed near the customer. He had not given her
a name, so she called him "Sir" throughout, checking on him every few
minutes. There was no one else in her section, so she hovered nearby,
watching his every move. His hair, long brown, to the middle of his back,
was wavy, streaked with gray. His beard, cropped short, was also going
gray. And his eyes, steely blue, gazed into her very soul, when she dared
meet them with hers. It seemed that every time she looked at him, she
became more aroused. She found herself fading into a little fantasy....
She was a maiden, dressed in a chemise and an overgown, cowering in a
corner as Viking raiders plundered her village. She was trying to hide,
for she knew, KNEW, what these marauders did to innocents like herself.
She would be raped and kept as a plaything or sold into sexual bondage by
some fiendish pagan lord. She was crying, trying to be a small as a mouse,
when the door burst open and the warrior loomed over her, laughing, bloody
sword in hand. She screamed......
"Rebecca," the voice commanded, "Can I have the check?" She woke from
her reverie and saw him grinning at her. She was embarrassed and blushed
deeply. He looked into her eyes.
"He can read my thoughts. He knows my fantasies," she thought to
herself. She hustled to get the check, and handed it to him, with a
polite, almost submissive whisper, "I'm sorry I was slow, Sir, please
forgive me."
Tom smiled and whispered, "Of course, Rebecca." Now he was certain. He
took a ten from his pouch for the meal, and added twenty for her. He also
wrote a brief note, "At the bar, in twenty minutes." He rose and walked,
steadily & surely, from the restaurant into the bar, where he ordered a
bourbon and water. He waited, patiently, keeping an eye on her time.
She took the check and pocketed the twenty! Twenty!!! "Oh, migod," she
thought, "What a great night!" Then she read the note. She froze briefly,
knowing she couldn't do this. She knew that, but also knew she would. She
felt as though her stomach was in knots, her nipples erect and hard as
pebbles, her pussy beginning to flow. She knew she would go to him, with
him, and become his. She checked her watch ... her shift ended in fifteen
minutes. She prayed no more customers would come.
Rebecca was lucky. Her relief was early and no one else had come in to
her section. She rushed to the back and changed out of her uniform, into
the short skirt and blouse she had worn to work. She stopped, and quickly
touched herself...wet, open, hot. She knew what lay in store and she
rushed to get there. In her haste, she either forgot or decided against
wearing her panties.
She entered the bar and looked for him. He wasn't there! She panicked,
looking at her watch...12:03. Her heart sank. She was three minutes late.
He must have left, tired of waiting. She nearly cried. She went to the
bar, intending to have a glass of wine and then go home to her vibrator and
her cold, empty bed.
The bartender looked at her and said, "Here's a note some guy left." She
opened it with fumbling fingers.
"You're late," it said. "This will cost you. I'll be in parking lot,
waiting, until 12:15. Be there or you lose the opportunity."
She ran from the bar to the parking lot, praying to the goddess that she
wasn't late again. She stood, looking for him, when a dark blue PT Cruiser
drove up. The passenger side door opened. She tried to see who was in
there, but the compartment was dark. She took a deep breath and climbed
in.
Jazz played softly (Miles Davis, she thought). She put on her seat belt
and turned to look. He smiled at her and spoke in a harsh whisper, "You
were late, Rebecca. That wasn't a good start to the evening. Now, hold
out your hands."
She quickly complied, whispering, "Sorry, Sir, but you didn't give me
enough time."
He hushed her immediately. "From now on, until we part company, you
will address me as "Master" and will not offer excuses or reasons. Do you
understand?" She nodded, silent. "Good. You will learn quickly how to
please your Master." He took a pair of leather and fur manacles and bound
her hands before her with them. Then he attached a chain to the clasps and
pulled it back, attaching it to an overhead bar in the van. He pulled and
her hands were elevated, not stretched but above her head. She knew she
was displayed. "Now, Rebecca, tell me what your schedule is for tomorrow
and Thursday."
She hesitated, then spoke in a hoarse whisper, "I have them off,
Sir...Master, I mean. I do not have to work again until Friday evening."
"Other plans?"
"None, Master. I was going to do some shopping, but it can wait."
"Social plans?" His voice almost laughed, as though he knew she had
little or no dating life at all.
"None, Master"
"Very good." He unbuttoned her blouse three, no four buttons, and spread
it wide. Her naked breasts were exposed. He put the van in gear and they
drove, carefully obeying the speed limit. At every light, if he stopped,
people stared. She was aroused, totally aware of her situation. At one
point, she glanced to her right and saw two teenage boys staring at her,
laughing and whistling. Another time, a police cruiser went by. She could
have sworn the cop looked right at her and smiled. She felt her pussy open
further, her nipples harden until they were painful, her whole being
desiring a touch, a word, a command. "Master?" she whispered. "Master?
Where are we going?"
He didn't even look at her, but drove on, not saying a word. She felt
the cold throughout her body. She had spoken out of turn. She realized
that he would chalk that up against her, too. They drove, though the
sections of Bellingham she knew, into a district she had never seen before.
It was rich...oh god, was it rich! Winding streets, gated yards, large
houses, until they slowed and turned into a driveway that led to a brick
estate house. The lights on the driveway and walk came on without warning.
The entire driveway and walk to the house were lit up. He stopped at least
fifty yards from the door and released her hands, then her seat belt. He
silently pulled the blouse from her skirt and stripped it from her, being
careful not to tear it as it passed over the manacles. Then he fastened
the manacles with the length of chain and reached into the glove
compartment. From it, he produced a black leather dog collar with a d-ring
on it. He fastened it around her neck and then ran the chain through the
d-ring and back to the cuffs. He attached it there with a padlock.
He smiled and said, "You will exit the van and walk, very slowly, to the
door. There you will kneel, facing the street and wait for me. If you
don't do this, I will release you and drive you home and never see you
again." He opened the door.
Rebecca almost stumbled as she slipped from the car, she was so nervous.
She didn't hear the car move, knew he was watching her to see that she
complied completely with the command. She didn't hesitate now, for her
mind was made up. She walked, very slowly, up the driveway, aware that the
whole neighborhood could see her. She approached the door and saw a soft
carpet pad in front of it, far enough away that someone could step between
it and the door. It was out in the open, with a pair of floodlights
trained on it. She would be on display. She knelt.
+++++++
Tom sat in the van and watched Rebecca. "Perfect," he thought, as he
struggled to calm his raging erection. She would be a marvelous toy for
the weekend. What luck that she had the same schedule as he did. What
luck that she wasn't utterly docile, but rather was forward and aggressive.
She'd be that much more fun to make his.
He watched her walk, absolutely erect and properly, to the door, then
watched her pirouette and kneel, shoulders back, breasts open and proud,
her hands and neck manacled and chained. He slowly drove up the drive and
parked the van in the garage. As he closed the doors, the driveway lights
extinguished themselves, leaving just the spots on the porch. He knew that
at least two neighbors were watching...they always watched him come home,
especially on Tuesday nights, for that was when he "played rough". "Well,"
he thought, "eat your fucking hearts out. Rebecca is my slave, not yours!"
He entered the house through the garage door, leaving her kneeling on
the porch, on display. He checked the game room, and then unlocked the
Master's room. He chuckled, as he looked at the various toys he would
introduce her to over the next 48 hours. He removed his ax and hung it in
its usual place on the wall, next to the various Anglo-Saxon & Viking
reproductions. He brushed his hair, then poured himself a drink. He
relaxed, looking at the clock. Ten minutes...long enough.
Tom walked to the door and opened it silently. Rebecca was looking at
house across the street...the one where the drapes had slid open as soon as
she knelt. A man and woman were looking at her. She could see them
clearly...see the man stroking the naked woman's breasts and pussy as she
stared at Rebecca; see the woman lean forward at the waist, spreading her
legs; see the man moving behind her, entering her, fucking her slowly as
they both looked at Rebecca who knelt, wet, wild, open, legs spread,
shoulders back, thoroughly on exhibition for anyone to see. Rebecca
watched the woman's face go rigid with her orgasm and felt a tiny cum build
in her own pussy as well. She wanted to be there with them, chained,
offered to them as a plaything. She was so entranced by her fantasy that
she didn't hear the door opening. It was the reaction of the man across
the street...a wide smile and wave that told her she was not alone.
Tom chuckled and touched her shoulder. "Rise and stand very still," he
commanded. She complied. His hands went to her skirt and unzipped it. As
it fell, he whispered, "No panties...such a naughty girl we have here." He
turned her to face him, ass to the street. She saw his gloved hands and
shuddered. He took one step to the side so that he was perpendicular to
her. Then he struck...three quick sharp spanks on her naked ass. He
turned her again, to face the street. The man across the street was
fucking in earnest now. "Watch them...be with them," Tom whispered to his
naked toy. She watched them fuck for maybe two more minutes...Then both
froze as they came together. Tom stood behind her, whispering, "They came
for you, because of you, because they know what you are...my slavegirl,
Rebecca."
He bound a cloth over her eyes, turned her again, and grasping the chain
that led from her manacles, pulled her inside after him. The door swung
shut, and the "weekend" truly began.
+++++++
Two hours...two hours she had been tied to the post, while He spanked
and flogged her ass. She was so turned on she was on the edge of
exhaustion. He had forbade her from cumming and He was continually taking
her to her limits, extending them as He worked on her.
When they entered the house, He had blindfolded her and led her to this
room. Here, He had bound her roughly, not seeming to care about her
comfort. He strapped her first to a table, binding her wrists to chains
and making her bend at the waist, feet flat, legs spread wide. Then He
spanked her, making her count the blows, 50 of them, until she was crying,
bawling, begging for release. He did not refuse, but stopped only to start
again, spanking her pussylips 10 times more. Then He released her wrists,
pulled her up by the hair, and moved her across the room. She begged to be
allowed to cum, knowing it would anger Him more. He laughed and slapped
her face...hard...telling her that she would cum when HE was damned good &
ready for her to cum, not before. Then He bound her to the rough wooden
post, her breasts rubbing against the wood, her pussy rubbing there, too,
and her ass exposed to Him. Then He removed the blindfold and picked up
the flogger.
Rebecca shuddered, recalling how it whistled and snapped and stung her
as it struck. She had counted every blow, loudly, through her tears of
frustration, pain, and ecstasy. This was what she had hoped He would
do...punish her, take her to the edge, make her extend her limitations
farther than ever before. 50 more blows...50 more moments of painful
bliss.
++++++
Two hours...two hours, Tom had tested her, tried her boundaries, waiting
for her to say the word. He had whispered, "Popcorn will stop it all" as
he moved her though the house. And throughout the two hours, as she had
begged him to stop, screamed her agony & desire, he had listened, fearing
she would say the word. The only time he had been angry had been when she
asked to cum for him. How dare she! She knew, had to know, that he would
make her cum when he was ready. That they would both cum, repeatedly,
before the weekend ended, she had to know. For that transgression, he had
slapped her face as hard as he dared. He knew it hurt her...his palm had
stung after the blow. But she stood and cried, yet said nothing. He was
terribly afraid that he had gone too far, but when she whimpered, "I'm
sorry, Master. I deserved that", he had breathed a sigh of relief. And
when he bound her to the post, her clit and nipples being rubbed against
the pine, and removed the blindfold, her eyes were shining with lust.
He smiled...he almost danced for joy. She was truly his!
After that, he flogged her, using the buffalo hide cat. It was heavy
and made a stunning impression on her already sore, red ass. She
whimpered, rubbing herself against the post with each stroke. He knew how
quickly this could cause an unintentional orgasm, so he paced himself,
giving her five at a time, varying the speed, force, and angle of each
blow. As she reached each five count, he stopped, letting her catch her
breath. Often he walked up behind her, soothing her, touching her hair,
her neck, her shoulders, while whispering, "Good girl, Rebecca, hold off
the urge, fight the urge to cum." He knew that this had two, quite
opposite, effects. First, it gentled her, calmed her down; but, more
sadistic, it aroused her, hearing his voice, feeling his hands. She so
desired to cum, he could taste her need. And it fed his hunger.
So, Tom kept up the beating.....15, 20, 25....a very long break. He
left the room, relaxed, used the john, teased himself to the brink and
stopped, then got two glasses of wine and returned. She needed to relieve
herself and he released her, making her crawl to the toilet, then crawl
back. He reset her bonds, being certain her swollen sex rubbed against the
tiny nubbin of wood he had carved out to tease his slave's clits. Then the
beating began again, until her ass was utterly red and sore and her sex was
flowing with her need. 30,35,40...an intermediate break to let her cool
off. More wine, then the final ten. He took a 30-second break between
each blow, aiming very carefully, letting the tails nip at her exposed anus
and pussy with each shot he took. 45, then excruciatingly, 50.
He released her, caught her in his arms, and looked into her eyes, still
filled with tears. He whispered, "You are a very good pet."
She whimpered, "Thank You, Master" and collapsed in His arms. She felt
so safe there, even though those Hands had just whipped her into complete
exhaustion. She felt she could go no further, until His fingers explored
her aching nipples, rubbed sore by the pole, and her swollen, open pussy.
When He touched her clit, she exploded in a massive orgasm, so long denied.
The orgasm she had desired since the moment He walked into the restaurant.
And when she came, He whispered, "Good pet, cum for me." And she did, again
and again, until she faded into oblivion and slept.
Tom carried her to his bed and laid her in it. He lay next to her,
hearing her gentle breathing. His needs would wait until she awoke. After
all, it was only the first night of what he now felt might be forever
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