Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 As of yet, unnamed 01
Author: AnnaSiciliana ( https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Anna_Siciliana/www/ )
Title: As of yet, unnamed 01
Summary: Cum, submission, teasing, mind control, domination, anal, oral,
lesbian
Keywords: hirs, hair, breast, humil, rough, mast, ds, dom, true, real,
oral, anal
   Wenke gagged.  The guy's jizz tasted like battery acid.  She let it run
out of the side of her mouth, wiping it on the spotty, torn sleeve of her
sweater.  When she looked over to him, he was zipping his pants, not even
gracing her with a second look.
   "Hey," she said, her voice raspy.  "What about my chits?"
   "What chits?" the guy answered, eyeing her with a disgusted expression,
like he just tasted something foul.
   "You said you had real credits, man," Wenke said enraged, struggling to
get up.  "Five hundred.  We said five hundred for the job!"
   He shrugged.  "Well, the job was shitty, so no chits," he replied,
heading out.  Wenke tried to go after him, but her knees felt like jelly.
Withdrawal hadn't been too kind on her and she could barely stand upright,
let alone walk.  When she had reached the door, he was already gone.
   She stumbled down the stairs, slowly, holding onto the handrail like a
lifeline.  Jan, who ran the joint, was holding her up when she had reached
the bottom.  "Fifty for now," he said.  "And what about the other two
hundred you still owe me for the last few visits?  Don't think I forgot!"
   "F-f-fuck you," she hissed through clenched teeth.
   "Fuck me?" he said, grinning with his cigarette in the corner of his
mouth.  "Well, if that's how you want to pay..."
   Wenke hit, and she hit hard.  Her broken nails scratched deep into Jan's
cheek, leaving four red streaks across his face.  As he was reeling back
from the pain and surprise, she jostled forward to get outside, tumbling
into the cool Amsterdam air.
   She had to catch herself not to fall into the canal that ran right
across from Jan's "motel" and began to walk, unsteady, down the street,
turning a few corners until she felt safe that nobody was following her
anymore.
   Her stomach was grumbling, but she hardly noticed it, focussing on the
burning pain that seemed to course through her veins, "the ashes of love"
they called it - the withdrawal from going now three days without RZR.
   Besides her, another canal gargled smooth and quiet in the night air,
soothing her a little.  The people on the street were just hazy shades to
her as she tried to concentrate, tried to think, tried to figure out where
to get her next hit of razor, RZR, the drug that had been the center of her
life for the past 4 years now.
   Wenke knew, in the back of her mind, that she wouldn't make it to her
21st birthday this way.  That something, soon, was going to kill her.  If
it was the razor, or the insanity of withdrawal, or some thug she owed
money to, she wasn't sure.  But she knew she was on a downward spiral, and
she was running out of spirals.
   And as she stood there, her eyes on the water, her thoughts drifting
along to death and dying, somehow calming the pain in her veins, the boat
passed.  It wasn't one of the ordinary house boats that lined the canals,
with their red and green and brown paint, their clothes lines and potted
plants, nor one of the speedboats the young kids liked to race.  It was a
sleek, white, blue-chrome-lined, elegant boat like the rich people would
drive in their private ports and seaside resorts.
   She couldn't see who was on it.  The deck was smooth and clean and
empty, the large cabin on top was covered in black mirror glass.  As it
drove down the canal, it made almost no sound, as if the water itself
thought it was out of place and didn't recognize its existence.
   Wenke watched it, fascinated by the way the neon lights of the red light
district were reflected by the shiny lines and surfaces.  And then, when it
was almost past her, it stopped.  Almost instantly it seemed, right in
front of her.  It drifted sideways, and when she finally realized that it
as actually heading towards her it had already docked.  A small walkway
extended, seemingly out of nowhere, and a portion of the glass top opened,
revealing a warmly lit interiour.
   A woman sat there, reclining in what seemed to be a floating chair,
holding a glass and smiling over to her as she raised it.  Wenke stared
back at her, then looked around.  What was going on, she thought.  Was this
a dream?  Did she halluzinate from the withdrawals?  Did that woman mean
anyone else?  Why would she want to have anything to do with her?
   People kept staring at her all around, seemingly waiting for her to get
aboard, some were whispering to each other.  Wenke hesitated, then
shrugged. Just now she had been musing on how her life was already over. 
What could possibly be on that board that was any worse that the place she
was in?
   She grabbed the rail and slowly, carefully, walked aboard.  Strange, she
thought.  She had lived in Amsterdam for most of her life, and never set
foot on a boat.  She didn't even know that it felt so different from
walking on land.  Somehow...  unsteady, but still firm, the boat moved
underneath her feet by its own volition, like a living being.
   "H-hello," Wenke greeted the woman in dutch, wondering for a moment if
she even spoke dutch.  She looked foreign, in a strange way.  Her skin was
very pale, her hair blonde in a very light yellowish way, unnaturally thick
and full and cut in a sharp, straight line just above her shoulders, moving
perfectly with every motion the woman made.  Her face was delicate,
sophisticated, almost too perfect, with the smoothest, most even skin she
had ever seen.
   She wore a white, tight dress that must've been from some kind of
fashion show, as it was nothing Wenke had ever seen in any of the shops
around.  It was cut in strange ways that made it look sexy and businesslike
at the same time, orange trims running in chaotic patterns along the sides.
"Please do come in," the woman replied in flawless dutch, without any hint
of an accent or dialect, leaving Wenke to wonder where she was from.
   "I...  I think you must mistake me for someone..." Wenke replied,
struggling for the right words.  She wasn't used to talk to posh people and
the pain from the withdrawals didn't make it any easier for her manners.
   "I do not know you," the woman replied, "but I would like to.  Please,
come in."
   Wenke looked around and hesitantly stepped through the opening into a
large, oval room.  It was nothing like she had expected.  There was no
nautical equipment, or indeed any equipment of any kind.  Just white table
in the center and four oyster-shaped chairs around it, looking like they're
floating.  She stood, insecurely, by the entrance.
   "Have a seat," her newfound friend said smiling, following her every
move with big, blue eyes.
   Wenke carefully held the headrest of one of the seats, half expecting it
to topple and fall over.  The chair swayed at her touch slightly, but
stayed upright and firm.  She sat down, sliding her hands underneath her
legs, not knowing what to do with them.
   "I think it is best we tell each other our names first," the woman said,
still staring at her.  "I am Charlotte van Diemen."
   "Wenke ter Steege," Wenke replied.
   Charlotte nodded.  "That is good," she said.
   "W-why am I here?" Wenke asked.  "What do you want from me?"
   "I want to know why you look like that," Charlotte answered.  Wenke
studied her face for any hint of sarcasm or humour, but found nothing.  The
strange woman's expression was as blank as the table in front of her.
   "I...  what do you mean?" Wenke answered.
   "Your eyes are unsteady, your clothes are torn and dirty, your hair is
unwashed and there are bruises all over your face and hands," Charlotte
began as if she was reading Wenke's appearance off a list.
   "I...  I didn't get my...  my meds, okay?" Wenke replied nervously. 
"I've been having a bad streak lately and I'm in a lot of pain right now. I
need to get..." she paused.  "My meds.  I need to get my meds."
   "What meds?" Charlotte asked again, her voice as plain as before.
   "Razor, okay?" Wenke said angrily.  "I need some RZR.  I haven't had any
in days."
   "Oh," Charlotte replied.  "That is an illegal substance, right? 
Ribozynose Relais.  It enhances sensual awareness, relaxes bodily functions
and triggers a steady stream of endorphins.  It has been banned in all 36
european countries for its high abuse potential.  Prices on the black
market fluctuate between one hundred and fifty and three hundred credit
chips per dose."
   Wenke nodded, her lips turned downwards as if she was disgusted by the
drug that she craved with her whole body and mind.
   "Where can we acquire this drug?" Charlotte asked.
   "What?" Wenke replied incredulously.  "YOU want to buy RZR?"
   "Well, if I was going to buy it, where would I do so?" Charlotte asked
again.
   Wenke ran her fingers through her sticky, strainy hair, nervously trying
to losen a hair knot as she replied.  "Timmo," she said finally.  "He's the
one I usually get it from."
   "Bring me to him," Charlotte asked and reclined, sipping from the orange
liquid in her glass.
   "Eh, he's...  he's not exactly the kind of people you..." Wenke paused,
looking for the right words.  "The kind of person you'd want to meet, I'm
sure," she finished finally.  "He's rough and rude and..." Wenke thought
back at the many times Timmo beat her up just because she didn't have
enough chits and came begging for razor anyway.  She shut her mouth,
falling silent.
   "You will accompany me," Charlotte said.  "Together, we will buy RZR."
   Wenke nodded.  "Leliegracht," she replied in a flat voice.  "We can walk
from there."
   Charlotte tilted her head sideways and nodded.  "Good," she said.  "Now
undress."
   "Wh...  what?" Wenke asked, looking up.  The woman had already turned
sideways and a part of the wall panel had sprung alive, showing a map,
statistics and controls like a computer screen.
   "Undress.  Take off your clothes," Charlotte repeated without looking
up.
   "Look, lady..." Wenke began, and then resigned.  If this woman was going
to get her the razor, she might as well get her money's worth.  She had
done worse in the past for less, so she was quietly relieved that she
didn't have to fuck another guy or get beat up by some weirdo.
   She got up.  The ship was still moving faintly beneath her feet, but she
seemed to get used to it.  Wenke took off the bronze padded vest she wore
over her sweater, then pulled the sweater over her head.  She wore nothing
underneath, having run out of money for bras a long time ago and her small,
almost flat breasts didn't need one anyway.
   She ran her fingers across the cuts, bruises and stretch marks on her
belly, as if noticing them for the first time.  A sharp, painful memory
stabbed her mind and she quickly pushed it aside, opening her jeans.  The
button had come off, so all that held them together was a studded fake
leather belt.  She pushed them down her thick thighs and stood there in her
torn, previously pink panties that now looked more grey and torn than
anything.
   Charlotte turned back towards her.  "Everything," was all she said.
   Wenke nodded, slipping the panties down her hips and stepping out,
pushing off her worn out tennis shoes.  "Step closer," Charlotte said,
sliding sideways with her chair until she was no longer behind the table.
   Wenke walked towardsd her, the floor feeling strangely warm and soft
underneath her naked feet.  "Why are you injured?" Charlotte asked as she
ran her fingers delicately across some of the bruises and cuts that covered
Wenke's body.
   "I...  I get beat up a lot," Wenke admitted.  "I guess I deserve it."
   "You do not shave?" Charlotte continued her inquiry without showing any
kind of reaction to Wenke's answers.
   She looked down at her pelvis, her brunette pubes prominently showing
all around her pussy.  "I...  no.  I don't have...  money for a shaver
and..." Wenke paused and shrugged.  "Nobody cared," she said finally.
   Charlotte curiously ran her fingers through the pubic hair, as if she
was testing it.  "I have never felt this," she said, carefully caressing
her pelvis.  "I think I like it.  Do you like it?"
   Wenke shrugged.  "I...  don't know.  I never thought about it much."
   Without a warning, Charlotte was running her nose along Wenke's clit,
then began licking carefully across the pubes around her slit, and then
along her labia themselves.  Wenke shuddered at the touch, slightly
embarassed, grabbing onto the table for stability as she spread her legs
involuntarily.
   "Vaginal secretions," Charlotte remarked, smacking her lips.  "And
semen."
   Wenke blushed embarassed.  She had almost forgotten about the guy from
this morning who had raped her as she was passed out from pain and
exhaustion on a park bench.  "I...  I'm so sorry," she said, "I can clean
it..."
   Before she could finish the sentence, she felt Charlotte start sucking
hard on her labia, felt her slurp the sperm out of her, scooping it up with
her long, slender fingers and lapping at it with her dexterous tongue.  For
some reason, this woman didn't seem to mind her unwashed, cum-filled pussy
at all.
   Wenke moaned and gasped at Charlotte's caresses, then closed her eyes
and reached down between her legs and began rubbing her clit, feeling more
and more turned on.  After a while, she noticed Charlotte had stopped
licking at her and when she opened her eyes to look, she saw the woman
staring at her hand, watching her masturbate.
   "I...  do you want me to masturbate for you?" Wenke asked confused.
   "Yes," Charlotte replied.  "Please yourself."
   The girl rubbed faster, wondering what she would like to see, how she
could turn this strange, emotionless woman on.  She began to run two
fingers inside herself, fucking her twat as deep as she could reach, then
reached around and slipped the same two fingers, wet from pussy slime, into
her ass.
   Playing with her ass always got Wenke off, and so soon she was lost in a
painful bliss, rhythmically pushing her fingers in and out of her anus
while rubbing her clit with her other hand, her eyes closed, only focussing
on the sensation.
   She didn't notice that Charlotte had gotten out of her chair and walked
up behind her, so she almost shrieked when she felt her hands on her
buttocks, parting them.  She seemed to try to get a better look, so Wenke
continued fucking her asshole as before, only slower, so the woman could
see every movement clearly.
   "This is your anus, right?" Charlotte asked.  "You enjoy stimulating
your anus?"
   "Oh yesss," Wenke moaned.  "I love it in my ass."
   "Would you like me to play with it?" Charlotte asked.
   Wenke paused and pulled out her fingers.  Not sure what the right answer
was, she waited for Charlotte to decide what to do with it.
   To her own surprise, she first felt the woman's tongue against her
slightly gaping asshole, licking it carefully just as she had done with her
pussy before.  Then, she inserted two fingers inside, just like Wenke did,
and began fucking her with them.
   Her thrusts were monotonous and mechanical, but Wenke was too worked up
to care.  Rubbing her clit fast, she let herself get ass-fingered by the
strange woman on her boat, cumming soon thereafter.  It was a small, casual
climax, and the feeling faded much too soon.
   When Wenke opened her eyes again, Charlotte had already sat down and was
looking at her expectantly.  "Can...  can I do something...  something else
for you?" Wenke asked insecurely.
   Charlotte shook her head.  "Not now," she said.  "You can get dressed
again, we're almost there."
  
01