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From: jadcox@aol.com (John Adcox)
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Subject: {ASSM} Dancing with Sarah (M/f. Bondage, spanking, NC)
Date: Sun, 10 Dec 2000 01:10:02 -0500
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Much to my surprise, I actually enjoyed the stalking part of the operation.
Truth to tell, I hadn't anticipated that. In fact, I'd assumed it would be
rather tedious. After all, I'm a cautious fellow by nature, and these early
steps would be like waiting for a table in a trendy restaurant on a Friday
night  -" a necessary evil to suffer through before the main course, in all its
exquisite glory, is served at last. 

It wasn't like that at all.

I found a certain unexpected in joy in the act of watching. It was easy to
ascertain when she would be home, and, most importantly, when she'd be alone.
As I came to know her routine and habits, they became for me a kind of dance;
each move, every simple gesture, was a pirouette. Introducing myself into the
choreography of her life, planning that became high art. Rape as ballet, as
masquerade, as drama. Yes, I like that.

She wasn't as beautiful as I expected. I'd conjured up some movie star
ideal as I read her posts and heard her quiet, gentle voice in my mind. In
reality, she was different. But the reality of her, solid and true, moved me in
ways I hadn't anticipated. I adored her hair, lush and auburn, and the way it
played over her pale white skin. I loved the voluptuous fullness of her, the
round swell of her proud breasts. There was an appealing grace in the way she
turned her hand when she spoke, or in the way she always looked back over her
left shoulder before she opened her door. And her eyes -- her eyes were like an
impossibly clear sky at twilight, not so much in color as in depth, so lovely I
couldn't bear to look at them, or to look away either, so deep they made my
eyes ache from the desperate intensity and the awful, exquisite longing.

We actually met once. On the street as she hurried home late one afternoon. It
was raining, and she was huddled over, a soaked newspaper covering her auburn
hair. I loved the way she looked then, wet and frantic. Vulnerable. If she
hadn't already captured my heart, it would have been hers in that moment. Her
haste, her vulnerability was so appealing it almost broke my heart. 

"Evening," I said.

"Hey," she muttered as she hurried by. 

Our shoulders brushed as she passed. We never even made eye contact. I've
often wondered, long after, if she remembers that first contact. Did she notice
the tall gent in the black woolen great coat, the man with the tousled dark
hair? I've never asked her, though. I've never seen a need to remind her of
the days when she was at liberty. Those days are gone forever. 

But I'm getting ahead of myself. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, you
see. In and out, as it were. A joy to remember for me, a dark but tempting
nightmare for her, haunting her nights with a strange mixture of fear and
longing forever after. I new she'd be alone. I had all the supplies I needed.
Entering her place would be nothing, the work of an instant. I had everything
I'd need -- new cloths that would be discarded afterwards, gloves and mask, a
condom. Chains, gags, restraints, a paddle and a whip, the latter two for my
pleasure, not because they'd be necessary in order to control her. There
would be no evidence left behind, even if the police bothered with a full
investigation. In all likelihood, I would be back in Atlanta long before my
"crime" was even reported.

I'd knocked out the two streetlights directly across from hr place. If anyone
saw me nearby, they'd only be able to report a shadow. Not that I was
especially worried. People don't see things in tee city, especially not here
on the west coast. I thought about waiting for her inside. That would be the
most prudent course of action, without question. There could be no witnesses,
and no chance of escape. But this was not about caution; it was about art. It
would be so much more dramatic if I burst in upon her when she thought she was
safe, wouldn't it? Yes, that's what I'd do. In the end, it must come down
to a struggle between the combatants. A dance.

I was waiting across the street when she arrived. I was hidden in night shadow,
but it didn't matter. She never even looked in my direction, not even when
she looked back over her shoulder as she opened the door. I smiled. The next
step in our dance was mine; it was time for me to lead our steps.

I heard the door click shut, and I saw the lights come on in her foyer. I
waited a count of ten heartbeats, the seven more for luck. Then I lifted my
heavy pack over my shoulder, and slipped across the street, a shadow in the
darkness, and walked right up to her door. I looked back over my own shoulder,
a conscious echo of her own habitual motion. There was no one there; the night
was still. It took only a second or two to open her lock. Bless her; she
hadn't even bothered with the deadbolt. Had she forgotten? Was she brave to
the point of being foolhardy? Or, on some deep, intuitive level, did she know
what was to come? Did she crave her night visitor, his attack, his gentle kiss
and rough touch? Did she dream of being taken in the night?

With practiced ease, silently and quickly, I was inside. I heard her humming in
another room, simple music to accompany our dance. I followed the sound, and
found her in her bedroom. How perfect! Perhaps, somehow, she did know, and was
waiting there for me. She sat cross-legged on her bed, flipping though catalogs
and letters. "Hello again, my pet" I said, my voice little more than a
whisper. 

Her eyes, her deep and lovely eyes, widened with terrible shock. I was on her
before she could open her mouth to scream. Not that it would have mattered.
I'd been so very careful. I knew when someone would be likely to hear, and
when I'd be safe. The poor thing, she didn't even know her danger. She did
open her mouth to scream, and when she did, I was ready. I pushed a large
penis-shaped gag between her lips. Let her get used to the shape, it would
serve her well later. She fought like a demon, like a wild thing, as I forced
the harness around her head and fastened it in place. She struggled all the
more as grabbed one slender wrist and snapped a cuff (heavy steel lined with
soft leather, my own  design) around a delicate white wrist. Oh, how
deliciously she moaned into her gag as we danced there on her bed, she
struggling, so desperate to escape, me wrestling her around so that I could
capture her other arm, and then muscle it, too, into it's waiting cuff, the
one I'd had made especially for her. 

The climax of the dance was inevitable. In the end, she was helpless, her mouth
stuffed with a gag, her hands cuffed behind her. What a lovely picture it was!
Her blouse was disheveled, and her jeans had somehow torn in our struggle. Her
feet were bare save for thick socks. I had removed a short piece of rope from
my pack. I'd intended to use it to bind her ankles, but decided instead to
use it to tie her elbows. Her breasts were truly magnificent, anything done to
enhance them was effort well spent, to my way of thinking. He moans and
struggled became even more desperate as I added this new piece of bondage. But
I was clearly the stronger. Lovely Sarah was helpless and completely at my
mercy. I bound her elbows so tightly that they nearly touched behind her back,
and then wound the rest of the rope around her chest, both above and below
those lovely breasts. The effect was astonishing. I wished poor Sarah were in a
position to appreciate her charms from my perspective. 

Speaking of Sarah and positions, I decided it was time to change hers. I made
some excuse as I dropped her unceremoniously to the bed on her stomach,
something about punishing her for daring to resist me, for struggling and
attempting to scream. "Even futile gestures must be punished when they
don't please your man," I told her. She fought as best she was able as I
first removed her socks (pausing only a moment to tickle her feet), then pulled
off her jeans. I was astonished at how she struggled; truly, given how tightly
she was bound. She tried to roll off the bed (what she hoped to accomplish with
that I have no idea) and tried to kick me, but it was useless. I was desperate
with desire, with passion; nothing was going to keep me from my prize. 

Her lower body was now bare, the curves of her lovely bottom, so white and
round, were mine to admire. I'd thought to start with the whip, but decided
instead to spank her with my hand. I wanted to feel the contact of my skin upon
hers, I wanted to know the heat as her bottom turned red. Making sure she saw
me placing the whip and the paddle nearby (just in case) I sat down next to
her. To my surprise, she didn't resist as much as I was expecting as I pulled
her bare bottom over my lap. Perhaps she was resigned to her fate. Perhaps she
had surrendered to me already, her Master. Or perhaps -- my fingers reached
between her thighs, touch and exploring the warms secrets between her legs --
yes! It was true. She was wet, aroused. I smiled.

She jumped at the first hard spank, she tried to roll away at the second. It
did her no good. I held her tightly, helpless. I alternated between her ass
checks, slapping first one, then the other, then the tops of her thighs. Her
shin was so fair that it began to turn the loveliest shade of red almost at
once. Her muffled screams and mews behind the cruel gag were music to me.

"Actually," I confessed as I spanked her, "I'm not doing this because
of your actions. No, pet. I expected you to scream, to struggle. It's only
natural when you're taken. But you must realize --" I paused for an
especially robust series of spanks -- "that sometimes a man will punish you
simply because it gives him pleasure. And more the more you struggle and
resist, the more his pleasure increases, and the longer your ordeal becomes. Do
you understand me, pet?" She didn't answer.

My hand became tired, so I switched to the paddle. Ah, how she struggled and
moaned as the smooth wood danced across her nether cheeks. All too soon, it
seemed, I was ready for a new diversion. I tied my Sarah face down on her bed
before I started in with the whip. I found I could use it to much better effect
if I stood as she writhed, helpless and bound, before me. Whipping her brought
a new and exquisite pleasure all it's own. 

At last I sat down with her again and caressed her red and punished ass, as
well as the warm wetness between her thighs. Slowly, her muffled screams turned
to moans of an all-together different sort.

After a time, I untied her elbows, then turned her over on her back. It was
time for the next act in our little drama. I uncuffed her left wrist, and
pulled her arms above her head. I pulled right wrist all the way up to her
brass headboard, then reached the chain around before I re-cuffed her other
wrist. She was took weak to fight me as I next spread her legs and used silken
cord to tie her ankles to the posts at the foot of her bed. 

She still wore her blouse, and I was desperate to see her breasts, at last, in
all their naked glory. I probably could have removed it in a less --
destructive way, but where is the art in that? It was much more dramatic to
remove it with a knife. Three more cuts, and her bra was gone as well. I had
intended to whip her breasts next; in fact,. I'd brought along a breast whip
for just that purpose. (Then again, for what other purpose might one bring
along a breast whip? But I digress.) I could not, not yet. There would be
plenty of time enough for that later. Instead, I teased and caressed them, and
felt the nipples grow proud under my touch. I took them in my mouth, first one
and then the other, flicking the tips with my tongue. Sucked hungrily on the
right orb when my hand roughly cupped the other. I bit the nipple, just enough
to tease, not quite enough to torture. 

I looked up at Sarah's eyes, those oh so wonderful eyes, those haunting,
lovely eyes. I saw something there, something more than fear, something beyond
surrender, beyond even desire. I knew it was time for the final act, the
climax, if you'll forgive the pun. Impulsively, I removed her gag. I wanted
to kiss her, to taste her mouth, to hear her moan and scream as I took her. 

She did not cry for help. Her eyes met mine. "Take me," she said.

Oh, I was going to -- and yet -- and yet. There was so much more I wanted to do
with her, to her. There were so many more ways I wanted to touch her, explore
her, and yes, even punish her. There was so much more to do.

Dancing with Sarah (M/f, bondage, spanking, NC)

"Take me," she begged me again. "Please -- I'm yours."

Yes. She was at that, wasn't she? She wanted me to take her? Well. I'd do
just that. I'd make her mine indeed. Not just for tonight, but forever. But
how was I to arrange it? It would take planning, care. 

That would come later.

First, I was going to fuck her, my new possession.

http://jadcox.home.mindspring.com
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