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Message-ID: <31461asstr$995227804@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "R. J. Elmer" <bobelmer@bigpond.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Pressed Woman
Date: Sun, 15 Jul 2001 16:10:04 -0400
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Pressed Woman
by Bob

Readers may be interested in what happened to me - in fact, what is still
happening to me!

My name is Katherine Milligan. I'm the manager of a large technical support
group in Australia's major telecommunications company.

I'm 28 years old. I'm often told I'm pretty, and I know I have a really good
figure. My breasts are not those huge mammaries that American men are so
obsessed with; they are medium sized, high and firm, like a young girl's. I
am fair haired, slim, with an athletic body, and I'm blessed with long legs.

I'm married, with no children -- I take my career seriously. Whilst I love
my husband, I have to admit that after five years of marriage, much of the
excitement has gone. Which I suppose is why I'm in my present predicament.

When a good looking sales manager started to come on to me at work, I didn't
fall into his arms, but neither did I tell him to get lost. We went to lunch
together a few times, and then one evening I told my husband I had to work
late, and Harry and I went out to dinner. Afterwards he drove me home, and
when he kissed me goodnight -- well, things did get a little hot.

A couple of weeks later, I was invited to a management conference held over
the weekend at Surfer's Paradise. Sure enough, Harry was there too. On the
Saturday evening all the managers went down to dinner, and Harry and I sat
together. We chatted happily, and during the sweet course, he quietly asked
if he could come to my room later. I acted coy, but again, I didn't say no.

The party broke up about ten thirty -- early morning sessions were scheduled
for Sunday morning -- and sure enough, a few minutes after I got to my room,
there was a knock on the door. I opened it, and Harry took me into his arms,
kissed me very passionately, and gently walked me backwards to the bed.

Harry was nice. He took his time; undressed me slowly, and spent a long time
caressing my body before entering me. The sex was pleasant. Not earth
shattering -- but forbidden fruit is always sweetest.

Afterwards, we lay naked beside each other for a long time, just cuddling
and talking. He told me how beautiful I am and how he wanted to make this a
regular thing. I had to let him down gently on that one: for me, this was
just an adventure, basically to spice up my marriage. I didn't want an
affair.

Harry took this pretty well, and about two in the morning he said he'd
better get some sleep or he'd be useless next day. He slipped his trousers
on, and his shirt, which he didn't bother to button; grabbed his shoes and
socks, and I followed him to the door. There we had one more passionate
kiss, while he had a last deep feel of my bottom, and then he left me, still
naked, at the door.

Next day at the conference, we exchanged some meaningful smiles, but no
more; and then I was off to get the flight back to Melbourne, and to delight
my unsuspecting husband with a renewed interest in his body.

And that, I thought, was that.


About ten o'clock Monday morning the mail arrived. Among the internal memos
was an A4 sized manilla envelope. Inside were four large pictures. Each had
a date and time imprinted near the bottom.

The first, timed at 22:18, showed Harry kissing me at the door of my room.
The second, a minute later, just showed Harry's back as he took me inside.
The third, timed at 02:07 the following morning, showed Harry, in trousers,
open shirt, and bare feet, kissing me at the door. What could be seen of me
was bare. The fourth, timed two minutes later, had me totally naked, half
outside the door, waving to Harry as he went away along the corridor.

As I looked at them, stunned, I saw that the pictures were not photos, but
had been made on glossy paper with a computer colour printer. I guessed they
'd been taken with an electronic camera that recorded the image onto a
memory chip. The camera had made no mechanical shutter noise, so we'd heard
nothing in the corridor as Harry entered and later departed.

The pictures had been taken from slightly above. I remembered that the rooms
of the hotel were arranged around an atrium with a balcony, so the
photographer would have had no difficulty concealing himself behind the
balcony of the next floor, and snapping away at us as Harry entered my room;
and later when he left.

Only four pictures, but totally damning.

As I looked at them, the 'phone rang.

"Hello," I said, still distracted.

"Kate?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"You've seen the pictures?"

Suddenly all attention: "Who is this?"

"Just think of me as a friend", and he laughed, gently.

"These pictures don't look very friendly", I gritted.

"No? Well I am your friend -- I'm offering to save your marriage."

"How?" I asked.

"By not showing the pictures to your husband, of course."

A lengthy silence while I digested this. Then, "What's your price,
blackmailer!"

"Now that's definitely not friendly!"

"What's your price?"

"Nothing you can't afford, Kate. I just want a little of what you've been
giving to Harry."

"I'm not giving anything to Harry!"

"See if your husband believes that when he sees the pictures."

"No! I mean... that was just a one off. I'm not having an affair with
 Harry."

"None the less. I want what he had. That's my price."

"For God's sake! I don't even know who you are! Let me pay you! How much do
you want?"

"You've heard my price, Kate."

Another long silence. The idea of having sex with this... this blackmailer,
revolted me. But what alternative was there? It was that or my marriage.

"Thought it over, Kate?"

"I'm thinking it over," I temporised.

"Don't take too long, Kate."

"OK, OK."

"So you'll do it?"

Pause. Then, in a very small voice, I said, "Yes."

"Great! Here's what you do. Go to the hotel across the road. Ask at the desk
for the key to room 409. Got that: 409? Go to the room, on the fourth floor,
and go inside. On the bed you'll find some instructions. Carry them out to
the letter. To the letter, Kate! Be there at four thirty today."

"Today! Four thirty today? I can't! I have a meeting at four."

"Skip it!"

"I can't -- it's my meeting."

"Cancel it Kate. Cancel it. Just be there!"

The 'phone clicked off.


The rest of the day went by in a haze. What had I done to deserve this? I
was being made to feel like a cheap prostitute. And I'd only slipped up
once. I swore I'd never do it again. But then I realised I had to do it
again: that very afternoon at four thirty! I racked my brain to find some
way out. The police? They might catch the blackmailer, but that wouldn't
stop my husband learning what had happened. I even thought of desperate
measures -- a knife, a gun? Ridiculous. I'm not that sort of person. When I
finally realised that I'd run out of practical ideas, I accepted that I'd
just have to go through with it.

I cancelled my four o'clock meeting.

At four fifteen I took the lift to the ground floor, crossed the road, and
went into the hotel. At the desk I asked as nonchalently as I could for the
key to room 409. The clerk gave it to me without a second glance. I looked
around to see who was watching me, but the foyer was empty except for a
group of Japanese tourists going out to a waiting coach. I went to the
lifts, took the next one, and pressed the button for the fourth floor.

Getting out of the lift, I found room 409, turned the key in the lock, and
entered.

It was a typical room of a city centre hotel. Two single beds backing onto
the right hand wall. A door to the bathroom at the left; a long low drawer
unit along the left wall, with a mirror above it. A window in the far wall,
with its curtains closed; a small table with two chairs beneath the window.
Two nondescript pictures on the wall above the beds.

On the near bed was a brief note. I picked it up. "Kate -- Strip completely
naked, lie face down on the bed, and wait."  That's all. To the point!

I hesitated a moment. But there was no other way. I sighed. I took off my
costume jacket and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. I kicked off
my shoes, and slid my skirt off. Then my white blouse. I slid my tights
down, and lay them on the seat of the chair. I paused, seeing myself in the
mirror, standing there in just a white bra and panties. I had to admit it --
I looked good. I undid my bra and dropped it on the chair with my tights. My
nipples were hard -- the traitors. Finally I slid my panties off, revealing
my neat bush, and dropped them on the chair. God! I felt vulnerable.

But nothing for it. I went to the bed nearest the door, and as instructed, I
lay face down. And waited.


After a few minutes I heard the door open. The voice I had heard on the '
phone said, "Don't look round, Kate".

I felt a weight beside me on the bed. My head was lifted, and a slim black
velvet cloth was brought across my eyes and closed tightly behind my head
with Velcro. I was blindfolded. Next, a collar was passed around my throat
and buckled at the back. Leather cuffs, with soft material on the inside,
were buckled around each of my wrists, and these were brought to the back of
my neck, and linked to the collar. The weight lifted from the bed beside me.

"Stand up, Kate."

I rolled onto my back, swung my legs around to the side of the bed, and
struggled to my feet. I stood there, slightly crouched, my elbows forward,
and my knees pressed together, in a vain attempt at modesty.

"No, Kate. You're beautiful. Be proud of your body. Head up! Feet apart!
Shoulders and elbows back! Thrust those lovely breasts forward."

I did as I was told. In fact I did more than that -- I stood there as
proudly as I could, given my predicament.

"Beautiful", he whispered. I heard him walk around behind me. I felt his
hands on my hips, felt them slide up my sides, and then around to my
breasts. He cupped them, and rolled my erect nipples in his fingers.
"Lovely!" Then his hands slid down my belly, to my pubic hair. And then the
hands left me. I heard him return to my front. His hands came to my sides,
just below my arms, and turned me slightly, pressing me back to the bed.

"Sit, Kate", he said, and guided me to sit on the edge of the bed. "Now lie
back"; and he held me as I did so. I felt his hands spreading my knees. I
felt he could see right into me. "Stay like that, Kate."

I heard him moving away, and then returning. The unmistakeable sound of
scissors, and then clip! clip! clip! at my bush.

I jerked. "No!" I cried out, "My husband will know!"

"Be still, Kate," he ordered, "I don't want to nick you. Tell your husband
you did it for him, Kate. He'll be really flattered."

I felt his hand on my belly as the clipping continued. After a while there
was nothing but a short stubble. I heard him go away again -- this time
towards the bathroom. A clinking sound as he came back, and the feel of a
brush and warm soapy water all around my pubic area. Then strokes of a razor
as he cleared away the stubble. Fingers held my lower lips to receive the
edge of the razor. My legs were first held wide apart, and then up high,
leaving me totally open as he shaved the light hair from between my
buttocks. I felt the cool air all around my sex. No-one had ever seen me
like this.

I could hear the shake of a bottle, the cap being removed, and then his
hands smoothing a fiery, perfumed liquid over the shaved area. "Aah", I
gasped as it burned; then it quickly cooled where the razor had been.

"That's better, Kate", he said. "Now you're truly naked."

I blushed as I lay there: legs still parted; my arms caught behind my neck.
Totally bare; totally open to him. I felt him blow gently on my lower lips;
then he placed a kiss right there... and chuckled.


"Roll over, Kate"

I rolled over awkwardly, my elbows getting in the way. My body was on the
bed, and my knees on the floor. I thought I knew what was coming next. I was
mistaken.

"You've been a very naughty girl, Kate -- cheating on your husband -- and
now you must be punished."

I felt a long, thin stick, knobbed in places, stroke across my back. A cane!
Oh God!

The cane continued down my back, round the curve of my bottom, and down the
back of my thighs. I shuddered. It returned to the fleshy part of my bottom.

"Better brace yourself, Kate."

I did, clenching the cheeks of my arse.

A swish. Crack! Right across my soft bottom. I gasped. Chiefly from shock.
It stung, rather than really hurt.

"Ooh, that's lovely, Kate. A pretty red line, right across your bottom." I
felt his hand, now wet with some sweet smelling oil, squeezing, gentling the
pain away; first on the right side, then on the left; slipping between my
cheeks as it passed across. He took a long time.

The hand went away. Another swish, and crack! Almost in the same place; just
a little higher. Then the oily hand again, squeezing, stroking, until the
sting had gone. Then another stroke of the cane; and another. Each followed
by lengthy stroking and squeezing. Pain, then pleasure. Gradually the
strokes of the cane moved to the upper part of my bottom, then down again,
across the already sore part, and on down to my upper thighs. Each stinging
stroke was followed by the gentling hand; sometimes slipping up between my
thighs, close to my pussy lips, before withdrawing.

Eventually he stopped. "Stand up, Kate." I struggled to my feet.

"Turn and face me, Kate." I did so.

"Head up, elbows back, breasts out, Kate." I straightened.

Then I felt the cane, sliding up around the bottom of my breasts, and across
the nipples.

"No! Not my breasts," I cried.

"But of course, Kate. They've been as naughty as the rest of you. They have
to be punished, don't they?"

"No!" I crouched forward.

"Stand up straight, Kate." I forced myself to do so.

A swish, and a sharp pain across my left breast, just below the nipple. I
hunched forward.

"Up straight, Kate!" I straightened again.

Again the swish, crack! This time on my right breast. I gasped.

I heard him move behind me; I could feel his bare chest against my back, as
his oiled hands came around me, squeezing and gentling the pain away,
rolling my nipples in his fingers. Squeezing, stroking, rolling. Then he
moved away again. I felt the cane sliding down my belly. Without warning, a
swish and a crack! Just below my navel. Again the feel of him pressing
against my back, the oiled hands, the fingers, squeezing my tummy, soothing
away the pain.

Again he moved to my side, and swish, crack! This one right across my newly
bare mound of venus.

"Aaah!" I moaned.

Again he moved behind me. I could feel his bare body pressed against me, as
his slippery hands came stroking again, this time right across my sex,
slipping down between my legs, slipping between my lower lips.

"You're very wet, Kate," he whispered. I could only breathe deeply. What
could I say? I was.


He turned me towards the bed and bent me forward. "Kneel down, Kate." I
knelt. Unsupported, I fell on the cover, my breasts pressed into it, my
bottom high.

"Would you like me to fuck you now, Kate?"

"No!"

"No, Kate? Well, maybe you'd like some more of the cane. A little harder
this time, eh?"

"No... I mean, yes." A long pause, "All right. Do it to me if you want."

"Do what, Kate?"

"Fuck me," I whispered.

"Pardon, Kate?"

"Fuck me," in a firmer voice.

"Please?"

"Fuck me, please," I wailed.

"That's better, Kate. Where would you like me to fuck you? In your cunt or
in your arse?"

"Fuck me in my cunt, please," I gritted.

"Certainly, Kate, since you asked so nicely."

I felt his hands on my bottom, his thumbs parting my cheeks. Then the end of
his cock, pressing gently at the opening. It had only to press gently -- I
was indeed very wet. The caning and the incessant stroking had really turned
my body on, in spite of my mind. His cock slipped in easily.

He began a slow rocking motion. In and out, in and out; each out-stroke
almost slipping free of my eager pussy; each in-stroke going deeper and
deeper, until I could feel his hips pressing against my bottom, his balls
slapping against the insides of my thighs, and the end of his cock going,
oh, so deep inside me, as his hands pulled me onto him.

After a while I could feel the sensations building inside me. I hated what
he was doing to me against my will, but I could feel that I was going to
come. I could feel it happening, building, building... I started moaning as
he thrust into me: "Aah, aah, aah."

"Don't come, Kate. Don't come. If you come, you'll be sorry."

But I couldn't help it. "I'm going to come. I'm going to come," I heard
myself say, "I'm coming! I'm coming!"

"Don't Kate. You'll be sorry."

"Aah, aah. Yes, yes, yes." In a shower of stars, I came! "Oh! Stop, please
stop. Please stop."

But he didn't stop. He slowed down, and I came down a little. But he kept on
slowly driving into me. Slowly. And then faster. And faster. And deeper. And
the feeling began to build again. And it was unbearable. Unbearable. Up, up,
up, I went. I felt my mind was going. And I came again; even stronger this
time. "Aah. Aah. Aah. No. No. Stop. Please stop. Oh, oh."

And again he slowed, allowing me to recover a little; to get my breath back,
while he continued to slide into me, slowly, slowly. And then once more he
increased the tempo, and the penetration. And for the third time I built up.
Up, up, up. And over. "Aah. Aah. Aah, Oh. Oh! No. Nooo! Stop. Stop. Please
stop."

My mind went blank. I collapsed. I simply collapsed. And as I did so I could
hear him moaning, moaning, as he thrust into me, deeper than before, and
drew my hips onto him, and came in me. At last his thrusts slowed, and then
he fell across my sweating, racked body.


Slowly I came to. I could feel his cock shrink within me, and eventually
slip out. I could feel the goo, his and mine, running down my thighs. For
the moment, nothing mattered. I felt fulfilled, in every possible way.

He helped me onto the bed and lay beside me. He drew me to him, and I lay
with my head on his shoulder, still blindfolded, my arms still locked behind
my neck, and my left breast pressed into his chest; my left leg resting
between his legs. My feelings towards him completely confused.

We lay like that for a long time, with him stroking my back, and whispering
into my ear how wonderful it had been. Though I didn't say so, I had to
agree. Even if I hated him for it.

Eventually, he drew away. "That was lovely, Kate, but I have to go."

He rolled me onto my front on the bed. "Stay there, Kate." I could hear him
dressing and collecting his things.

"You can't leave me like this," I pleaded, "all tied up."

"No, Kate, I won't. I don't want to embarrass you."

He undid the link that held my wrists to the collar and crossed my wrists
behind my back. I felt a string being tied around them, but not very
tightly. He then removed the collar and the leather cuffs,. He kissed me on
the neck and said, "You'll soon get out of that, Kate. So long for now."

I heard him open the door and leave.

I struggled with the string around my wrists, and sure enough I soon got it
free. I removed the blindfold. I was still naked, still pretty messy, with
the oil and everything else, and in no condition to follow him to find out
who he was.

I went into the bathroom to clean up. I was sticky with the sweet oil; and
with our juices running down my thighs. I still had faint red stripes across
my breasts just below my nipples, across my tummy, and across my mound.
Twisting, I could see a lot of red stripes across my bottom and thighs.

After a hot shower, the oil and the goo were gone, and the stripes were
almost invisible. My hair was in a bit of a mess from all the struggling,
but I brushed it out and I soon looked pretty good -- as if nothing had
happened.

I dressed, went down to the foyer, left the key with the clerk, and went
home. Adventure over. I hadn't wanted it, but I had to admit, it had been
pretty good. Marvellous in fact.


Thursday morning, about ten o'clock, the mail arrived. Among the internal
memos was an A4 sized manilla envelope. Oh no! Oh yes! Inside were ten
pictures in full colour.

One of me, standing, completely naked, blindfolded, hands behind my neck,
feet astride, breasts thrust out proudly.

The second, of me, in the same pose, while from behind me, a man whose face
couldn't be seen, fondled my breasts.

A third, of me, still in the same pose, while the man's right hand wandered
into my bush.

A fourth, of me, on my back on the bed, blindfolded, hands behind my neck,
legs wide apart, being shaved by a man seen only from behind.

The fifth, of me, in the same position, legs wide apart, while the man
plants a kiss on my bare cunt.

A sixth one, of me, kneeling over the side of the bed, while the man, seen
only from the back, canes my arse: already marked with red stripes.

A seventh, of me, now standing, naked, blindfolded, hands behind my neck, my
mound completely bare and my crack visible, breasts thrust out proudly to
receive the cane.

The eighth one, of me, standing, naked, blindfolded, hands behind my neck,
while a man with his back to the camera, feels between my legs.

The ninth, of me, laying face down on the bed, knees on the floor, getting
fucked royally from behind.

The tenth, and last, of me, lying beside the man, my leg over his, my head
obscuring his face.

The 'phone rang.


This has been going on for three weeks now.

Not every day, but two or three times a week.

I've been fucked from the back and from the front.

 From above him, blindfolded and my hands locked behind my neck, I've impaled
myself on his cock and fucked myself to orgasm. I must have made a fine
picture, with my head thrown back and my breasts swinging and jiggling.

I've fucked him while he just lay there behind me, quite still, touching him
only where his stiff cock entered my cunt. That one concentrated my thoughts
and feelings on the single point where we touched -- the point of greatest
sensation in all of my body. Oh, I remember...

I've been fucked in the mouth. I don't mean I gave him a blow job; I knelt,
and he held my head while he thrust into my mouth, while I had to close my
lips tightly on his penis. He came into me and I had to swallow all of it.
After that, as my reward, he had me sit on his face while he licked me to or
gasm.

I've been strung from a rope he somehow managed to fix on the ceiling, while
he flogged me with a cat `o nine tails -- stingingly, but not really
painfully -- literally all over (the strokes up the middle between my legs
were quite something to get used to); and then he soothed away all the sting
with his tongue while I hung there. I collapsed and hung from the rope as I
came.

I've been tied spreadeagled to the bed, while he tickled me to near-insanity
with a feather, wriggling and writhing on the bed for his visual pleasure;
and then, still spreadeagled, he fucked me, oh! so nicely. I loved that one.

I've been made to stand in front of the window that faces my office block
opposite, with my legs spread wide, while he knelt in front of me, played
with my breasts and tweaked my nipples, and brought me to orgasm with his
tongue. He said the curtains were wide open, and since I was blindfolded, I
have no way of knowing if that was true.

Each time, he's left me dazed and completely satisfied. And each time he's
left me still blindfolded, loosely tied, and in no state to follow him and
discover who he is.

Since this has been going on, I've been giving all the men I work with a
really hard time. I know that one of them is fucking me silly, and I don't
know who it is! I look at all of them with suspicion. Which is the one who's
doing it?

Yesterday I overheard two of them talking about me: "I don't know what's got
into her", one said.

Well, I know what's got into me -- but I don't know whose it is!

And not knowing is driving me crazy.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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