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Message-ID: <32951asstr$1003129803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Toran" <toran29@home.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Third Date (F/m BDSM)
Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2001 03:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Here is another story I've written - being switch, this one is a
little different than Just Five Minutes.  As always, feel free to
directly email with comments, which are always welcome.

Thank you,
Toran


Third Date
by Toran

I see her through pain hazed eyes as she tinkers with one of the
knots on the miles of rope she's tied to my body in a seemingly
random spider web.  Her image is upside down because that is the
position she has me in as I hang in the center of her cold dark
basement.  She giggles from time to time as she pulls rope loops
that have somehow worked loose, and every constriction causes the
blood to pulse just a little harder behind my eyes.

Our third date doesn't start as innocently as the other two. 
She's the one that I have a crush on almost immediately after
starting my job at the place where we both work.  She walks
around the office in her pointed high heels and seems to enjoy
the whispered snarls behind her back, the ones that usually end
with 'bitch'.  Those rumors, of a dark side and bizarre interests
- they are the offering scent that floats on the wind and catches
my nose, as my body is caught now.  Her outfits of leather, her
piercing eyes and not-so-subtle patronizing tones cause my heart
to flutter and it isn't long before I follow her around like a
beaten puppy.  Soon, she is calling me 'her boy' to my new
friends and co-workers, and behind the red that creeps across my
cheeks I am touched so deeply that her towering image begins to
haunt my dreams and fantasies.  Dreams where I am strung up
before her and flogged into unconsciousness.  Dreams where I am
pierced with hundreds of tiny needles.  Dreams where my only
sexual release comes after she reduces me to tears and welts and
dried blood.

I hear the wall crank ratcheting its metallic song and somewhere
it clicks that she's lowering me to the floor.  The red that
clouds my vision is from endlessly swaying upside down at the
mercy of her crop.  Her Goddess form slides into view and she is
brimming with tears, she is so pleased.  I moan, my pain suddenly
gone, so far away, replaced by warm golden light, that my
suffering has somehow pleased her.  Her auburn hair  brushes my
face as she checks the packing that is three layers thick in my
mouth.  I close my eyes as I feel her roll another tight band of
tape around what still seems to be my lower face - her sopping
wet panties, followed by medical wrap so tight my cheeks bulge,
followed by tight white sealing tape that wraps around my head. 
And now, more tape.  I imagine my jawbone lost in a tight sheen
of tape, from nose to the tip of my chin.  She whispers silk in
my ear, 'You're making too much noise, pet.'

I get assigned to a project that she's managing.  Immediately,
she finds ways to chastise me - the work is late, the work is
poor, the work is never going to get done under deadline.  We
work late into the night, together, alone, me running to the pop
machine whenever she is thirsty.  Me hardly controlling my
throbbing dick when she asks me to give her a back rub - her
muscles are so tight from finding my mistakes.  Me turning beat
fiery red when she points out that giving her a foot massage at 3
in the morning is making my pants 'grow in interesting places'.

I feel ashamed at her treatment.  I know that she is obviously
marking me, either as her professional whipping boy, or, and my
heart flutters fast in my chest, her sexual toy.  But when I
begin to ask her out  for drinks, she laughs and changes the
subject.  This is why I wear her panties.  She plops a Victoria's
Secret bag on my desk long after everyone else has gone home and
tells me that there are a few things I need to do to date her. 
First, I wear the panties she buys for me.  They are tight and
frilly and if I am ever laying in a smashed up car with two
broken arms and spinal damage, I will force my stumps and risk
paralysis to get that red satin shit off me.  But my underwear is
now panties and the second thing I do to date her is to give her
all of my cotton briefs.  She burns them, of course.

She runs her nailed fingers across my chest, bouncing from rope
to rope, her thighs, soft and silky and warm in this cold cold
basement rest against my waist as she kneels over me.  Her
fingernail catches the nipple rings, still painful because they
are so fresh, and she blinks slowly at my pain.  I know her pussy
is sopping from this, I know that she's already sat in the corner
and masturbated twice while flicking my balls with her leather
crop.  I know that her appetite can be slowed to simmer and that
she can climb the basement stairs and flick off the lights and
leave me here in the darkness without much thought, to be
available whenever she feels the hunger.

Of course, she tells me that only when I wear the necklace she
gives me, the one with her initials plainly monogrammed in the
center of the delicate chain, only then can she begin to consider
going out with me.  I should walk away.  I should run away,
actually.  But, she stirs things inside me that are dark.  And
inviting.  And right.  And her power is what washes over me and
cleanses me of my need to be anything but her pet.  At her feet,
her beck and call, the end of her whip.  And now that I wear her
panties, and her necklace, she ignores me.  She flirts with some
of my co-workers who smirk as they banter, all the while glancing
at her necklace around my neck.

I know now that teasing is her thing.  She clamps my nipples,
squeezes my balls, drips wax on my chest and always takes me to
the brink of tears or explosive orgasm - and that's what gets her
off, gets her wet, makes her want me almost as much as I want
her.  But its her tease.  She hurts every inch of my body, plays
with my dick and balls, and only masturbates.  In soft throaty
whispers, she tells me that when she is ready to come down off
her throne, when she feels I am ready to worship her and please
her in the way she demands, when I have proven through torture
and torment that I am worthy to feel her power fully - she will
consume me.

Her breath warms my ear and then her soft wet lips play with my
earlobe.  My arms are numb, my fingers only appendages without
movement.  My balls are a light shade of blue, save for the angry
red marks of her switch.  My toes have become cold and lifeless
from lack of blood in the upside down position.  Time stretches
on end between her soft, warm baths where she reduces my
restraints from severe to light and the torments become pleasant
as she suds my always-naked body with scented soap.  Her naked
body sometimes slips into the large tub and rubs against me and
it takes every once of will to keep myself from filling the water
with the seeds of my pleasure.  She tweaks my ringed nipple and
pats my head.  She raises her nyloned leg up and straddles my
ears leaving her pussy just inches from my nose.  I drink in her
smell and wish that I were ready now, ready to please her, ready
to become unfettered enough to touch her, to run my fingers
through her auburn tresses, to suckle her nipple and roll the
button of her clit between my two fingers.

She lowers her pussy and rubs her perfume across my nose.  Then
gets up, throws a blanket over me climbs her stairs.  The
complete darkness that follows the flick of the basement light
pales to the blackness in my heart.

We see the movie Castaway on our first date and she spends the
entire time telling me that Tom Hanks is fighting his prison - he
should just submit and offer his soul to the sun Goddess.  I
fight back the laugh - sun Goddess - and she senses this and
quickly slides her hand down my pants and squeezes my balls so
hard I tear up.  She doesn't say a word the rest of the night and
it is two weeks of groveling at her feet before she even
acknowledges me.  And that gives me pause to wonder exactly how
deep into this I've fallen.

Our second date is dinner at the most expensive restaurant in
town.  By her third glass of Dom Perignon she is staring at me
with animal lust, her pointed heeled foot planted squarely
between my legs under the table, her toe flicking my rock hard
dick with feline impatience.  She insists on driving and tells me
that she wishes me to be gagged.  My only choice is to sit up
front with her and that big rubber ball buckled on me or to ride
in the back seat, hand cuffed and blindfolded.  I choose the
second option and immediately see the disdain in her eyes.  She
roughly cuffs my hands behind my back wraps a strap of leather
tightly across my eyes.  I end up kneeling on the backseat floor
while she drives for hours, soundlessly, every now and then
snaking a hand between the seats to crack my ass.

Our third date, the one that hasn't officially ended yet, if it
ever will, starts with me at attention, naked save for her
panties, in the center of her front room.  She wears nothing but
a silky teddy, black, and long high heels.  Her hands roam my
body, rubbing, squeezing, pinching everywhere but the one place I
wish she would touch.  Her lips brush mine and when I lean into
her, finally wondering if her kiss is as wonderful as my dreams,
her fingers dig into my balls.  I look into her eyes, consumed by
her power over me.  She leads me to a chair and soon I am tied
tightly to it.  Eyes never leaving mine, she slips her panties
off and opens my mouth.  They are wedged deep inside, my lips
taped shut and her juices on my tongue before I can even murmur.

She rummages around behind me and I hear small metal noises. 
Then she is straddling my torso, her naked pussy so close to my
throbbing dick, her legs tucked around my waist, her arms on my
shoulders.

"This is the last step, pet.  This is your first real gift to
me."  She kisses me briefly my taped lips and I almost swoon. 
Then it is her teeth on my nipples biting and sucking and working
my tiny buttons to a raw red.  Our eyes locked, she reaches over
me a brings an ice cube to my eyes.  Slowly, working the melting
frozen water deeper and deeper into my red flesh, she numbs my
nipples, hips rocking with every buck of my body.  Her breathing
coming faster, she throws the ice cubes to the floor and grinds
her wet pussy into my waist, never letting me come, she orgasms
twice in quick succession.

Flushed, she reaches behind me and shows me a long, slender
needle.  My eyes open a little.  I am tied.  There is nothing she
does to me that I can remotely stop.  I have trusted her , given
to her my body, my masculinity, my soul.  This too, I will give
her, this act of branding, this permanent mark.  Quickly, deftly,
she punctures first one nipple, then the other and lowers her
head to suckle my blood.  My muffled cries and steady writhing
stir her up again and she rides my tied body a third, then forth
time.  Wiping tears from my face with one hand, she works a ring
into each nipple.

"You are now marked, pet.  You are mine now."  Lost in the blur
that follows is the blindfolded, hobbled walk down her basement
stairs, the endless wrapping of rope about me, the suspensions,
the whippings, the long endless periods of blackness punctuated
by soft and soothing baths in the basement bathroom.  She says
she has made arrangements to have my position at work changed to
permanently offsite status.  She has shown me things from my
apartment that she says she moved over here.  She says that this
is my home and that I am to be permanently confined; either in
leather shackles or in the cage she has loaded.  Part of me soars
at the idea of being her forever slave.  It's the other part,
that dark part from where this all began, that asks me in a
whisper, 'is this is enough?'


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