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From: Subjukated@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} subcontractor 4 of five
Date: Tue, 26 Mar 2002 14:10:04 -0500
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   <1st attachment, "subcontractor4.txt" begin>

   Warning: This work of fiction contains graphic and violent adult
situations.  It is not meant for children or those who are offended easily.

   It may be a violation of state, federal or international law to possess,
read or share this document.  Please review your local and international
laws and regulations before reading or sharing this file and be the
lawabiding citizen you ought to be.

   DO NOT under any circumstances share this document with anyone under
legal age.  If you are a parent, lock it up.  If you are a minor do not
read this document at all.

   Some things are not meant for everyone.  This story is one of those
things.

   Subcontractor Chapter Four: "Off Kilter" by Subjukate

   When she entered the kitchen, Jack was sitting on a bar chair at the
center island.  There were papers in neat piles in front of him.  He was
deeply engrossed in them and would mark an item with an antique fountain
pen from time to time.

   All of the lights were off except for one recessed light in the ceiling
over his work.

   He looked at her with a startled expression.  She was entering from the
wrong door.  Usually one comes in from the back door to the garage.  This
was not expected.  He could tell from her expression that she had already
been to the ballroom.  Deduction would also indicate that she was probably
in big trouble for being underdressed, and was upset about this turn of
events.

   He stared down at the papers, even though he felt her looking at him. 
Wordlessly, and without looking at her, he pushed the big black box in her
direction.

   "Jack?  What have you done?" She asked angrily.

   "I made a pot of coffee for you.  Its over there.  I also took the
liberty of warming up some of that bread you made yesterday.  There is
honey from our garden in the pantry.  Please mind the papers."

   She huffed.  She made loud noises while putting down things.  The coffee
cup made an echo.  He was surprised it didn't break.  His papers were in
danger.  He began to file them in his satchel.

   The pantry door slammed.  "I'm Not Doing This!" she said.  "I don't want
to do this!  I'm not going back to the lifestyle!  I'm not going to be
given away to someone who I can't trust!  I may be a submissive, but I
choose who has authority over me!  He can't DO this!"

   In this moment, he realized how hard it must have been for his father
when his mother did this.  It was an odd paradox to be upset by an angry
loved one, but at the same time deeply amused by their antics when angry. I
must not smile, he thought, even if she is so cute when she is angry.  This
is serious business, no matter how adorable she becomes.

   He was still filing papers, and he had to stand up.

   It was then that she realized that he was wearing a kilt.

   Men don't wear kilts very often these days, and with good reason.  It's
probably a method of birth control or something.  A kilt is a terrible
distraction, no matter how hungry or tired or angry one is.

   She was staring at him with a bread knife in one hand and a loaf of
bread in the other.

   She was absolutely silent.  He was certain that she had stopped
breathing.

   Even though Jack had no love for the "school tie" method of matching
clan names with specific patterns, his grandmother liked the tradition. 
Because of this, all of the men in his family had kilts instead of
tuxedoes. It had taken him years to create this exact ensemble, and it was
nice that someone appreciated it as much as he did.

   It was the traditional Ross tartan with appropriate dress shoes and kilt
hose.  He'd finally found a cotton shirt that felt good and looked right,
but it was off-white.  Originally, he had a simple leather sporran that
went with the shoes, but two years ago he'd inherited his grandfather's
regimental sporran of goat hair and silver.  The off-white shirt with the
goat hair was stunning.  He found the dress jacket confining, but it he
wore it anyway because he knew that whenever her wore this kilt and jacket,
it wouldn't be on his body for very long.

   For the first time in his life, he was glad that he had taken so much
time in its creation.  He made a mental note of a moment when fashion
resolved conflict.

   Confusion crossed her face.  She fumbled for words and found no quarter.

   "This was not the way I wanted this to go," he said.  "I'd feel better
if you gave me the bread knife."

   She handed him the loaf of bread, and then the handle of the bread
knife.

   He pointed to the chair and said, "Sit." She began to say something but
he stopped her.  "Quiet............  Listen..."

   He sliced the bread and put it on the plate.  He brought the coffee cup,
butter, and honey, and set it down in front of her.  He handed her a
napkin, which she placed in her lap.

   "What I had hoped for, was that three hours ago, you would have come in
THAT door." He pointed to the back door to the garage.  "I had hoped to sit
down with you, tell you that my uncle would be in for a visit.  Explain
that the ballroom would be unavailable.  I had hoped that two hours ago, my
uncle, you and I would sit down to eat and we would discuss your future. 
Obviously, none of that happened."

   "I like the kilt." She said with her mouth full.

   He was taken off guard, and laughed.  "I know you like the kilt."

   "I wanna see it more closely; that sporran looks like a loincloth."

   "You were really angry four minutes ago," he said, taken aback.

   "You are wearing a kilt.  I can see why they wouldn't let you in the
ballroom.  None of the other guys would get any....  Then it'd be a bad
party and all the other men would hate you, and the girls would be
frustrated because you couldn't satisfy them all at the same time.  It's
probably a good thing that they keep you separated from the rest of the
herd."

   He sighed, and looked down.  "Arcanna.  I don't want you to be angry
with me about my conversation with my uncle.  He asked me how you were
doing in the new environment.  He asked me if you'd taken an interest in
anyone lately.  I told him that you and I had a brush with greatness.  He
was really surprised...."

   The coffee cup was empty.  He poured another cup.

   "He told me that he'd tried to pair you up with others but you refused.
He said that nothing would tempt you.  He said that you were incredibly
loyal and faithful, and that he never thought you'd ever submit to anyone
ever again.  So when I told him, because he is part of my family, that you
and I had attempted something wonderful, he asked me if you had given me
your safeword."

   "And you told him I did?"

   "Yes.  He was even more surprised that you had given me the original
safeword and not a new one you had created for me."

   "I could make a new one for you..." she volunteered.  "I just couldn't
think clearly at the time the question was posed."

   "Heh.  It isn't the word that matters, so much as the fact that you gave
it to me.  You have surrendered, Mrs.  Murphy, to me."

   She looked down at the coffee cup again.  In the background she could
see the curve of his leg.  Hmmmm the shape of his leg.  Men who can wear
kilts should wear them every day!

   Jack went on, speaking very slowly.  "You have surrendered.  This makes
me your master.  A master you chose and you chose alone."

   He took her face in his hands and looked at her sternly.  "You are not
being given away.  I am taking possession of what you have given me."

   "I'm not pretty," she said.

   It seemed odd that in this moment of acceptance that she'd feel
insecure. He tried to imagine what would make her think of such an idea.

   "I don't care what you think of yourself in this regard.  What matters
is what I think.  There is more to you than just your hair, or your eyes or
the shape of your ass.  When I take the whole of you into account I cannot
think of a more beautiful woman.  Its like an impressionist painting. 
There is more to you than a set of dots."

   She went on as if he had not said anything.  "I don't want to go back in
there.  I don't want to face those people I knew when I was married and
faithful.  I don't want to try new things.  I don't want to go to other
levels.  I want to be safe, and I don't want to hurt like I did before.  If
we do this, you don't get to go away."

   "I have no intention of walking away from this.  My mother has taught me
to appreciate the finer things in life.  I am concerned, however, about
this reluctance to adapt.  That is a very serious issue.  Growth and change
are part of living."

   He opened the big black box that was sitting on the island just within
arms' reach.  "What if I," he continued, "offer you new experiences, like
new foods.  You can taste them; if you like them, we will have more." He
took from the box a pair of shoes.  Again, high heels.  Someone has a foot
fetish, she thought.  Shiny patent leather...  she expected fishnet
stockings to be in there too.

   He put the rest of its contents in front of her, and she was surprised.

   Part of the problem of fetish clothing is that she found it all so very
tacky, and classless.  It was usually the same thing, over and over again,
and variety was found in different colors or materials.

   This garment was unlike anything she had ever seen.  It had style.  It
had grace.  And she knew that it would be comfortable enough that she
wouldn't have to take it off at the first opportunity.

   "Do we have a deal?" he asked her.

   She examined the shoes carefully.  Fine Italian shoes.  This cost
someone a king's fortune.  Mr.  Hunter's fortune, no doubt.

   "There is much more to negotiate than just the terms of submission, but
I agree to this cursory contract.  We can hammer out the details later."

   She undressed and put on all of the clothes in the box, except for the
shoes and stockings.  She'd put them on right outside the door before she
entered so she wouldn't have to walk very far in them.

   The garment inside the box was a common tapestry corset that laced up
the back.  The top of it covered her nipples and forced her breasts up
high, creating cleavage she didn't normally have.  The thing that made the
garment different was that the flowers in the black damask were painted in
shades of green, and purple and blues.  There were garters in velvet
instead of common satin.

   He gave her an unusual undergarment that took some time to put on.  It
reminded her of crotchless panties, but they were very tight.  When put on
correctly, they held her sex and her backside open.  Jack asked her more
than once if they were uncomfortable or too tight.  "I have another size if
those don't work." Later, he would check her for red marks from rubbing or
chafing.

   There was a scarf that hung from her neck down the back with cotton
fringe that did not tickle.

   The stockings were silk with no seam.  But the toes were cut out and
were fastened to her foot by a thickened thong between her toes.  She had
never seen stockings like them before and when she asked him where he got
them he told her that he had made them for her feet.

   When she was dressed, he pinned up her hair, saying, "You may not think
you are pretty, but everyone else will."

   The coffee had finally kicked it and she did not feel tired.  She was
ready to go to the ballroom and pay whatever penance the Baron could
devise.

   "Okay, You look fabulous," he said.  "Now, before we go in there, I want
you first."

   She was confused.  "What?  What does that mean?"

   "On the counter, please."

   "OHHHHHHH, okay.  The guy in the kilt wants me first!  Well!  Okay!" She
hopped on the counter and scooted back.  He pulled up the bar chair and sat
down.  He could not help but notice that she was smiling at him.  "I like
the kilt," she said.

   He could smell her at this distance.  "Yes.  I know you like the kilt.
Lay back please."

   He placed her feet on the edge of the counter so that her legs folded
and presented both her feet and her sex to him.  There were the leather
straps that held her lips open.  It was a frame to an ocean view.  He was
happy to note that she was sexually excited and wet.  It would be much
easier if he didn't have to force her.

   Now where to begin?  He dropped the chair placing himself at a better
level.  It was a tough choice, but now would be the time to test her and
see if she would be able to hold up her end of the contract.  Would she try
doing something she had not done before with someone she could not see?

   He took her foot in his hand and moved the thong so that her foot was
naked.  He could see the tension in her leg and then he heard her say,
"What are you doing?"

   "This tickles in the beginning, but it will go away.  If you struggle
too much, I will bind you.  If you make too much noise, you will be
gagged."

   She attempted to pull her foot away instinctively.  He made a mental
note, Anna does not like to be tickled.  "Hey.  Stop that," he scolded,
"Relax your leg, and foot.  C'mon, Anna.  You have to try."

   "Sorry," she said weakly.

   He smiled out of her view.  He wondered how other men could live without
this kind of thrill, of taking someone they love to a place they've never
been.

   He held her foot immobile with one hand and supported it with the other.
Very carefully, he kissed her big toe.  She did not struggle.  She was
trying to be good.  He enveloped her big toe with his mouth and sucked on
it gently while stroking the top of her foot with his thumb.  She sighed
and stretched her hands above her head.  She was concentrating.  Don't move
that foot.  Submit.  Obey.

   He released her big toe and ran his tongue along the curve of her little
toes.  She shrieked and strained against his grip.  That tickled.  She
isn't ready for that yet.

   He kissed the instep of her foot, using his tongue and forefinger to
massage it.  He kissed her ankle.  He tongued her heel.  He gently bit the
tendon and then sucked on her big toe again.  He could hear her breathing.
Her leg was not as tense.

   He took the middle toe into his mouth and sucked on it.  When it popped
out of his mouth it made a smacking sound.  "Do you like this?" he asked,
taking the next toe into his mouth and sucking it.

   "Eat me," she said.

   He smiled and licked the inner curve of her toes again.  She did not
strain.  She moaned and her head fell to one side.  There was a pool
forming on the counter where her backside rested on the counter.

   He inserted his forefinger between her big toe and the next toe down and
eased it back and forth.  He watched for her reaction when he sucked her
big toe again.  Tension crossed her face.  He placed his free hand on the
inside of her thigh while licking her foot more intensely.  There were
clicking sounds as the inner muscles of her cunt began working against her.

   The smell.  He loved the smell of a sexually aroused woman, especially
if she were very clean and shaven.  He glanced at her sex again.  She was
healthy and her legs were more open then they had been before.  She had
pushed her backside to the very edge of the counter in an effort to be
closer to him.

   He kissed her thigh and examined her more closely in the single overhead
light.  She tilted her hips up to him and he noticed that she had begun to
tremble.  He used his thumb and forefinger to massage her asshole and
torment her cunt.  She sighed deeply.

   "Do you want me to eat you?"

   "Yes."

   "Then you will have to ask me to do it."

   "Please eat me."

   He kissed the inside of an outer lip that had been pinned by the
undergarment that held her open.

   "No, no...  Ask me properly." He made a cursory sweep of the weeping
gash.

   She jumped, and moaned.

   "Please," she whispered.  "Please master, eat me."

   He kissed her clitoris very carefully and then sucked the skin above it
raising it slightly.

   She tightened her ass and raised herself to his lips.  He kissed the
outer lips and licked the space below the entrance where a stream of
wetness poured from her.  She was sweet, but not salty, and she did not
have that musk to her that so many women have.  He knew that once he began
the kissing of her sex, he would be unable to stop himself or her, so any
point he sought to make with her would have to be made now.

   He teased her with his fingers by entering and exiting her very slowly,
"Your body," he whispered, "is my table.  Your life is my canvas.  Your
cunt will never know anyone but me.  Do you agree to these terms?"

   "Eat me."

   "Do you agree to these terms?" He pressed his fingers in more deeply,
and pressed the G-spot.

   "Master, I beg you, help me." She was in turmoil.

   "Do you want me to eat you?"

   "Yes!"

   "Then agree to my terms."

   "Please...  help me!"

   He kissed her clitoris with great care and plumbed her depths with some
speed.  It only drove her further, it would bring her no relief.

   "Agree," he said, punctuating his point with a strong jab to her G-spot
while lipping her clitoris.

   "Oh God..." she panted, "This is wonderful!  This is wonderful!  More...
Please more..."

   "You will have no relief until you give me what I want." He pressed his
longest finger into her asshole using her own juices as lubricant.  Her
head went still as she enjoyed the entrance.

   With the double invasion, she was driven even further closer to orgasm.
She raised her hips to his thrust.  She moaned periodically.

   "Master, please....  Please make me come."

   "No..." he said menacingly.  "Agree.  Then I will give you what you
want, today and every day for the rest of your life."

   "Oh God!  Oh my God!"

   He would bring her close to orgasm, then he'd switch rhythm or change
direction.  Sometimes he changed his focus to some other equally erotic
location.

   " 'I am your master.' Say it."

   "You are my m-master.  Please..."

   "You obey me and me alone."

   "...  you alone." Deep panting.  She was incoherent.

   " 'I agree to my master's terms.' "

   "I...  agree."

   "Excellent."

   He stood at the end of the counter and raised his kilt.  He entered her
carefully in spite of her wailing.  She was incredibly hot and wet and
tight.  He could feel the telltale muscle spasms of a woman desperate for
orgasm.

   His entrance surprised her, and she recoiled for a moment.  Brought back
to reality, she lost focus.  What the hell was she doing?

   She whimpered, and he noticed that she was still for the first time.  He
was reminded that orgasm for women begins in their heads, and Arcanna had
lost hers.

   Oh no.

   He waited for moment for her to adjust.  With him still inside her she
said, "I'm sorry."

   "Feels different?" he posed.

   "Yeah."

   "Smaller?"

   "I can't tell.  But it's shaped differently."

   "Does it hurt?"

   "I feel uncomfortable."

   "Good."

   He massaged her clitoris with his free hand, while raising her backside
with the other.  "The men in my family are not circumcised." She shifted
uncomfortably.  "I'm not leaving," he reassured her.

   "I don't know if I can do this."

   "I have complete faith in you.  You will do this."

   "I'm sorry," she said again.

   "I will bring it back to you.  Be patient."

   It took a moment for him to create a strategy.  He quickly assessed all
of the things he knew she liked and all of the things his uncle had told
him about her preferences.  The problem was not with her body, which was
begging for relief...  it was in her head.

   "Part of being my submissive," he began, "is being obedient." He pressed
into her slowly, careful of her cervix which he had bruised unintentionally
with other partners.  She tensed and squirmed.

   "Relax."

   She was still again, but her body was settling.  He could lose the whole
experience if he didn't act quickly.

   "I like this," he confessed to her.  "Your cunt is very tight and I've
made you very wet.  Grip me."

   She contracted her muscles around him.  He tensed in a wave of pleasure.
"That was good.  God bless Dr.  Kegel."

   She laughed, and he smiled.  "Now, if you tense, this will hurt, so
don't grip on the instroke.  Do you understand what I want?"

   "Yeah, I think so."

   He pressed into her and she was warm and deep.  When he pulled back she
grabbed him with great force, so much force in fact that he felt his eyes
rolling to the back of his head.  "Yesssss.  This is good.  Again."

   He pressed into her deeply, and she gripped him on the outstroke.  He
would massage her clitoris gently with warm fingers and then repeat the
action.

   "Oh...  Anne, such a hot and tight cunt you are.  Yes.  Yes." He pressed
into her again, and when he was deepest he pressed on the clitoris again.
Her eyes closed, and she sighed.  "Oh." She breathed.

   "I need to bind you with your legs open so I can pleasure myself
whenever I want.  A cunt like yours should be fucked often."

   Again he pressed into her but this time he used her thighs to steady her
while he went as far as he could go.  He made sure that he pressed against
the clit and that his balls were firmly against her asshole before drawing
back.  She gave a weak spasm.

   "Obey me..." He pressed into her again, with more force and speed.  She
yielded and began to breathe heavily.  She was beginning to enjoy him. 
"Obey me, cunt."

   "Yes, sir."

   He was pleased and relieved.  "I'm going to make you cum.  You will obey
me.  I will have complete control of you and your body, and I will make you
come."

   "Yes."

   "That's good.  I can hear you, how excited you are.  My cock and my
balls slapping against your ass.  You want me to fuck you."

   She was more urgent this time.  "Yes."

   "You like it when I do this to you.  You want me to spill my jizz.  Fill
you full of my seed."

   She sighed deeply, and he felt the strong grip of the beginning of a
very powerful need.

   "Arcanna...  I will love you, and other masters will want you, but only
I can do this to you.  Only I can fuck you this way."

   She was beginning to writhe, and raise up to him.  "Yes...  oh God
yes..."

   "Do you like the way I am fucking you?"

   "Yes...  oh God yes."

   "Do you want more?"

   "Please master, give me more."

   "What do you want me to do to you?"

   She was losing control again, and he liked the way it made him feel to
be the only person in their coupling who had any control at all.  She was
panting and her head would thrash from side to side.  "What do you want me
to do to you?" he pressed again.

   "Master....  Use me."

   "I intend to use you heavily.  But right now..  what do you want?"

   Panting.  "Oh...  I...  oh....  Please."

   He pressed into her more deeply and massaged her clit with greater
strength.  "Milk me...  yessss...  that's good.  Milk the cum from my
cock."

   She would grip him on the instroke and the outstroke.  He would not last
very long against that kind of pleasure.

   "You please me," he said, with the last bit of his coherence.  "Take
it...  take it from me."

   He was now moving with quick speed and he was running headlong into the
edge of an orgasm.  He completely forgot about her, her pleasure...  all he
saw was his blind need to fuck as hard and fast as he possibly could.  He
would fill her full of cream and make her take it all.  Take it...  take
it...  bitch.

   "More...  milk it...  you want the cum, I know you do."

   "Master, I can't ...  I can't hold back.  Please let me cum...  grant...
me permission..."

   "No," he said cruelly.  "I am not ready for your orgasm.  Keep milking
my cock until I tell you to stop."

   She was shaking, her hands were holding her sex as open as she could get
it trying desperately to push him further inside her.

   She was so close, he hated to make her wait, but it was necessary.  It
was all in her head.  She became more desperate and she began begging more
loudly, "Master, I can't hold it.  Help me."

   "Do you think you are ready for me to fill you full of hot cum?"

   "Master...  please...."

   He couldn't stop it.  It was like a tsunami: hard, fast, powerful, and
unpredictable.  He began coming and he commanded her to follow.

   "Go...  go on...  cum for me...  come for me."

   There was a wild flailing and wailing and the sound of her climax
echoed. He hoped they heard it in the ballroom.  He'd fucked his slave, and
made her obey him.

   She was thrashing still, and the waves of it gripped him.  She would
pull the cum from his cock.  He could feel himself gushing, the semen
rising from his balls.  His muscles began to cramp, and she began to still.

   When she finally stopped and was quiet, she was damp and quivering.

   There was a long silence filled with the gasping for air and then she
said, "Shit."

   "Are you okay?"

   "No.  I will never be the same again.  Thank you."

   He pulled from her and commanded her to stay in position.  The kilt fell
neatly into place and gave no sign, not even a wrinkle, to the wonders
underneath.  "Oh...  oh my God," she said.

   "You stay there.  Don't move."

   He brought a white washcloth with warm water and sat again in the bar
chair at the base of her sex and the counter's edge.  He cleaned her very
carefully, and was very gentle.  She would sigh and murmur with his
attention to her detail.  She was not bleeding, as he half expected her to
be, but she would be sore tomorrow.

   "Jack, that was amazing."

   He laughed and said, "That was the first course."

   Copyright 2001.  All rights reserved by subjukated.  You may not alter
the content of my writings in any way shape or form under any
circumstances. I am not responsible for any actions taken due to the
content of my writing.  If you feel that you have reached this Copyright
text in error....  Oh wait.  Never mind.

   Authoress Contact Information: Subjukated@aol.com ; AIM nick:
Subjukated.

   <1st attachment end>

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