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Message-ID: <36211asstr$1019437803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: sybian1@aol.com (Sybian1)
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Subject: {ASSM} A Symphony of Debauchery (MdomMM/f, BDSM) By Sybian and Your slave
Date: Sun, 21 Apr 2002 21:10:03 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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A man and a woman exchanging emails over a period of weeks wrote the
following story.



   A Symphony of Debauchery

   By Sybian & Your slave

   Pt1

   (C) 2002 by your_slave02@hotmail.com & Sybian1@aol.com

   All rights reserved.  No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any electronic means, including photocopying, recording or by
any information and retrieval system, without the written permission of the
author.

   " I must be losing my mind ", she thought as she made her way down the
street.  Foremost in her mind, the inherent danger of answering the
beckoning call of a stranger.  A man, whose erotic prose had held her
captivated for months.  It was as if he had looked into the darkest corner
of her mind, the place that she ran to in her solitary lusting.  The place
where she could conduct herself as luridly as she wanted, where she saw the
person that was lurking deep inside her.  A slut.  A whore.  She had never
let these erotic images of herself come to fruition.  " I am a mother, a
sister, a daughter.  I am an upstanding member of my community," she would
think to herself; fearing the woman that lay beneath her outward personage.
Also, afraid of what her husband would think.  Eager to please him, at the
same time denying herself of this woman who longed for release.  She saw
herself in the writings of this stranger, this man that she was running to.
How did he know that women longed to be manipulated?  Was she not alone in
these yearnings?  Over their months of writing e-mails, she found that she
was not alone.  This man, known only as Steven, would be the one to guide
her to this awakening.  She could have waited, coaxing her husband into
this role.  But over the months of writing, she had grown fond of this
stranger, and had made the hazardous decision that she would give this gift
to him.  Her emancipation.  "I can't believe I'm doing this again," he
thought as he strode into the Airport Marriott.  Much like Michael Corleone
in Godfather III he felt that every time he tried to get out something
always pulled him back in.  More like someone.  Cathy.  It was her pristine
innocence that did it.  Her honesty.  Her yearning.  She had seduced him
like no other, and her complete unawareness that she was doing it was the
key to her.

   Even now, he knew that as she was driving to him, she would be wet with
anticipation of her deflowering.  Of course she was not a virgin, why she
was a mother, a grown woman, a wife, but in so many ways a virgin.  She
wanted to be a whore, at least for this night, to reach down into the
darkness of that part of her that she had long denied.

   Slut.  He knew that when he called her that she immediately became
aroused, for it was so contrary to the person she had designed for the
world to see.  And yet it was the truth of her.  And he had shown her that
she could no longer deny it.  And she had told him that she no longer
wished to.

   But there was a terrible danger lurking and Steven wondered if Cathy was
aware of it as well.  Of course she knew.  She was so smart, so perceptive,
and so self-examining.  Though all the months of emails and phone games
could just be called flirtation, though fiery as it was, this night could
change everything for them both.  He knew that when he finally held her in
his big arms and felt his hardness press against her, that the danger would
become readily apparent.  The danger was that they might fall in love.

   Always sensible, cautious, putting family honor before her own desires
and needs, this was the essence of this woman.  Solely devoted to her
family, she had dreamt of a day when she could indulge in her own activity
and desire.  Steven had provided a venue for her to do just that.  All the
while, peeling back the lamination that she had encased herself in, an
armor of sorts.  How had he reduced her so?  What was it about him?  He was
just words on a screen, yet he had turned her into a slave for his words.
She knew nothing of him, there wasn't that spark or physical attraction
that so many people use as a catalyst to start a romance.  So like Cathy.
She cared so little for the things that most people found appealing in the
opposite sex.  His photo revealed a most beautiful man, strong in stature
and body, eyes that cut right through a woman's soul.  But she hadn't even
seen his face when she found herself longing for him.  She didn't know
anything about his life, how he labored or how he spent his time.  She saw
in his writing a man who knew what a woman wanted and that was all she
needed of him.  Time and again it was this man, Steven, who had driven her
up to her bedroom, away from her family to cater to his whims.  " Dip your
hand in your white honey.  Then write me of it." It was comments like that
which had driven her to his arms.

   He would fuck her.  And fuck her again.  Make her crawl across the floor
and beg for his cock.  Worship it.  He would show her that his cock could
be the focal point of her existence.  He would defile her.  Make her plead
to swallow his cum.  Get her to the point where she kneeled on the floor,
presenting her gorgeous big ass to him, spreading it open with her hands,
and through her sobs said, "Please, Steven, please.  Fuck your whore's fat
ass.  My ass needs a cock in it sooooo bad.  Please."

   And it was quite a remarkable ass.  He smiled inwardly again thinking of
the time a few months ago when he had sent her that link to an AdultToy
site Anal Sex Toys for Men and Women and had her purchase a Butt Plug.  And
because he asked her too, she inserted it and wore it while she carried out
her daily mundane chores.  He had to stifle a laugh when he imagined her in
her minivan, carpooling the neighborhood kids, a buttplug in her ass,
because her unseen Master had requested it.  It was their secret.  And kept
Cathy constantly on edge.  She loved secrets.  And he was her darkest
secret yet.

   She thought back to all of the early mornings she rose before dawn,
running to his words.  She had many days of strong reservation.  Among the
many women he had seduced, she was certain, would have more experience than
she.  Could she still please him?  She had been told by the handful of men
that she had allowed herself to be with that she was skilled in the art of
fellatio.  She loved to suck a man's cock, using her entire mouth,
especially her tongue.  But many of them were boys of a life long before
marriage.  This was a man.  And she was so eager to please him.  She found
him to be encouraged by her obedience, she catered to his every whim, did
whatever she was told.  She loved the control he had over her and
surrendered herself to his desires.  She knew that everything that he asked
of her had a purpose.  She did not question his requests for in the end she
knew that he would make her whole.  He was her fantasy.

   Steven delighted in her blind obedience.  Cathy had written him that he
had become her fantasy, a role he delighted in.  Cathy's fantasy.  A burden
as well.  But she made it easy, her compliance to his wishes a secret gift.

   He allowed his mind to drift back to the moment he realized her
specialness to him.  Steven had set up a voicemail box so that he may hear
her voice when their correspondence began.  He also wanted to make sure it
wasn't a man writing to him in that early stage.  Silly now in retrospect,
but it had happened once or twice before, his on-line stories being a
magnet both for sincere ladies and lonely, bored men.  Her husband was away
golfing and Steven had bid her to call the number so that he might hear her
climax as she masturbated.  She willingly complied.  And he could tell by
the joyous sounds of this woman in heat that his suggestion took her to a
new level of autoeroticism.  He remembered how many times he listened to
the playback that night.  And how he too masturbated, cumming with his
Cathy for the first time, covering his fifty-inch chest with a prodigious
load of his fiery man-juice, whispering, "Yes, Cathy, you're such a good
girl."

   Steven's words were so powerful, so eloquent.  He called them filthy
scribblings, but in his words she saw a modern day Kama Sutra.  He would
laugh at that, perhaps through modesty, but it was the truth.  Maybe not
fit for every woman, but his words had moved her so deeply, she wouldn't
deny herself this man.  So she prepared well for the night, bidding his
requests for certain items of clothing down to the finest detail, she was
so good at that.  Save one, she wanted to wear her signature scent. 
Beautiful by Estee Lauder lightly sprayed on her body always made her feel
so sexy.  Perhaps she should have complied, allowed him to choose, but it
was her only request and he had obliged her.  He could be so liberal at
times, surprising her by granting nominal wishes.  She loved him for that,
as well as so many others things.  She had spent the entire day preparing
her visage for his delight.  His penchant for delicate female things, hose,
heels, well manicured nails, her hair, which he loved, was a vision of
perfection.  Cathy was not a sophisticated woman in her outer presentation.
She found herself not to be of exceptional beauty or possessing the desire
to engage in the usual tinkering of her facial features or body.  A
self-proclaimed low-maintenance woman.  But she was real.  Strong in body
and mind and opinion.  She didn't waste her days in vanity, but instead
invested her attention and time in creating character.  Steven had only
seen her in one photo, taken years ago, and she had changed quite a bit
since then.  Her hair was much longer, she was thinner, and he had probably
wondered if she always carried a cowboy hat.  It was a prop in her picture,
a sign of a wild, untamed spirit.  But he would tame her, like no other man
before.  On this night, she would present him with a debonair woman.  She
wanted him to become enamored by her appearance as well as her
acquiescence.

   Attempting to drive had proven to be a challenge for Cathy since her
initial encounter with Steven.  In her van, away from the demands and
bustling of her home, her mind always wandered to him and the things that
he had written her.  This long distance drive was giving her hours to
immerse in the anticipation of what would come this night.  She found
herself coarsely pulling on her enlarged nipples as she drove, sending a
sting through her body into her swollen clit.  The cream of her cunt
gushing through her hole which made her shiver.  She thought about him,
this magnificent man who had allowed her to be in her van making this
journey.  She had learned through his writings that he enjoyed a shaven
scrotum, which would make her feast of him even more delectable.  She saw
herself kneeled on a floor, his cock, inches from her hungry mouth,
pulsating with lust for her.  The scent of his meat wafting through her
nose, savoring every moment that he allowed her to be here.  When he said
the word, "suck", she would take his shaft into her mouth, lips and tongue
and do what she was born to do, please Steven.  Intermittently running her
tongue down to his balls, gently suckling, licking.  Returning to his cock,
pushing it all the way down her throat.  His face and words indicating that
he was pleased.  She would do this throughout the many hours of this
oncoming night and the anticipation of this event would be the death of
her. She sped up to rush to her love.

   He allowed her small victories.  She wanted to wear her favorite
cologne, Beautiful, and he had allowed it.  Though he preferred the raw
sexuality of Obsession, he was familiar with her scent and thought it would
fit her best.  It was an aroma of innocence and wonderment with an
undercurrent of dark eroticism.  Perfect for his Cathy, the pillar of the
community and his slut.

   Maybe that was part of his attraction for her.  He was a man who knew
things like the various scents women liked to wear.  He knew her husband
had no idea of such things.  But Steven knew women, it was his life's work.
He preferred their company and though he had male acquaintances, he had
only female friends.

   Cathy would be arriving at the hotel soon and he needed to dress.  He
admired his body in the mirror.  At 48 he appeared much younger, the years
of weight training managing to keep father time somewhat at bay.  He had
just freshly shaved his fifty-inch chest and he cradled his also just
shaved scrotum, feeling it's comforting heft as he examined his penis.  It
wasn't overly large but big enough and women had felt a need to comment on
its proportions and attractiveness.  As he examined himself he found his
cock gently filling with blood, the veins running along its length starting
to pulse.  The thought of Cathy, in her mini van, dressed like a very
expensive whore, driving to his hotel was so arousing.  He gently pumped
his manhood watching the big head turn purple with lust and smiled at
himself in the mirror.  This would become the focus of Cathy's existence
for the next few hours.  This cock.  And her love for him would be his
reward.

   Cathy was not given to anal sex and the butt plug that had occupied her
rectum since Steven asked for its insertion had served as a preparation for
his cock.  She knew this and had religiously worn it as she did now.  It
sent shivers through her, waves of delight like she had not ever
experienced.  Her husband, like so many other men, longed for this gift.  A
woman's ass.  An exceptionally tight, puckered hole and the object of
fascination for her husband.  She would only oblige him from time to time,
but she found herself anxious to give this to Steven.  She sensed that she
would like everything that he did to her.  She adjusted her skirt as she
stepped out of her van, having hiked it up to reach in between her legs
periodically throughout her trip.  She wore a tight black skirt, something
she had always found to be inviting.  Not leather, as some may envision,
but nylon.  It clung to her ass like a hand.  The thin black stockings
shaped her muscular calves, which were defined even more than usual.  The
heels that she wore were unequivocally the highest she had ever worn.  But
they forced her to stand straight and erect, to think of each step so as
not to fall.  She knew why he had requested these from his many writings.
She had studied them and learned that they provided him the physical
control, keeping a woman reliant on him for her every move.  Her white silk
blouse was unbuttoned shamefully low.  Well, shameful for Cathy.  Her
breasts pushed high and separated in her bra to form the perfect tunnel for
his cock to travel through.  Her nipples, hard and swollen at the thought
of where she was and the commencement she would experience in a short time.
She wore large gold hoops and dramatic make-up.  She was a vision of her
soul.  Her longing to look and conduct herself as a whore.  And she turned
quite a few heads as she waltzed into the lobby, to her Steven, her master.

   As he pulled his black Lord &Taylor briefs over his big thighs Steven
smiled thinking of Cathy in her carpool mini van, the butt plug he had had
her order firmly affixed in her sphincter.  She was so awash now with her
repressed sexuality that with his masterful prodding it burst forth from
her in a torrent, like a river, swollen by days of rain, behind a weakened
dam.  A whore.  A woman.

   He adjusted his "package" in his underwear and then reached into the
closet for the woolen pants of his black double-breasted Armani suit.  She
had written that she loved him, though he doubted this, why they had never
even breathed the same air.  No, she loved the idea of him and the idea of
her that he had given her, Cathy the slut.

   End of Part One 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
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