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Message-ID: <38183asstr$1031397003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Adrian Hunter & Chelsea Shepard" <adrian_hunter@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} [sapphic] Distemporarily by Adrian Hunter (fF, bd, nc)
Date: Sat,  7 Sep 2002 07:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


It's hard to say more than the story codes. So I'll simply note that the 
inspiration for this first time/classic starts college this month.

_________________________________________________________________
MSN Photos is the easiest way to share and print your photos: 
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<1st attachment, "distemporarily_by_adrian_hunter.txt" begin>

Sapphic Erotica Festival 2002
Classic, First Time


Distemporarily (fF, bd, nc)
By Adrian Hunter


Samantha tapped lightly on the door, then took a deep
breath and pressed the buzzer.

Not home.

Good.

Well, maybe not so good.

She reached into her purse, fished out the keys, and
started matching them to the deadbolt, and then the
doorknob.

"Marla?  It's me."

This is like some stupid slasher flick, she thought to
herself as she slipped into the narrow entry hall.  Cue
ominous music, cut to crazy camera angle, and whatever you
do, don't open the closet door...

She really didn't want to be here.  Again.  But freedom of
choice seemed to have been deleted from her menu of options.

Light from outside filtered dimly through the sides of the
drawn curtains.  Samantha walked over to a floor lamp and
turned the switch, but the room still seemed dark.

Then she noticed the box on the ottoman.  Large.  White.
Her name scrawled in block capitals across the top.

"A present?  For me?" she said in a mock little-girl voice.

She sat down on the matching chair and lifted the lid.
The queasy industrial odor of new rubber filled the room.

She picked up whatever was on top and watched it unfold as
she lifted it out of the box.  Stockings, obviously thigh
length.  Polished so they glittered like black chrome.

She closed her eyes and imagined them tight against her
legs, liquid death pressed close, hot and glossy around her
flesh...

No, she chastised herself.  You're not allowed to enjoy
this.  You're being punished for...well, what?

She stared at the floppy armor in her hand.  She did have
a choice.  She could quit.  Move to another city.  Run
screaming from this whole ugly mess.  But that would mean
sacrificing everything she'd worked so hard to achieve.
The last thing she wanted to do was start the process down
with the crustaceans, algae and service reps at the bottom
of the corporate foodchain.

"But you don't really want to stop, do you, Sam?" She
didn't recognize the voice in her head, but she knew it was
indisputably right.

"You can't change people," it continued, teetering on the
edge of random, "but people can certainly change you."

Quite quite, she agreed, as she continued digging into the
box, peeling off a layer of tissue paper to reveal matching
shoulder-length opera gloves.  Then a rubber bra.  Panties.
Crotchless.

At the bottom were a pair of black pumps with heels long
enough to qualify as murder accessories.

"Now, what am I supposed to do with you?" Samantha asked
the box exasperatedly.

As if you don't know.

She decided talking to fetishwear was probably not the
sign of a healthy mind, so she stood up and started
wandering around the room, surveying the proletariat
furnishings and street-fair art prints.  It wasn't like
Marla to...oh, there, on the floor by the linen closet...a
long
pole, a pile of black straps, and, bingo, a Post-it note
stuck to the door at eye level.

"Hold the key here with your nose."

And don't let it fall, she heard Marla hiss in her head.

"Yes, please," she whispered.  It was the only thing she
was allowed to say in her presence.

She kicked off her shoes, unbuttoned her blouse, and
peeled her jeans down her legs, then folded everything
neatly in a pile on the chair.  She had never quite gotten
used to a permanent lack of underwear, but Marla had
shredded her Catholic guilt, among other former imperatives.

She turned and faced the ottoman, suddenly feeling like
Courtney Love.  So glad you could make it, she started
singing to herself.  Now you've really made it.  Too early
for that dress.

Of course it all fits.  Marla should know my size by now.

Rows of little rubber igloos jutted out from the lining of
the bra and panties, causing her flesh to feel like it was
being squeezed by a thousand fingers.  As she stretched the
latex over her breasts, she finally noticed the nipple
holes.

Like something from "Starship Troopers" fucked Barbarella,
she told the mirror when she was finished.

Taking small, gawky steps, Samantha stuttered back to the
pile of leather by the door.  A collar.  Padlocks.  The
spreader bar with cuffs bolted to the ends.  Two loose
cuffs, she guessed for her wrists.  The key.  And damn,
that gag, the one with the pouch filled with shotgun
pellets mounted on a thick square of black leather.

She picked it up off the floor, her mouth already dreading
its leaden fate.

Might as well get it over with.

Disquieting crunching accompanied her fingers as they
squeezed the sack between her lips.  She pulled the ends of
the wide strap tight behind her head, and fumbled with the
clasp and padlock until she managed to get everything
properly permanent.  With a click and a sigh, she doomed
her tastebuds to an afternoon of pungent misery.  Rawhide,
meet Goodyear.

Better heavy leather than the horrible clamp on your
tongue, Samantha thought as she leaned down to begin
cuffing her ankles to the spreader bar.

After she secured her neck, she picked up the wrist
spreader, the last two padlocks and the key, and shuffled
her extended feet over to the closet door.

Remove the Post-it...put key against the door...press nose
against it...steady...no rush...now, get the hasp of the
padlock
around both the cuff buckles behind her
back...one...two...one
last check...and...snap.

Samantha couldn't stop her mind from wandering as she
stared straight ahead at the painted wood an inch away from
her eyes.  She saw herself on her hands and knees with
Marla's foot on her back, the laces of a corset being
pulled tight, then tighter, her waist shrinking like a fast-
motion diet, every breath feeling like her last...

Somewhere behind her, a clock ticked faintly.

She supposed she should be thankful Marla hadn't added
some evil accessory to her costume.  Premonition was more
than sufficient.  To say nothing of the rubber bumps
massaging her white parts.

Her jaw began to ache from the weight of the ballast in
her mouth.

She tried to stretch her legs a little, but the key slid
up the door ominously as she extended her feet.

Best not to take any chances.  You have more than enough
to worry about, thank you very much.

Samantha inhaled deeply through her nose and wondered if
she was enjoying this.  Perhaps.  It had been months since
she had wrangled Marla's promotion, but the bitch soon
found other loathsome tasks for Sam to perform at the
office.  Like using her executive passwords to access
confidential client files, especially the ones about
acquisition candidates.  You could make a real killing in
the stock market if you knew about such things in advance.

Much as she disliked being here, she was definitely
grateful for being spared the drama of spending hours bound
and gagged in her office.  If they were ever caught, Marla
would undoubtedly start mewling about how she, a lowly
account executive, had been forced to engage in all sorts
of deviant sex acts by a senior manager.  Then all the
photos Marla had taken of her would be discovered.  Not to
mention the recent newsgroup posts made from her email
account.  And let's not forget the Netnanny-distress sites
Marla had accessed from Sam's IP address, all duly noted in
the company's daily Internet access logs.

She thought about justice, duty and ambition.

She hoped Marla would let her come later.

The doorbell buzzed.

"Hallo?" inquired a muted voice on the other side of the
door.  "Are you decent?"

Samantha's brain felt like someone had flushed it.  The
person outside was female.  Definitely not Marla.  She
heard keys jangling, then locks tumbling open.  Whoever it
was, she was coming in.

White heat wrapped around her chest like talons picking up
a tasty treat.  She frantically parsed her options...waddle
into the bedroom, hide behind the curtains, melt into the
floor, beam up to the Enterprise, faint, die...

The door opened, then shut with a bang.

"Aunt Marla?" the voice inquired, much louder now.  "I
brought back the...well, hello!"

Samantha swiveled her eyes sideways, but all she caught
was a flash of tan, blonde and white.

"My, my, my.  You must be a friend.  A very good friend.
A very special friend."

Samantha heard a girlish giggle as the stranger wandered
over to the box on the ottoman.

"I take it your name is...Samantha?  Pleased to meetcha,
Sammy, my name's officially Patricia, which I hate hate
hate, so my friends call me Trixie.  Wow, nice outfit.
Looks like a pretty snug fit though.  Man, you've got quite
the bod."

Trixie came over to get a better look at Samantha's face,
allowing Samantha to do likewise.  "Aunt" Marla?  She
remembered her once mentioning a sister and her kids.  She
could see some family resemblance, but the gene gods had
been far kinder to the next generation.  Short straight
hair with a chlorine tint.  Feral eyes.  A nose that could
be the "after" poster in the waiting room of a plastic
surgeon in South Hampton.  Samantha guessed she was barely
old enough to vote, if not drive.

"Um hmmm...Aunt Marla says you gotta be careful about
showing off your brains if you want to sleep with the cute
ones.  Only weirdos like girls who can whip 'em at work, or
anywhere else, for that matter.  Trust me, it's the story
of my life.  That's some gag you got there...betcha
there's a
big ol' nasty plastic penis in there, huh?"

Samantha shifted nervously, ever mindful of the key, while
her brain furiously recalculated all available data.
Obviously Marla's niece.  Obviously aware of Marla's hobby.
Obviously not easily shocked by...

"Gotta keep your nose outta trouble, Sammy.  I'll bet
Marla would blow a motherboard if she found that key on the
floor, huh?"

Samantha's muscles seized as Trixie reached around and
groped the exposed gash in the rubber between her
outstretched legs.

"Ooooh, you're all wet and squishy in there.  You like
this?"

Samantha gasped as Trixie's thumb and forefinger clamped
down tight around her clitoris.

"I figured as much.  Hmmm...I never get to play
girlygirl...I
myself like boys.  Unlike other people I know, obviously.
But I can see how this could be fun.  You know all the
right things to do.  Or the things not to do.  Like this."

Trixie's fingers pinched and pawed Samantha's sex with all
the grace of a factory robot.

"That's how boys do it.  Idiots.  But girls like it like
this."

She started rubbing Samantha's clit back and forth, her
soft touch rapidly increasing in both speed and pressure.

"Feels good, huh?  You practically have to brainwash boys
to teach them to do this right.  I've tried to train a few,
but they usually get all weirded out when I tie them up,
y'know?  Like they never considered the fact that a young
thing like me might have a clue in the bedroom beyond
'oooh, Johnny, yer makin' me soooo hawwwwwt...'"

Trixie removed her hand, then leaned over close to
Samantha's ear.

"I'll bet Marla won't be home for hours," she whispered
loudly.  "Just us girls.  Can you keep a secret?  'Cause
what they don't know, won't hurt 'em..."

She giggled.

"Except maybe you."

Samantha glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of Trixie's
gargoyle grin as her heart pounded wildly.  She found
herself pitying Trixie's parents, but then again, one of
them must be Marla's sibling.  Do they trade bondage tips
over turkey at holidays?

Vague noises of opening and rummaging filled the room
behind her.

"Gee, this is lots easier than usual.  Usually, I have to
spend, like, hours convincing a guy to let me tie him to
the bedposts with some old scarves.  All that kissing and
tongue-slithering and sticking their hands in my bra and
fussing around with my crotch. But they almost always say
yes, y'know?  Then, once I get them nice and secure, I
usually blindfold and then start playing with their cocks,
make them all hard, then stop and let them go soft, then do
it again.  After a few times, they're usually thrashing
pretty good, so I'll replace the scarves with cuffs, plus
add some rope to hold down their thighs.  As soon as they
start yelling, I stick a ball gag in their mouth, and then
they really freak out, probably 'cause of "Pulp Fiction" or
something, that scene in the dungeon always makes 'em
queasy, but once they calm down, they usually get hard
again, but I take care of that with an ice cube, make their
dick and balls shrivel up like walnuts, and then I get out
my cock harness and lock them up tight, like maybe two
inches of boner if they're lucky, and that's when Six Flags
officially opens for business.  Do you have any idea how
sensitive a guy's nipples are?  I like playing with their
assholes, too, they go, like, berserk, and just when I
think they're gonna die on me, I grease up a big ol' plug
and push it up real slow inside them.  I never tried one
myself, so maybe you can tell me if it works as good on
girls."

Trixie was standing next to Samantha again, waving
something that looked like a flesh-colored ice-cream cone
with a rounded tip.

"You know what's really cool?  Getting them to pop a
Viagra first.  When baby blue kicks in on their tied-up
dick...well, I wouldn't know, but judging from their
reaction, I get the idea it's pretty fucking intense.  I
hear the shit works good on girls, too.  Not that I ever
needed it or anything.  Bummer I didn't bring one, huh?"

Convulsions surged through Samantha's rectum as Trixie
nuzzled the tip between her very spread cheeks.

"Wait a sec, this really isn't very fair, is it?  Tell you
what, Sammy...I'll give you a sporting chance.  Hold on
there."

The pellets in Samantha's mouth stifled everything but a
labored grunt.

"Grrrrrreat gag," Trixie noted somewhere distant behind
Samantha.  "Gotta get Marla to tell me where she scored it."

Samantha began to feel faint.  She debated the benefits of
letting the key simply fall to the floor so she could try
to do likewise.

"My aunt will totally murder me if she finds out I've been
playing with her toys, so I guess no marks is the rule
today.  But I don't think she'll notice.  Hope not.
Otherwise, you'll have some explaining to do.  Excuse me,
but can I borrow this for a sec?"

Trixie reached in and plucked the key away from Samantha's
nose, then headed down for her ankles and unlocked them
from the spreader bar.

"Thanks," she said as she stuck the key back.  "Hold still
now."

Samantha felt a piece of rope being wrapped and knotted
around her waist, then threaded between her legs.

"No, that's not gonna work...she'll see the burn around your
tummy.  Shit, what am I..."

Samantha saw Trixie look up and notice her exposed nipples.

"Doh!  Perfecto."

She skipped out of sight.  Clinking sounds ensued.

"Not the tweezer type...they always slip off.  Oh, these
will do nicely.  Very nicely indeedy-deedy-do."

Something hard and cold attached itself to Samantha's left
nipple.

"Twist, twist, twist.  That's all I ever do around here."

Faint bursts of light twinkled in Samantha's peripheral
vision as Trixie tugged the chain between the set of very
tightened brass presses.

"There.  My, what big eyes you have.  No, wait, that's my
line.  Here's yours."

Trixie tied one end of the rope to the chain and looped
the rest between Samantha's legs.

"Pick up your foot, please, either one's fine, that's it,
up and over your wrists...watch your balance there, Sammy.
Let me get this tied off to your ankle, and bingo, storks
are us...goodbye, shoe.  So here's the deal, you keep the
key
against the wall, and our friend Mr. Deluxe Vibrating Butt
Plug stays in my hand.  Ready, Freddie?"

What sounded like a swarm of angry hornets started buzzing
behind Samantha.

"Set...and...go!"

Samantha bent-over leg jerked like a hooked fish when
Trixie touched the whirring tip to the latex-covered sole
of her foot.

"Gawd, that's gotta be the total bomb," Trixie exclaimed
as she kneaded Samantha's arch.  "I wouldn't let anyone
fuck with my sweet little tootsies like that.  I am, like,
so ticklish on my feet.  All someone has to do is touch
them, and I freak out, y'know?  But some people thing
they're totally erogenous."

Samantha started to worry that her nose would break from
the strain of supporting most of her weight against the
wall, unless her wobbly ankle broke first.

"Bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz, busy little bumblebee.  Are we having
our moment, Ms. McBeal?  Kootchy kootchy koo...better hold
still there, Sammy.  That's gotta smart when you pull the
rope like that.  Here, let's try it again."

Samantha ground her molars into the gag's pellets and
clenched her toes as hard as she could.  Her brain solemnly
informed her this was what it's like to be electrocuted.

"Didn't you just hate this when the doctor did it to you?"
Trixie chirped like a child talking to her doll.  "I
screamed and thrashed around on the table so much, my mom
had to, like, hold me down.  Once I even whiplashed my knee
right into the doctor's chin.  He got real pissed off and
even swore a little, but served the bastard right,
especially when I told him and told him not to fuck with my
feet."

A flurry of spasms wrenched Samantha sideways.  As her
body started following her foot, she accidentally looked
down at the floor, causing the key to fall to the carpet
with a near-soundless plop.

"Awwww," Trixie said as she clicked off the vibrator.
"Nice try there, Sammy.  Hey, thanks for playing our game.
What do we have for our departing contestants today,
Johnny?"

Forehead against the wall, Samantha panted raggedly
through her nose while Trixie put the murderous heel back
on her foot and untied the knot holding it up.

"Okay, time for the second set.  On your knees, puh-leeze."

As she slumped to the floor, Samantha couldn't quite make
out what Trixie was humming, but she finally recognized the
tune from one of the countless Grateful Dead soundboard
tapes an old beau had forced her to endure.

"I need a miracle ev-er-ree day," Trixie confirmed in a
voice that combined the worst qualities of Sandra Bernhard
and Betty Boop.

"Hey, if I were you, I'd get my cute little nose against
that key down there on the floor just as fast as I could."

For a moment, Samantha considered what would happen if she
refused.  Who is this prepubescent monster anyway?

Alright, that does it, she informed herself.  As soon as
she got herself out of this mess, she decided she was going
straight to the proper authorities, like the police.

Wait, are you willing to accuse Marla, not to mention
Trixie, of rape?  Haven't you voluntarily bound yourself?

And what are you going to say when you confess a kinky
lesbian threesome with a staff member and her potentially-
underage niece?

Kneeling, wrists still cuffed behind her back, she bent
over until her face was maybe an inch above the carpet,
sighed, then placed the tip of her nose against the key.

"Very good.  You'll be a Jedi yet.  Now, push that sucker
over here by me."

Awkwardly, Samantha turned her body around so her head was
facing the center of the room, and started crawling toward
Trixie, fragile bits of skin scraping roughly against the
carpet as she nudged the key forward.

"That's it...keep coming...you wish...and...stop.  Now, hold
still, slavette, while I prepare you for your big prize."

Samantha tried to look backward between her outstretched
legs, but she didn't need to see to know that Trixie was
reattaching the spreader bar to the cuffs around her ankles.

"Better smother some girl juice on our buddy here.  You
definitely want this good and greasy."

Before Samantha had a chance to prepare herself, Trixie
was shoving the plug back and forth, then deep inside, her
pussy.  After a few violent strokes, she pulled open the
top of the slit in the panties and repositioned the plug's
tip against Samantha's much smaller passage.

"Ready...aim..."

She pushed in the first of the three bulges.

"Fire.  Hey, you sure sweat a lot for a cute chick.  Must
be finally having that moment.  Ready for the next verse?"

Samantha grunted loudly as Trixie forced the second part
of the plug into her ass.

"My, that is a fat little fucker, isn't it?  This last
bulge is gonna take some work.  Maybe if I try screwing
it...ooof, in you go."

As the rest of the plug disappeared, something inside
Samantha grabbed everything below her stomach and squeezed
it dry.

"Oh, and before I forget..."

Trixie twisted the control knob to the fastest setting.

"Well, ya and hoo.  Must be quite the gala in there.  How
rude of you not to invite me, the guest of honor.  That's
okay, I forgive you.  In fact, I think I'm gonna crash your
cute little party dress."

Samantha's legs began shaking uncontrollably, every breath
a runaway locomotive, as Trixie stretched the rubber
panties over the base of the plug, then wandered out of
sight.

"It's so nice to dispense with all that limits crap, isn't
it, Sammy?" Trixie yelled from another room.  "Of course,
knowing my aunt, I doubt she's ever asked for your list of
no-no's."

Several anguished minutes passed like centuries before
Trixie returned.

"Hey, swivel your eyes thisaway and take a gander."

Samantha turned her head and gulped at the sight of Trixie
naked from the waist down, a gigantic dildo bouncing
crazily from a thick belt around her crotch.

"Looks like they used a donkey for the mold, huh?  Or
maybe an elephant.  I must say, you're not having the usual
conniption fit over my little love missile here.  My
gentlemen callers usually get quite upset right about now.
You've been trained well, grasshopper.  Speaking of
training, where's the end of that rope tied to your
titties?  Oh, here we go.  I'll just hold it in my hand
here like reins, give it a little tug every once in a while
to remind you I'm back here.  Well, it looks like we're
down to the final hole.  And this putt's for the green
coat.  Let's see if ol' Trixie...can...sink...it..."

The dildo felt like hot lead as it pierced Samantha's folds.

"And...it's...good!"

As Trixie began to gyrate her hips, Samantha realized she
would never again think of a man as being well-hung.

"Some days it just takes me forever to come this way.
Hope you don't mind.  Giddyup!"

One twenty.  One twenty-one.  One twenty-two...

"Well, that should just about wrap it up," Trixie panted
as she pulled out.  "You're definitely a major-league
trooper.  I don't know how you do it, but let's definitely
do it again sometime real soon, okay?"

Samantha shuddered hard as Trixie stuck the key into the
padlocks connecting the ankle cuffs to the spreader bar.

"Up, up, up.  Gotta put Humpty Dumpty together again
before auntie gets back."

Her legs felt like they had the tensile strength of melted
butter, but Samantha managed to stand.

"Very good.  Look at you, not a mark anywhere to be seen.
Of course, we know better, huh?"

Trixie's hand grabbed the base of the plug and yanked it
out of Samantha's ass.

"Whoa, you must practice that reaction.  Hey, speaking of
which, did you ever come?  I sure did.  Well, maybe next
time we can play more with your creamy little twat."

Trixie snaked a hand between Samantha's legs and started
raking her long fingernails against the swollen pinkness.

"Yeah, I'll bet Marla has all kinds of clamps and weights
that would probably hurt like holy hell down there.  Oh,
speaking of which..."

She unscrewed the presses, and Samantha saw stars.

"I've heard taking them off is the worst part.  Okay, turn
around and spread 'em.  Good.  Now, stick your nose against
the door just like when I got here.  Now, let's see, what
am I forgetting?  Oh yeah, the bar...click clack.  There we
go.  Time for me to play maid.  Hey, I'll bet you look real
cute in one of those French lace numbers."

Trixie bustled around the house cleaning up the detritus
of the afternoon's activities and humming that damn
Grateful Dead song again.

Yes, a miracle would come in real handy right about now,
Samantha thought to herself.  Maybe Marla will come home
early, discover what her nasty little niece has done to me,
and...and...hell, she'll probably give her a great big
kiss for a job well done.

"Well, that just about does it, Sammy.  Time for me to
make like a baby and head out.  But before I go, I want to
leave you with a little something...well, actually, it's a
present for Aunt Marla, too."

Between giggles, Samantha thought she heard the sound of a
zipper, then water being poured on the floor.

"Such a naughty little slut," Trixie taunted as she
finished urinating.  "Marla will be exceptionally annoyed.
You might even say she's going to be...pissed!"

She picked up her backpack and headed for the door, still
chuckling.

"God, I crack me up.  Well, later, alligator.  Whoops,
almost forgot."

She turned and tossed the key on the damp floor between
Samantha's outstretched feet.

***

Copyright (c) 1999, 2002 by Adrian Hunter. All rights
reserved. Please do not repost nor repurpose without
permission.

 From "Something Just Clicked," a compilation of short
stories and novellas by Adrian Hunter, now available in
paperback and e-book formats.

http://www.adrianhunter.com

Correspondence: adrian(underscore)hunter(at)hotmail(dot)com

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