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Message-ID: <39839asstr$1039911008@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Clayton Stillwater" <westbound80@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Sex Libris (MF, bond, cons)
Date: Sat, 14 Dec 2002 19:10:08 -0500
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Sex Libris
By Clayton Stillwater (westbound80@hotmail.com)
(MF, bond, cons)

After she dropped her son off at preschool, Bev went to the Junior
Woman's Club, which was having a used book sale to raise money for
scholarships.  A lot of the books were crap--Belva Plain, Danielle
Steele, mushy romance writers with three names---but she enjoyed the
hunt.  She scored an Amy Tan novel and the Kearns biography of Eleanor
Roosevelt, then moved on to the science fiction table.  To her delight,
she spotted a paperback with a Frazetta drawing of a bound woman on the
cover.  A Gor novel!  One she hadn't read!  Her heart beat faster.
Eagerly she slid it into her pile, realizing too late that a man was
watching her.

"Good stuff, isn't it?" he winked.

"I, uh, huh?" she mumbled.

"The so-called philosophy is ridiculous," he shrugged.  "John Norman
doesn't know an axiom from a hole in the ground.  But he does have a
way with slave-training scenes."

Regaining her composure, Bev looked at him coolly.  "I wouldn't know,"
she said.  "I don't read this trash."

"Of course not," he said, in a knowing tone that made her blush.  "You
swooped down on it because it'll look good on your coffee table."

His gaze raked her from head to toe.  Bev had been planning on playing
tennis later, so she was wearing a short white pleated skirt that
showed off her muscular, tanned legs.  Under his scrutiny Bev
automatically pulled back her shoulders to perk up her small breasts.
Blonde hair, intelligent gray eyes--she knew she looked good.  "Want to
go to Starbucks for a cup of coffee?" he asked.

He was a handsome guy, in his 40s, with broad shoulders and biceps that
filled the sleeves of his T-shirt.  From the scruffy jeans and the
lumpy, scarred hands she assumed he was a contractor.  Socially that
made him her inferior, but to her surprise, Bev found herself agreeing.
What the hell.  If anyone saw her with him they'd assume he was doing
some work on the house.

It was a warm sunny day, so at Starbucks they took their lattes and sat
at an outside table.  Making conversation proved to be surprisingly
easy; they just showed each other the books they'd bought.  Peter was
indeed a contractor.  An electrician, to be precise.  But unlike the
Morlocks that her husband hired, he was educated and intelligent.  He
liked bios and history, it turned out.  One of his finds was a mystery
novel set in ancient Rome.  "Steve Saylor writes historical mysteries.
In the foreground there's an interesting murder plot, and in the
background you see the Roman Republic falling apart.  The murder always
has a political angle, like rise of the Equestrian class, or the
political side-effects of the wars in the provinces."

"I bet you saw that gladiator movie."

"Twice.  Russell Crowe was marvelous. He plays a general who loses his
rank and is sold as a slave."

"Is that a turn-on for you?"

"I wouldn't buy him," Peter shrugged.  "A pretty blonde, on the other
hand..."  He sipped his latte and gave her that perceptive look again.
"What do you think you'd fetch?"

"A very high price," Bev said coquettishly.  "Being high-born and all."

"But you're not trained.  You need a few weeks on Gor to adjust your
attitude."

"Do I?"  Bev was surprised at how fast he'd penetrated her shell.
Surprised too at how unthreatened she felt.  Maybe the cherry blossoms
blowing in the warm breeze had softened her defenses.

Peter glanced at his watch.  "I have to go pick up my son in an hour.
Want to play a little game?"

"Game?" Her heart beat faster.

"The game of captive.  In my truck.  I tie you up and drive you around
town as if I'm transporting you to Gor.  You enjoy your slave fantasy,
I enjoy my master fantasy.  Then we part company and resume our normal
suburban lives."

Bev didn't bother trying to deny his assumption about her fantasy life.
Instead, she considered his startling proposition.  It reminded her of
the start of a Gor novel.  One moment a woman is in a normal
environment--drinking coffee across from the dry cleaner where she takes
her silk blouses, say--and the next moment she's abducted to a
completely different world.  To her amazement, Bev heard herself say
OK.

They had both parked in the municipal lot behind Starbucks.  Peter's
truck was in a corner formed by the back of Starbucks and the Talbot's
next door.  To her relief, it was a new, nice-looking van, not a rusty
old pickup.  When no one was around, he opened the side door and she
slipped in unseen.  He stepped in after her and closed the door.  The
metal thudded shut like the door of a jail cell.

As Bev's eyes adapted to the gloom, she saw the inside of the truck was
surprisingly spacious.  In the back, both sides were lined with racks
and drawers full of electrical thingies and tools.  Gray industrial
carpeting covered the metal floor.  "How come it's so clean?" she
wondered, and immediately felt snooty.

Peter didn't take offense.  "I'm a tidy man.  I spend a lot of time in
here, and I like it neat."  He cut a length of yellow wire from a
spool.  It was thick and flexible.  "Put your hands behind your back,
slave."

Bev turned away from him.  Peter took her arms and arranged the
forearms parallel to one another, each hand at the opposite elbow, and
tied them firmly, tightly.  He's really tying me up, she thought.  A
frisson of excitement started in her shoulders and spread to her chest.
Fortunately her bra concealed her erect nipples.

Peter spread a blanket on the floor and ordered her to lie on it.  Bev
knelt and lay face down, and he set to work tying her legs.  He removed
her Adidas and socks, and she wondered if he was taking the opportunity
to look up her short skirt.  Using more wire he tied her ankles and
knees securely.  She felt like a package being prepared for a long
journey.

"Here's the scenario. You were playing tennis, and as you walked from
the court to the parking lot I abducted you.  You're unconscious right
now, but when you wake up, you try to escape."

"OK."

He pulled her ankles to her wrists and wired them there.  A hogtie!
The pose reminded her of a yoga class she'd taken at the Y.  Even then
she'd found it erotic; having a strange man doing it to her really made
her pelvis tingle.  This wasn't like playing a tie-up game with her
son; she really was Peter's prisoner.  Bev couldn't rationally justify
letting a complete stranger do this, so she didn't bother trying.  She
just lay there, enjoying the sexual tension, mentally rearranging the
chores she had intended to do that morning.

"Comfy?" he asked, running a finger along her bare foot.

"You call this restraint?  I'll escape before you've gone two miles."

"That's what they all say.  Hope you like the weather on Gor."  He
stashed the cutters in a drawer and produced a roll of wide blue tape.
"I like a quiet slave.  Any last words before we start our magic
journey?"

"I need to be back here at exactly 11:15," she informed him.  "I have
to pick up my son at 11:30."

"No problem."  He plastered three big pieces of tape over her mouth,
smoothing it onto her cheeks and jaw.  She worked her jaw, but instead
of pulling off, the tape just stretched, and returned to its original
position when she relaxed.  She tried rubbing it against the floor, but
it didn't peel loose.  The electrician patted her cheek, and she
growled at him.

Peter climbed in front and started the engine, and Bev got into
character.  I'm being kidnapped!  A soccer Mom sold into slavery on
Gor!  She tried to yell for help, but her muffled cries were
pathetically weak.

Her fingers sought the knots on her ankles; her captor had cunningly
positioned them out of reach.  She wiggled her hips and rolled on her
side and looked up at the drawer where he'd put the cutters.  Even if
she rose on her knees it was out of reach.  Besides, what would she do
when she got there?  Work the latch with her nose?  She was trapped!
Completely at his mercy!

Breathing through her nose, she lay on the carpet as Peter cruised
around town.  When he halted at a light, she imagined pedestrians
walking by, only a few feet away, oblivious to the drama taking place
inside the humble contractor's van.  Everyone she knew was having their
kitchen redone or a porch enclosed, so the town was swarming with
contractor vans.  They were the perfect vehicle for a covert slaver
operation.

She heaved her shoulders and rolled on her stomach again, and
laboriously scooched around until her knees touched the rear door.
This put her in position to tap S-O-S on the metal.  Alas, the way her
legs were tied she couldn't move them enough to make a percussive
sound.  Besides, she didn't know Morse code.  Bev made plaintive sounds
in her gag.

Surrendering, Bev lay with her cheek on the rug and relaxed into an
erotic daydream in which manly contractors kidnapped bored housewives,
tied them up in their trucks, and slowly made love to them.  When Peter
wasn't oogling her helpless form she discreetly tried to rub her pelvis
on the floor and tried to get herself off, but the angle was wrong.
She couldn't reach down to finger herself, not with the way he'd tied
her arms.  If he'd simply tied her wrists together behind her back she
might have arched her back and gotten her hands down to her clitoris,
but tying her arms across her lower back put her hands out of position.
Was that deliberate?  Frustrated, Bev sank into fantasy, getting
hornier by the minute.

All too soon Peter parked and climbed in the rear.  "It's 11:10.  We're
back at Starbucks.  Have a good ride?" He peeled off the tape gag.

"Fabulous," Bev admitted.  "Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," he smiled. He undid the hogtie, and Bev unfolded with a
sigh.  It was good to lie flat again.  She rolled face down on the
floor, arms and legs bound, as he knelt over her and started freeing
her knees.  It was pleasant to lie there all disheveled with a man
fussing over her body.

"Actually, I have a confession to make," she said.

"What's that?"

"I don't have to pick up my son at 11:30.  He's in an all-day program.
I don't have to be anywhere until 4:30."

"No kidding."  Peter had loosened the wire around her knees.  His hands
halted.  "You want to keep playing?"

"What about your son?"

"I guess I should come clean too.  My kid's in second grade.  I just
said I had a time limit to reassure you."

"You wicked man.  Taking advantage of an innocent woman."

"You didn't put up much resistance."

"I could start screaming and have you arrested."

"Can't have that, now can we?"

Peter brushed the hair out of her face and taped her mouth shut again.
Being gagged that way was comfortable and surprisingly sensuous, as he
stroked her face.  Then he put her in a new position.

He left her forearms tied parallel to one another, across the small of
her back, but he undid her legs and let her stretch out the kinks.
Then he had her lie face down so he could retie them.  This time he
wired each ankle to the corresponding thigh.  The position was slightly
more comfortable because she could move each leg independently and
spread her knees out.  But she noticed he made sure the knots were
still out of reach of her fingers.

By the time Peter finished with her legs, her little tennis skirt was
up to her waist and her pantied bottom was completely exposed.  Bev
supposed it didn't matter.  If you're going to let a complete stranger
tie you up in the back of his truck and fondle your inner thighs while
doing so, he might as well look at your underwear too.  In the guise of
testing her bonds she wiggled her bottom temptingly.

Now that she was bound and gagged and helpless, she assumed his next
move would be to start driving.  But then he added a touch that really
surprised her.

The electrician cut a long piece of thick rope from another spool and
tied one end around her waist.  He arranged it so the long free end was
in front, under her navel.  Then he guided the rope through her crotch
and up in back.  Twisting her head and looking back over her shoulder,
she saw him run the rope through an eyelet in the ceiling.  Grinning,
he pulled on the rope until it snugged into her vagina.

"UUMMUMM?!" she protested.

Ignoring her cries, he tightened the rope until her pelvis lifted off
the floor a little.  This left her suspended by her crotch, with her
bottom raised and her body perched on the tripod formed by knees and
chest.  She inched her knees closer to one another, to raise her bottom
and take the pressure off her pussy, but he just tightened up the
slack.  When her bottom was about six inches off the floor he tied the
end of the rope to the ceiling.  The taut rope dug into her vagina and
stimulated her.  "EMM, EMM, EMM!" she wailed, trying to catch Peter's
eye.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he chuckled, patting her upraised rear.

"NNNNN!"

"I better make sure the rope is centered," he said, and plunged his
hand into her crotch.  Bev flinched, but there was absolutely nothing
she could do to stop him from caressing her between her legs.  "Getting
kinda moist down here.  That's good.  I like a slave to enjoy herself
while she's being transported."  His hand ran along the rope, and his
hard fingers flicked her labia through the cotton panties.

"NNN! NNN!" she shrieked, struggling and tossing her head, glad that
her hair was falling over her face and concealing her expression.  The
physical sensations were new, startling, unexpected.  Nothing like her
husband's routine foreplay.  And the psychological situation--being
helpless at the hands of a strange man who could do as he pleased with
her body--was a real turn-on.  All this in the parking lot behind
Starbucks.  For all she knew the entire Junior Woman's Club was walking
by, oblivious to her plight.

"Let's go for a little ride," Peter said, still playing with her pussy.
He squeezed her labia against the hard rope, which was making itself at
home in her vagina.  "Cruise around town for a while.  What's really
cool about this arrangement is that every time the truck bounces, the
shock is transmitted along the rope, and you'll feel it."  He caressed
her again, as if the rope were a candlestick and her labia was a cloth
used to polish it.  God, she was so close to coming!  "There's a dirt
road I know, in the back of the park, that's really bouncy."

"NNNN!"

"I'll bounce you a round a little, then park somewhere and see what
mood you're in.  OK?"

Bev moaned in approval, then settled back to enjoy her captivity.  She
inched her knees apart, which had the effect of lowering her pelvis and
increasing the pressure on her pussy.  She had her first orgasm when
they hit the speed bump at the exit to the Starbucks lot.  The first of
many.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

It was lovely in the park.  Quiet, too, in this remote section where no
one went.  Bev lay on her back, gazing up at a sprawling maple tree.
The sunlight filtering through its new leaves was exquisite.

Bev was getting well acquainted with that maple because she had been
lying under it for an hour or so.  And she would continue to lie there
until Peter untied her.

To be precise, she was spread-eagled under the tree, her ankles and
wrists roped to tent stakes driven into the ground.  She was lying on a
blanket and completely nude, of course.  The frenzy of lovemaking had
subsided, and now they were enjoying lunch.  Peter sat beside her,
equally nude, feeding her grapes and bits of dalmas as they chatted.

"It's nice being helpless," she commented.  "I don't have to worry
about reciprocating or taking care of your needs."

"You're taking care of my needs just fine," he reassured her.  "The way
you clench on my cock when you come is fabulous.  And that tongue!"

"Glad to be of service, sir," she fluttered her eyelashes.

"You'll make someone a fine slave."

"Aren't you going to keep me for yourself?" she pouted.

He petted her pussy, which still tingled from his assault, and made her
writhe and pull against the ropes.  God, she loved the way he just took
what he wanted.  "You're quality stuff, honey, but you're bought and
paid for.  Property rights on Gor are strictly enforced.  I don't want
my head to end up on a stake outside someone's palace."

"No.  I guess not."

The idyll was broken by Peter's beeper.  He glanced at the screen.
"Damn."  He called someone on his cell phone and had a brief
conversation.  "I have to go to a job," he brooded, working his jaw
angrily.  "It won't take long, but I have to do it now, while the
inspector's there."

Bev stretched---as well as she could, given the circumstances---and wiggled
her toes.  The breeze on her skin was delightful.  She could happily
lie there all day, airing out parts of her body that hadn't seen
sunlight for years.  Too bad she wouldn't be safe alone.  "You could
take me along," she suggested.

"You still want to play?  God, you're insatiable."

"What's the alternative?  Shopping for dinner?  My son won't complain
if I order a pizza."

He looked at her and rubbed his chin.

A few minutes later, when Peter set off, Bev was in the back of his
truck.  This time she was standing in a recess about 18 inches wide
between two sets of shelves.  Her arms were bound behind her back.  Her
ankles and knees were tied and cinched.  Bungee cords wrapped around
her and hooked to the shelves on either side kept her upright.  Again
her mouth was slathered with electrician's tape.  Aside from the gag
and ropes she was completely nude.  Her clothing and purse were tucked
away in one of the drawers.  Under his control, in other words.  Just
like her.

Tied this way, Bev felt like one of his tools.  A thing to be carted
around and used when needed.  She liked the feeling of being an object.
No responsibility except to lie back and give him a place to stick his
cock.  Just thinking about the possibility made her cock-holder wet
again.

What was daring about this arrangement was that by leaning forward and
craning her neck she could see past the driver and out through the
front windshield.  So in theory, a passer-by could spot her.  Not that
anyone walking by in bright sunshine was likely to bother to peer past
a driver and squint into the dark cluttered interior of a contractor's
van looking for a kidnapped tennis player, but still...  She leaned
forward and made urgent sounds.  "MMMM! MMMM!"

Peter glanced at her in the mirror.  "Still trying to escape?"

She nodded and strained at her bonds.  Ah, the feel of rope on her
wrists!  Good thing her husband was on a business trip.  Her son
wouldn't notice if she had red marks on her body when she picked him
up, but her husband might.  Maybe.  He was so oblivious to her life and
her needs.  When she complained he said he was distracted because of
the reorganization and his new boss, and when things settled down he'd
have more time for her, but the truth was, he just didn't care.

Peter had to stop at a light.  He took the opportunity to reach back
and fondle her.   He caught her right nipple between his hard knuckles
and kneaded it roughly.  "NNNN! NNNN!" she squealed.  When he did that
her legs went weak.  Fortunately he'd tied her so she couldn't fall.

"When we get to the job site I'm going to leave you here while I deal
with the inspector," he announced.  "If you can escape while I'm gone,
fine.  If not..."  He checked his watch.  "We have about two hours to
continue your slave training."

He squeezed her nipple, and Bev nodded happily, thinking of all the
projects around the house that needed an electrician's expert touch.

THE END








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