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Message-ID: <40073asstr$1040814603@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Clayton Stillwater" <westbound80@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Cul-de-sac Christmas (bond, MF, cons > nc) 
Date: Wed, 25 Dec 2002 06:10:03 -0500
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Cul-de-sac Christmas
By Clayton Stillwater       westbound80@h o t m a i l . c o m
(bond, M/F, cons > nc)

Ellen went to the cul-de-sac Christmas party in a foul mood.
She'd gone to great effort to arrange sleepovers for all the kids
so she and Jeff could come home from the party and have the house
to themselves.  So what did the bastard do?  Let the company send
him to Atlanta to clean up someone else's mess.  He was going to
be there a week.  Which meant that, in addition to him missing
the party, she would have to buy all the damn presents, buy and
decorate the damn tree, write and mail the damn Christmas card.
Bah humbug.

It was the Bishops' turn to host the annual neighborhood gala.
Since she had nothing else to do, Ellen dressed up and went.
Glumly she trooped around the Bishops' house, admiring the redone
kitchen and the repainted living room.  Jeff worked all the time;
how come they couldn't afford to do this?  She was sick of her
corny blue and yellow kitchen, and living room walls decorated
with childish handprints.

Ellen knew almost everyone at the party.   The exception was a
bearded man. He dressed like the other suburban dads, in a
sweater and nice slacks, but somehow on him it looked like a
disguise, not banal reality.  He seemed intelligent.  And
unattached.  She watched him work the crowd.  He didn't touch
base with anyone, and no woman seemed concerned when he spent 15
minutes talking to Marla DeVries.  Intrigued, she waited until he
headed for the bar, then sidled alongside.

"I'm Ellen Pearson.  Who are you?"

"Gordon Jackson.  Pleased to meet you."  His grip was muscular.

"I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm house sitting for Peter and Carmen.  I'm Carmen's brother."

"Ah.  That explains it.  They're in the Caribbean, aren't they?"

"St. Johns.  Some people have all the luck.  Wine?"

"Please."  As he refilled her glass Ellen automatically posed for
him, back straight, chest out.  In college she had thought of it
as her toy-soldier pose: aiming her tits at the enemy.  She was
rewarded by seeing him glance at her chest.  It was nice to flirt
with someone without having to worry about Jeff swooping down to
bust up her fun.

They let the crowd move them away from the bar, and ended up in a
corner beside the entertainment armoire.  "So what do you do?"
she asked.

"Are you this inquisitorial with all strange men?"

"I have to make sure you're not a threat to our peaceful cul-de-
sac."

"Do you want to know my day job or my night job."

"Both."

"By day I maintain a VPN software network for Verizon."

"How interesting."

He rolled his eyes, as if to say, oh come off it.  "By night I
write pornography."

Ellen almost choked on her drink.  She barely managed to keep
from coughing.  "That's unusual," she said.

"It's not really a job, in the sense that I don't have to do it,
and no one pays me to do it.  But it's something I enjoy.  I
write erotic fantasies and post them on the Internet for people
to read."

He said this somewhat truculently, as if looking for an argument.
To her surprise, Ellen found the concept intriguing.  When Jeff
was on the road she had poked around in what she thought of as
the red-light areas of the Internet. Explicit photos did nothing
for her, but she liked erotic stories.  They got her imagination
going into realms Jeff would never take her.

"How do you get your ideas?" she wondered.

He shrugged.  "You know how they say men think about sex 80% of
the time?"

"Uh huh."

"In my case it's 90% of the time.  How can I not get ideas?"

"That means you're probably thinking about sex right now," she
batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.

"As it happens, I am," Gordon smiled. "I'm working on a Christmas
story."

"Does it involve a manger?"

"Hardly.  It's about an elf-girl...  Well, I don't want to get
too graphic.  But enough about me.  What do you do?"

This was the moment Ellen dreaded.  When she had to admit she was
a mom.  There were euphemisms she could use to make herself sound
like a strategic planner or transportation mastermind, but it all
came down to driving in car pools and watching basketball games
and overseeing homework.  Refusing to be pigeon-holed, she heard
herself blurt out, "I'm an artist."

"Oh?  What sort of art?"

"Multimedia conceptualism.  What is vulgarly known as performance
art."

"Multimedia concepts?  Like what?"

"In my last series I applied paint to basketballs and dribbled
them on white sheets.  It was a witty reference to euro-
harmonism, of course."

"Of course."  Gordon sipped his drink thoughtfully.  "Where can I
see some of your work?"

"It's all snapped up by private collectors.  I haven't exhibited
to the public for years."

Gordon nodded.  "Well, I must say, you have the most exotic job
of anyone I've met tonight. When I saw the invitation in the mail
I almost threw it away, because I wouldn't know anyone.  But I
was bored, so I decided to crash.  I'm glad I did."

Ellen was terrified that he'd quiz her about her oeuvre.  She
wasn't sure how long she could fake it, so she quickly moved the
conversation to local gossip.  Since Gordon didn't know anyone,
it was easy to point out her neighbors and dish up old dirt.
Marla's obsession with psychics.  Rachel's hypochondria.
Lizette's inability to keep a nanny.  He listened with amusement,
seemingly happy to bask in neighborhood trivia.  Were
pornographers really interested in such things?  How should she
know?  The grand total of the pornographers she'd met in her life
was one.

"I'm still curious about your elf-girl story," she said, when she
sensed his attention wandering.

"It's rather inchoate at this point," Gordon said.  "I have an
image: an attractive young woman, wearing only red panties, lying
in front of a Christmas tree.  She's bound and gagged, and has a
gift tag tied to her big toe."

"That's a striking image," Ellen said.  Gordon was watching her
face as he spoke; she couldn't help lowering her eyes modestly.
"What happens next?"

"I'm not sure.  I can see the ropes on her wrists and ankles..."
He took her left hand and pinched the loose bracelet, until the
metal links tightened on her wrist.  "How tightly should a woman
be bound?"

"The tighter the better," Ellen said.  Her fingers stroked his
arm.

He let go of her hand and looked at her perceptively.  "Want to
come back to my place and help me brainstorm?"

"Brainstorm?"

"Kick around some ideas.  I know this sounds odd, and I certainly
wouldn't ask any of these suburban mopes.  But you being an
artist and all, maybe you can help me overcome my creative
block."

"Sounds like fun," Ellen said.  "I'll get my coat."

And so they sailed out into the cold December night, footsteps
echoing on the quiet cul-de-sac.  The silence made Ellen nervous,
so she pointed out the bike ramp the kids had made, and where
they played hockey.  She was woozy from the wine.  She stumbled
once, and Gordon casually put his arm around her waist and didn't
let go.  She leaned into his side gratefully.  How many years had
it been since she left a party with a strange man?  In her
younger days she had a taste for adventure; where had it gone?
This was just a little flirtation, but it energized her in a way
she hadn't felt for years. If Jeff called from Atlanta and she
wasn't home, well, tough.  She had the perfect excuse: flying the
family flag at the Bishops' party.

Peter and Carmen had put up Christmas decorations before they
left on vacation.  There was a tree by the fireplace.  Gordon
helped her out of her coat and hung it neatly in a closet.  He
closed the drapes over the big picture window and turned up the
thermostat.  Unsure what to do, Ellen settled on the couch.  Did
he really want to talk about his story?  Man, if she'd misread
his intentions...  She was counting on at least making out a
little.

Gordon went into the kitchen.  "Would you like another drink?" he
called.

"No thanks," Ellen said.  "I'm fine."

"Good."  He reentered carrying a bundle of clothesline.  "Take
off your clothes."

If he'd tried to seduce her, she probably would have jumped up
and run right out of the house.  The thought of listening to a
stranger's fumbling sweet-talk was unbearable.  Giving her a
brusque order was exactly the right tone to strike.  Matter of
factly, Ellen removed her earrings and placed them on the coffee
table.  She peeled off her sweater and folded it.  Off with the
skirt, pantyhose, bra.  She was down to her red Victoria's Secret
panties when Gordon stopped her.

"Put your hands behind your back."

Ellen obeyed, and Gordon quickly tied her wrists.  Elbows.  He
laid her face down on the floor in front of the tree and started
on her legs.  He tied a piece of rope around her left ankle, then
bent her leg and tied the ankle to her thigh.  Gordon was
obviously enjoying himself; once the leg was tied he started
stroking her along the rope.  He didn't feel her up, but her cunt
tingled at the nearness of his hands.

"Has the brainstorming begun?" she inquired.

"Yes.  I'm getting some great ideas."  He started tying the other
leg.

"I didn't know pornographers used models."

"Well, I usually don't, but meeting an adventurous artist like
you seemed like a great opportunity to start."  He finished tying
her right leg and settled back, grinning.

Ellen tested her bonds. With only four pieces of rope, she was
captured. She strained and wiggled futilely.  It was strangely
relaxing to be so helpless.  She didn't have to spend one second
thinking about what he wanted or expected.  She could be passive,
and in her tipsy tiredness that was fine with her.

Gordon found a tag and wrote something on it.  He tied the tag to
the big toe of her left foot.  His hot breath tickled the sole of
her foot.

He went to the kitchen, and Ellen wondered how to behave.  Was
she supposed to try to escape?  To lie there and submit to her
fate?  Her experience in bondage games was nil.  She experimented
with working her legs.  By scrunching up and then straightening
out, she propelled herself forward a few inches.  Doing so rubbed
her breasts on the carpet.  She repeated the move.  The rubbing
stimulated her nipples, a little.

Gordon returned with a roll of duct tape and a hand towel.  He
seated himself cross-legged in front of her and began wadding up
the towel.  She was glad to see an erection bulging in his
slacks. "What's the tape for?" Ellen asked, although she already
knew.  She felt her first tremor of fear.  The ability to say no,
to inject a tone of scorn into her voice, to declare the game
over, were powerful weapons.  Once she was gagged, she was really
in his power.

The pornographer pulled down her jaw and methodically packed her
mouth.  "MMM!" she squealed.  Ignoring her protests, he crammed
the entire towel into her mouth, making her cheeks bulge,
trapping her tongue.  He sealed her mouth with strips of tape.
"NWNWN!" she moaned, rubbing her cheek on the carpet, trying to
loosen the tape.

"Stop that," he growled, grabbing her short blonde hair and
lifting her head to make the point.

"uuumm?"

"That's better.  Here's the situation.  You are a naughty elf-
girl who was a discipline problem at the North Pole.  As
punishment, Santa left you under my tree.  I have 24 hours to do
with you as I please.  After I use you sexually in any way that
suits my perverted nature, you will be shipped back to the North
Pole.  Is that clear?"

He gave her head a shake for emphasis, then let go of her hair.
Ellen nodded meekly.

"Good girl.  Lie here for a while and get into character.  Then
it's showtime."

Well, at least being gagged relieved her of the obligation to
make bright chit-chat.  Gordon blindfolded her with an in-flight
mask.  Unable to see, Ellen lay on the floor, listening to him
move about the room.  It sounded like he was sitting in Peter's
club chair.  She heard paper rustle.  Was he taking notes?  Good
grief, maybe he really was serious about using her as a model.
What a strange man.

Get into character?  She tried to think how a disciplined elf-
girl would behave.  Badly, she supposed.  Motivation?  Resentment
at working for a patriarchal pig like Santa Claus.  Too much
overtime in November and December.  When the elf-girl tried to
organize a union, Santa's goons kidnapped her off the factory
floor.

Ellen worked her legs and managed to roll over.  Lying on her
back hurt her tied arms, so she rolled again, and bumped into the
coffee table.  Wiggling and scooching, she inched into the center
of the living room.  She moaned plaintively, but that was just
acting; she was enjoying the situation.  The ropes were a kind of
unrelenting caress that made her body tingle with new sensations.
Sliding her pelvis along the carpet excited her bare stomach and
pussy.  Grunting industriously, she scooched toward the front
door (or where she imagined the front door should be), "escaping"
about as fast as a turtle.

She heard Gordon rise and approach her.  "Well, well, well, what
have we here?" he said jovially.  She felt him handling the tag
on her toe.  "An elf-girl?  And I get to keep you for 24 hours?
Thanks, Santa!  I must have been really good this year."

He removed her blindfold.  Ellen blinked at the light.  While she
was struggling, Gordon had removed his clothes.  His penis was as
ugly and grotesque as the average guy's.  They always made her
think of fleshy popsicles.  No wonder most people had sex in the
dark.  He sat down in front of her and peeled off the tape and
extracted the soggy wadding.  "Santa said you've been bad, and I
get to punish you.  You can start by sucking me off, bitch."

Ellen blushed.  For some perverse reason the humiliation, the
sense of being treated like an object, was exactly what she
wanted.  Dutifully she squirmed across the floor and into the
cove between his legs.  The angle was awkward, but he didn't help
her; he just looked down aloofly as she struggled and contorted.
She managed to lick his balls and the side of his penis, nuzzling
her nose into his sweaty musty groin.  Finally he condescended to
roll her on her shoulder and hold her head up so she could get
the tip in her mouth.  Ellen set to work eagerly, first licking
the head, then sucking him in until it bumped against the back of
her mouth.  Based on the jokes that went around, she knew that
women were not supposed to enjoy this activity, that they were
supposed to find it demeaning.  She'd never understood why.
Ellen enjoyed cocksucking.  There was something atavistically
satisfying about being silenced by a penis in her face.  She
liked feeling it swell up and grow hard on her tongue.  And if it
pleased the man....

Gordon thrust her head away.  "You call that a blow job?  God,
you're awful.  I see why Santa sent you to me."

"I'm sorry," she cringed.

"You will address me as Master."

"I'm sorry, Master.  What do you want me to do?"

Grumbling, he strode out of the room.  He seemed genuinely angry.
Curled on her side, Ellen reviewed her performance.  She hadn't
bitten him.  Was there something special he wanted?  It wasn't
fair to make her guess.

Anxiety growing, she waited.  Gordon returned a few minutes
later.  He yanked her bound legs and rolled her face down.
Grumbling, he untied the knots holding her ankles to her thighs.
When she straightened out her legs, blood rushed back in and they
tingled unbearably.  Gasping, she thrashed on the floor.  Gordon
slapped her legs to get the circulation going, then grabbed her
arm and tugged her to her feet.  His strength and sadism were
intimidating.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked.

"Shut up, bitch."

Downstairs, it turned out.  Peter and Carmen had a finished
basement.  One corner was set up as a gym.  Gordon dragged her to
a card table he'd placed under the chin-up bar.  He put a couple
of cushions from the sofa on it, then made her lie atop the pile.
The point, she realized, looking up at the ceiling, was to raise
her ankles to the chin-up bar.  He tied them there with strips of
sheet, then pulled away the cushions and card table.  Viola!
Ellen was hanging upside down.  She was terrified she'd fall and
break her neck, but Gordon had tied her securely.  Somehow he'd
even managed to do it so that the bindings were comfortable.  Her
face was at the level of his crotch.

"When I say suck my cock, I want to have my cock sucked right,"
he growled.  He batted her in the face with his hard penis.  "You
need more incentive, bitch."

He tied a rope around her waist, with the long end dangling down
in front, past her nose.  Then he pulled it between her legs and
through her cunt, and tied it to her bound wrists.  This meant
she could pull on the rope and stimulate herself, Ellen
immediately discovered.  The rope wasn't exactly in the right
place, but it was close.  She discreetly tugged it back and
forth, trying to get it on her clitoris.

Meanwhile, Gordon gagged her with a strip of cloth.  Then he
walked around behind her.  Suddenly she heard a swoosh, and a
long flat object slapped her across her bottom.  She screamed
into her gag.  Another whack.  Ellen struggled, which only made
her swing back and forth like an obscene pinata.

Gordon whipped her mercilessly.  She tried to protect her bottom
with her hands, but he only held them aside (which tugged the
rope deeper into her cunt, stimulating her even more).  He was
spanking her with a strip of molding, she realized.  It must be
left over from the remodeling.

Hanging upside down, clad only in brief red panties, bound and
gagged, being whipped to orgasm by a strange sadist, Ellen found
herself trying to catch a glimpse of the molding to see if it
would work in her living room.

*   *   *   *   *   *

When she came to, she was lying on the coffee table in front of
the TV in the basement rec room.  Gordon had tied her wrists at
one end, ankles at the other.  The position made her knees point
outward, revealing her bare pussy.  Where her panties had gone
was anyone's guess.  Gordon was sitting on the couch watching
CNN.  When he saw she was awake, he turned off the TV.

"It's about time," he said.  "I needed you to service me and you
were unconscious."

"I'm sorry, Master."  The last thing she remembered was yanking
on her crotch-rope, tweaking her clit, as the pain in her bottom
converged with the onrush of pleasure in one incredible mind-
blowing orgasm.  She glanced at her cunt to see if she'd damaged
it.  No, it appeared to be the same as always.  What an amazing
organ.  The things it could do!  Ellen let her head drop back.
She'd never realized!  She'd always known she was submissive.  It
had seemed somewhat shameful.  But if being docile could produce
orgasms like that...

He propped her head up on a pillow and sat on her chest, prodding
her cheek with his urgent penis.  Ellen obediently resumed
sucking him.  She was curious to see if she'd taste her own
juices on his penis, but apparently he hadn't fucked her while
she was unconscious.  Did that make him a gentleman?  Or was he
saving her cunt for later?

"Ah, that's better," he said, although she could discern no
difference in her technique.  Grateful to be horizontal again,
Ellen soldiered on, licking and whimpering.

She fell into a timeless routine, patiently caressing him with
her tongue and lips, as his balls rested on her chest.  When she
peeked she saw his eyes were closed, and a contented grin played
on his face.  From below, his beard reminded her of pubic hair.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the tube of meat in her
mouth.

Gordon came with a sudden thrust.  He pitched forward, grabbed
her hair with one hand, and fucked her mouth.  Ellen obediently
kept him in, and swallowed his cum.  Merry Christmas, she
thought.

He ruffled her hair like a man petting a cat and climbed off.  He
plopped down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee
table. "Not bad," he said.  "A few more weeks of training and
you'd be really hot."

"Thanks, Gordon."

He glared at her.  "Call me Master, bitch."

She frowned.  "This has been lovely, but I really must be going.
I told the babysitter I'd be back by midnight."

Gordon chuckled.  He stretched like a tiger contemplating his
next meal.

"I'm still thinking about my story.  Where does the protagonist
keep his captive elf-girl?  In the basement, of course.  Out of
sight, out of hearing.  But he'd have to move her occasionally.
There's something I want to try with you."

"Gordon, my babysitter--"

"Oh, can it."  He found the towel he'd used earlier and stuffed
it in her mouth, gagging her again.  Helpless to resist, Ellen
could only lie there on her back as he plastered tape on her
mouth and cheeks.  She tried to plead with her eyes.

Gordon began untying her right wrist.  "I know you're not an
artist."

Ellen froze.

"Marla DeVries told me all about you.  You're a housewife.  I
also know that you arranged sleepovers for your kids, and your
husband is out of town.  So I figure no one will miss you until
10 or 11 tomorrow.  Am I correct?"

Ellen frantically shook her head no.

"Nice try."  When her right arm was free, he brought it down to
her side, and set about tying her wrist to the side of her thigh.
Ellen didn't know where this was going, but it was apparent she
was still his captive.  Damn!  She figured once he'd come he'd
let her go.

"Yeah, I figure I've got all night to play with you.  It's funny
about sex.  I can have a real live woman in my bed, but the real
excitement is in my head.  What I'm thinking about doing is more
exciting than what I'm actually doing.  Isn't that strange?"

She nodded politely.

Gordon tied her left wrist to her left thigh and let her sit up.
She sat on the edge of the coffee table as he freed her ankles.
He made her stand up and take a few tentative steps.  Ellen found
she was mobile, but unable to use her hands.  In theory she
supposed she could make a break for it.  She'd have to distract
him, though, if she wanted to get more than a few steps.  While
she stood there debating what to do, Gordon fastened a dog collar
around her neck and attached a leash, so it became moot. He eyed
her nude body happily.

"What's really great about this arrangement is that I can fuck
you from the front or back," he said, patting her bare bottom.
"Come on, bitch.  Let me show you the master bedroom.  You'll
look great, lying in a big bed with your legs tied apart and your
cock-holder wide open."

Tugged by the leash, Ellen obediently trotted after her master.
Bound, gagged, and horny again.

THE END






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