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Message-ID: <42096asstr$1051330209@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [065/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Sat, 26 Apr 2003 00:10:09 -0400
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Author's Shortened Preface:
====================================================================

In the interests of reducing bandwidth the full preface is now 
available at:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

I would encourage you to read it at least once. If you ignore
the full preface and end up offended, you have nobody to blame but
yourself. Caveat emptor. The really important bits:

This is a work of erotic fiction. As such there may be scenes with
nudity, sex, and even questionable non-consensual bondage. If you
are a minor, or you are irresponsible at any age, you shouldn't be
reading this -- find somewhere else to play. I won't be offended.
If you are looking for a quick stroke story, this probably isn't
it. For a piece of writing of 157 chapters, there is remarkably
little sex. You've been warned. Twice.

This is an original work, copyrighted by the author, Crimson Dragon.
Please do not use it as if it were your own. Enjoy the writing, but
do not archive or sell it in any manner without my written
permission. I'm easy to contact if you wish to redistribute my
words.

Lastly, I thoroughly enjoy hearing from people reading any of my
stories. Feel free to contact me with raves, rants, encouragement or
dissertation (note the lack of invitation for spam). I do try to
reply to all who are kind enough to drop me a note.

Now, if you are still with me, onto the story,
 - Crimson
   (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Crimson_Dragon/www

====================================================================

Dawn of Time - Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

Chapter 65

====================================================================

(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

====================================================================

Dawn lay, breathing hard, but still concentrating on the book in
front of her. The cover was ripped in two places, probably where it
had collided with the wall above the headboard when John had chucked
it at her head.

The book didn't help her, except in the therapeutic way that reading
had always helped her. Hawking was brilliant, and if he were awake
with her now, his wheelchair sitting across the room, and his
scratchy voice synth echoing in her head, she had no doubt that he
could figure out the mechanics of this strange and silent world.

But Hawking wasn't here, was he? She was alone, lying on her bed,
tired from the walk here, exhausted from the simple act of releasing
and opening her own front door. Thank God, she hadn't closed her
bedroom door this morning on her way out. She'd had to squeeze
through, her breasts rubbing at the doorframe uncomfortably, but she
had made it. Thank God, she wasn't overweight either.

Her legs disturbed the air as her bare feet swayed. Her eyes never
stopped scanning the pages. Every so often, her fingers flipped a
page, and she would sigh.

Her belly rumbled, and she wondered what, and how, she would eat.

                         <---===***===--->

She cried out as first one, then another, stripe of pain seared into
her breasts.

(Oh God, no.)

Involuntarily, she screamed out in pain and frustration, curling up
into a ball. Hawking's text rattled off the edge of the bed as her
arm brushed it, clunking to the hardwood in a solemn heap.

(No. No. No. No. No. I didn't try to merge. I didn't.)

(Too late, Pandora. Too late.)

Her wrists seared pain into her; it felt like her entire weight was
hanging from her hands, pinned far above her.

(To a basketball net????)

A name floated to her out of the haze of red, hot pain in her
breasts and wrists. Kate. It was a familiar name. The girl from the
cigarette visions, on the bench. Her mind had a familiar kiss, like
that of a lover.

(Christ. Christ. Christ. That hurts.)

Kate hadn't screamed, somehow, even with the two strokes from the
crop. Dawn had.

(Crop???)

(Kelly.)

"Please don't hit me again."

"Why ever not?"

(Because I'm a fucking human being, and I hurt?)

"They're tired, and scared. They're trying goddamn it."

(Who?)

"Tracy stopped. I even warned her. Twice."

(Tracy??)

"She can barely move. I'll take the punishment. I will. You know
that. I don't have a choice. But she can't move anymore. Let her
out."

(The pain isn't important, Kate. Tracy can't take much more.)

Screaming, and cradling her breasts beneath her sweatshirt, Dawn
yanked herself out of the vision. Drawing her legs up to her
breasts, she hugged herself and cried.

                         <---===***===--->

(Not again. Please not again. My poor breasts.)

Her wrists actually hurt a great deal more than her breasts did,
though she could see an angry red stripe slashing across her bare
breasts when she glanced down with Kate. She couldn't control her
crying, or shaking, trying to rise up on her toes to alleviate the
pressure on her wrists. But her ankles were tied, and that made it
so much more difficult. Her calves screamed at her.

(Her breasts? Not mine. They don't even look like mine,
 slightly bigger, larger nipples and younger. And a thin red stripe
 slashing across them. Oh, God.)

Through eyes blurred with tears, Dawn could see another naked girl,
hands tied above her, ankles bound with rope. The Timeman approached
her, lightly waving the crop.

(Leigh. Leigh Cook.)

(Where the hell did that come from?)

In a flash, Dawn realised that the girls, both Kate and Leigh, were
tied the same way, that her wrists were in agony because she was
practically hanging from metal handcuffs, as Leigh was. Tied to damn
basketball nets.

He seemed to be talking to Leigh, his back turned to her.

Without warning, the crop struck Leigh, though only once. Across
the breasts. Of course. A tingle of sensation cavorted through
Dawn's nerves, and Kate's.

(Oh God. Oh God.)

In the real world, Dawn snatched her hand from her own lower lips,
caressing gently through her jeans, but it had felt sweet. Oh yes.

He hadn't swung the thing as hard as he had against Kate's breasts,
but Leigh screamed anyway. Dawn, cradling her own protected breasts,
sympathised with the bound girl.

(Why was he hitting them?)

(Someone stopped. Simple.)

Dawn drew in a sharp breath. Six other girls, all pretty, all naked,
and all horribly bound in hogties were slowly rocking across the
hardwood floor of the gym court. Each had a look of determination on
her face, to match the grimaces of obvious discomfort.

(Six? Lisa needs to touch my foot?)

Leigh wailed, as if she were being tortured by the Spanish
Inquisition. All girls had different tolerances to pain, Dawn knew,
and she was sure that Leigh felt exactly like that. A witch, strung
up to be tortured into confession.

Her tormentor said something to her, and stepped away and towards
  (bleachers? the audience??? Oh, God.)
  the stands, where Karen sat quietly watching the game.

The vision faded without Dawn's interference.

Her bedroom swam back into focus. Her breasts still stung, and she
was sure that if she lifted her top, that an angry red stripe would
be across the top of them, perhaps another gracing the curve of the
skin on the bottom, despite the impossibility of the crop having
reached her here.

She didn't lift her top, but sat quietly, trying to concentrate, not
searching for the bluish haze, and trying to prepare for the next
tug. It wasn't over, she was sure. Her breathing rasped in and out
of her lungs.

                         <---===***===--->

The pain remained in her breasts, but it was fading. She sat
uncomfortably in a hard plastic chair. Her ankles felt strange, the
familiar, and yet unfamiliar, tug of metal
  (hobbling)
  restricting her movements. Her ankles were sore from
misplaced, and overextended steps. The girl wasn't used to walking
in a hobble. Dawn wasn't either.

She was naked, again, her hands handcuffed behind her back and
behind the chair. Kate sat across the table, her hands in handcuffs,
her face pale and frightened.

"With your fingers, Kate."

(Fingers?)

"Why?"

"I'm already handcuffed, naked, tied into the chair by my fucking
ankles, feeding her. Please let us at least eat like normal human
beings."

"Would you prefer to eat without your fingers? Or perhaps off the
floor?"

(Like a doggie?)

"Please, no."

Kate slowly picked up a small piece of lettuce, and touched Dawn's
lips.

(I'm Leigh, not Dawn.)

Leigh hesitated, echoed by Dawn. In the silence of her bedroom, Dawn
parted her lips, a stab of hunger rumbling through her belly. The
lettuce was sweet and cold. Leigh chewed slowly, savouring each
flavour of the food.

Dawn swallowed, though nothing but saliva satisfied her real hunger.

(At least he was letting the girls eat.)

(At least he wasn't hitting them any more.)

(Doesn't he ever let them dress?)

(Why would he?)

She pushed, and returned fully to her bedroom, her bottom against
the soft covers instead of the hard plastic of the cafeteria chair.

                         <---===***===--->

(Ugh.)

Something dripped from her hair, and dropped gooey to her bare
shoulder. The sharp odour of vinegar permeated her nostrils. She
gagged at the sensations. Curiously, she could taste chocolate.

"Oh God. That is so gross," Leigh whispered.

"Yuck," Kate echoed.

Dawn couldn't agree more.

Then came the ketchup, squeezed in a single line adorning her aching
breasts.

Vinegar, sharp and invading overrode the more pleasant aftertaste of
the chocolate. A dribble had made it past Leigh's lips and the girl
reacted as Dawn would have. She spit, discreetly, while he was
turned pouring ketchup on Kate's bare breasts. It didn't clear the
taste completely, but it helped. Leigh pressed her lips together
more firmly, until the worst of the condiments had slipped from her
hair. She wished that she could at least wipe her face, but with her
hands bound as they were, she simply had to sit in her chair and
suffer.

(I lost the race, didn't I?)

(What race???)

In the safety of her room, Dawn's fingers combed through her
relatively clean hair and wiped at her sweatshirt just above her
breasts. The sensations and smells of condiments coated her fingers.
She shook them, trying to rid herself of the gunk. But it stayed,
just at it did for the real girls suffering it.

With a sigh, Dawn wondered about the food thing, but managed to push
herself again from Leigh's consciousness, before he decided to cover
the poor girl in tuna fish, or something.

                         <---===***===--->

Wonderfully warm water sluiced over her hair and body.

Her wrists ached, and her nipples were uncomfortable as if she'd
been lying against them while sandpaper had rubbed them.

(Not Leigh. Not Kate. Who now?)

Some distant shared memory appeared. The naked girl in front of her
was ... Tyler ... a brunette of considerable beauty accentuated by
the warm water cascading over her trim body. Tyler played forward
for the opposing team. She didn't even go to this school.

(Tyler had won the race, hadn't she? Not really. I did.)

Dawn's fingers rubbed bar soap into the girl's hair while she sighed
in pleasure, and began to massage it into a thick lather of white.
The soap dropped, but Lisa
  (Lisa?? Dawn???)
  didn't bother to pick it up.

(He might be watching. Best not to bend over, wasn't it?)

She didn't understand why she was in a communal shower, washing
another girl, but she wasn't alone in her task. Four other girls
were washing each other, laughing. Each girl had deep rope marks on
her wrists and ankles, but it didn't seem to faze any of them. They
seemed genuinely happy to be in the shower.

(Why am I in the shower?)

(Because I needed one?)

(Why am I washing Tyler?)

(Because he demanded it.)

Tyler's skin felt silky smooth beneath her fingers.

Dawn's moan echoed through her bedroom, nobody there to hear it, or
wonder what the girl was seeing. Her clitoris pulsed as her hands
continued to slowly move through Tyler's hair.

Dawn moaned again, and managed to push free once more.

                         <---===***===--->

Her breasts ached, and she sat up sharply. Her mind, confused,
glanced around the bedroom. Her bedroom.

With a start, she yanked her hand from beneath the waistband of her
jeans.

(No. No. No.)

Her breasts were covered in ketchup and goo, and her hair ran
stringy from her head in red and green tinged waves. Her shoulders
stuck to the inside of her sweatshirt.

She swung her legs from the bed, her bare feet cool against the
floorboards. Her feet whispered across the floor, as she held her
arms away from her gooped body. The grime had even run down between
her legs.

(Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.)

She stood before the full length mirror. Her sex throbbed, as she
expected to see herself with condiments spread across her nudity.

Her image, clothed in a sweatshirt, and jeans, her hair blonde and
radiant, stared back at her.

(Not real. Not real.)

But she could still feel the sting of the crop, welts burned into
the flesh of her breasts. The smell of vinegar, and ketchup
overwhelmed her.

(Not real. Not real.)

Slowly, she lifted her sweatshirt. Her bra covered her breasts, but
there was nothing there. Only her. Only Dawn.

A tear squeezed from her eyes and ran down her cheek like vinegar.

(I don't want this. I don't want this.)

In one quick motion, she tossed the sweatshirt onto her bed. Her
jeans, panties, and bra followed. She stared at her nakedness for a
few minutes before she walked purposely towards the bathroom.

                         <---===***===--->

Would it work?

Knowing her luck, it wouldn't. Where would the pressure come from?
Where would the hot water come from? In what land of insane physics
could a shower possibly work without time?

(Paradox prevention, Dawn my girl.)

With an effort, nothing short of Herculean, she pushed her bubble
again until she felt it intersect with the shower wall. Inside the
wall, she could feel the pipes, and the mists of time converging.

(What was there, will be the result. Effect and cause,
 all mixed up.)

It didn't make any sense to her. She wasn't sure that it *could*
make sense. She stepped aside, rising on her bare toes to avoid a
possibly scalding spray. Slowly, she twisted the knob counter
clockwise.

She almost screamed, as warm water, wonderfully warm water fell. She
stepped under the spray and laughed.

                         <---===***===--->

It filled her mouth. She swallowed. It filled her mouth again. The
water was warm, and didn't taste particularly good, but she drank
deeply of it.

(Can I get another tap to work?)

She didn't know the answer to that, but the water falling from the
shower head quenched the thirst that she didn't know that she had.

The sensations of the condiments washed away with the touch of the
spray, but the phantom welts from the crop remained, though subdued,
upon her bare breasts.

She soaped quickly, and washed her hair.

She could almost believe that this was a normal day, a normal shower
in a normal house. If her nipples, and her clitoris, and her breasts
didn't ache quite so much, she wouldn't have known that this shower
was any different than any other that she'd ever taken.

                         <---===***===--->

With a start, she yanked the wonderfully soft water from massaging
her intimately. Gasping at the loss of sensation against her
clitoris, she stumbled and pressed the hand held lover back into its
slot.

She touched the temperature control, pushing it further towards
blue. The water falling over her head immediately began to cool
until it was positively cold.

It wasn't as cold as what Leigh and Kate had been forced to stand
under -- some red remained in Dawn's shower -- but as her teeth
began to chatter, she reached to shut off the flow, something the
other girls were denied.

As the water began to drip, and she lowered herself to the tub, feet
outstretched, her body shivering.

(Why, even after a cold shower, was her clitoris demanding
 attention?)

She'd always had a healthy interest in sex, but this was ridiculous.

(The visions. The other girls.)

She shook her head, water dripping from her hair across her bare
shoulders.

(The visions. You have to stop the visions.)

She sighed. She knew that.

                         <---===***===--->

She was naked, her bare feet whispering through a doorway. She had
no idea which girl she was this time, but she thought it was Kate.

Slowly, she and the other girl turned. Her hands were cuffed,
relatively comfortably in front of her. The sight of the handcuffs
on her wrists drove more desire into her sex. She tried to ignore
the sensations.

The two double doors though which Kate, or Leigh, and Dawn had
passed began to close.

"Good-bye," the girl whispered.

They wouldn't be coming back here, and she was going to miss it.
She'd been tied there, and suffered there, but it was familiar. Now,
the world beckoned.

Slowly, the girl turned from the closed doors and hurried after the
Timeman.

The vision faded as quickly as it had begun.

                         <---===***===--->

She tilted her head back against the tile, sighing.

She didn't know where they were, or what they were doing, but she
couldn't sit naked in her bathtub all day. She'd escaped the
classroom, escaped the college, and managed to get herself clean.

Her sex throbbed, as did her nipples.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, careful not to slip against the
porcelain. No doctors here either. And she doubted if the Timeman,
even if he were aware of her presence, would be anxious to help her
if she were hurt.

He'd probably whip her, if he could get his hands on her. The crop
sinking into the flesh of her breasts.

She reached for a towel, remembering to extend her time bubble to
encase it. She stared into the fogged mirror for a long time before
she wiped the mist off it, and her naked image stared back at her.

"I have to find them," she whispered.


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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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