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Message-ID: <42491asstr$1053159007@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [080/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Sat, 17 May 2003 04:10:07 -0400
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Author's Shortened Preface:
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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

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

Chapter 80

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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"... and she will become a partner ..." Johnson's voice trailed off
as confusion entered his eyes. Blake nodded his head towards
Johnson's left, and Johnson glanced over to see the gunman sitting
easily in the chair, gun aimed at his head. He froze, but even so,
he started at the sight of Monique sitting on the floor near the
entrance.

"You can't possibly get away with this," Johnson said slowly.

"Oh, I can, and I will, Mr. Johnson," the gunman murmured.

"What do you want?"

"What if I wanted all the money in the safe?" the gunman said. Blake
raised his eyebrows at this, but didn't say anything.

"I'd tell you to go to hell."

"What do you care? It isn't your money, is it?"

Johnson squinted his eyes, but they never left sight of the gun.

"I don't know the combination to the safe," Johnson said.

Blake spoke up at this point. "Johnson, don't be a damn fool. The
man is pointing a gun at you. You'd risk all our lives for some bits
of paper that are insured?"

Johnson turned towards the old man, cheeks puffing like a fish.

"I don't know the combination," he repeated.

"Do you see Miss Pelletier over there?"

Johnson nodded.

"If our friend here raped her repeatedly, or shot her in the head a
few times, would you perhaps remember it?"

Johnson shook his head, eyes pleading.

"Don't be a damn fool, Johnson. This guy is serious. I've seen his
type before. He doesn't want to hurt any of us, at least not in any
serious way, but he will if it gets him what he wants. If he wants
the damn combination, give it to him."

Johnson returned to look at the gunman. "You don't give a shit about
the combination, do you?"

The gunman smiled, and shrugged. "Of course, not."

"What do you want from me, then?"

"I want you to sit still while Monique handcuffs you."

"Like hell I will."

Johnson began to shake, and Monique moaned from where she was
sitting.

Blake spoke again. "I let him handcuff me. It isn't worth a bullet."

"So shoot me."

The gunman laughed a little, and brought the barrel up to centre on
Johnson's forehead. Then he lowered it to aim at his shoulder.
Johnson shook, but sat still.

"Don't be a damn fool. He's not going to hurt you or I," Blake said.
"I'm worried about Miss Pelletier, to be honest, but not you or me.
He'll keep shooting her, and you'll get to listen to her howls of
pain until you do what he wants. I've met people like him before.
Let him handcuff you, dammit, Johnson. Why do you always have to be
so goddamn stubborn."

Johnson sighed and sat back in the chair. He glanced at the woman
cowering by the door. The gunman leaned over and produced another
pair of handcuffs from the bag at his feet. He held them to the
side.

"Monique," he called again. The girl didn't hesitate this time, but
rose and grabbed at the chrome, walking over towards Johnson's
chair. She shot the gunman with another glance of severe distaste.
Interestingly, she gave Johnson the same look.

Slowly, Johnson placed his hands behind the chair back, and waited
while Monique knelt and cuffed him. When she was done, she ran back
to the door and curled back up on the floor, eyes averted from the
scene in front of her.

"So, if you don't want the money, what do you want?" Johnson asked.

The gunman smiled, and waved towards Blake.

"Blake? The old man?" A feral look entered Johnson's face, almost
like he would relish the old man's demise.

The gunman laughed. "Not him, he'll merely answer your question."

Blake looked confused for a moment, but then understanding lit his
features. He didn't look happy with the result.

"Miss Pelletier," Blake said. At the words, Monique moaned again,
but then fell silent.

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

"I will not take my clothes off. Never," Monique said looking up
from the floor. "Never."

"I can cut them from you," the gunman said quietly.

"Then that's what you'll have to do. I won't take them off. Not for
you."

The gunman shrugged and turned towards Blake. Blake shrugged.

"I'm not going to help you. Not with this one," the older man said
slowly. "I can't tell her to strip for you."

The gunman shrugged again and turned, the gun aiming at the seated
girl by the door. "Elbow? Knee? Ribs?" he said.

"This one is worth it," Blake said quietly from behind him. "This
isn't a matter of handcuffing an old man to a chair to prevent
trouble. If she removed her clothing, then she's opened up to all
sorts of nasty things, isn't she?"

The gunman turned, the gun wavering then falling to his side.

"Nasty things?"

"Rape. We deal with it all the time," Blake said quietly.

The gunman laughed and leaned on the desk. Real puzzlement cross his
face. "Why would I rape her?"

"You have to ask that? Why else would you want her to take off her
clothing?"

"That's simple, and if you think about it, you'll know why."

Blake seemed genuinely puzzled, but then he relaxed.

"You aren't going to rape her?" he said.

"I'm not going to rape her. Rape is barbaric."

"Some would say what you are doing here constitutes barbarism in its
worst form."

"You cannot understand the situation," the gunman said. "But it
isn't barbarism. Rape is barbarism. Even here."

"You aren't going to rape her?"

"Of course not."

"But you want her naked."

"I do."

"Will you give me your word?"

"What does my word mean here?"

Blake looked at him again with those calm grey eyes. "Your word,
young man, is all you have. I've known people like you before." He
seemed certain of his words.

He nodded slowly. "Mr. Blake, I give you my word. I will not rape
Monique."

He turned back towards the cowering girl.

"Miss Pelletier?" Blake called. "I know it isn't what you'd like to
do, but I do believe that he will not rape you if you removed your
clothing as he asks. I know that you haven't experienced the pain of
a gunshot wound, nor would I wish it upon you. But if I were in your
position, I would remove my clothing, and trust that it would be the
lesser of two great harms."

The girl shook her head wearily.

"Stand up," the gunman barked. His voice rapidly lost patience. At
the command, the girl did rise, stumbling to her feet. Her medium
heels wobbled for a moment on the carpet.

"Strip," he said. Almost automatically, her fingers began to finger
the buttons of her designer jacket.

"No," she said. Her fingers dropped to her side.

The gunman sighed, and raised the gun. She flinched, and then fell
to the floor as the gun discharged. The sound rang about the small
room, and chunks of dropped ceiling rained over her prone form.

"Monique!" Johnson cried, swearing as he pulled at the cuffs that
held him. "I swear, I'll kill you," he screamed at the gunman.

Blake's quiet voice cut through the ringing in everyone's ears.

"Miss Pelletier. If I were you, I wouldn't wait for the next one to
punch a sizable hole in your body, rather than the innocent
ceiling."

Crying, the woman pushed herself to her feet, brushing off the
chunks of plaster and insulation from her clothing.

"Please," she whispered. No blossoms of red sprouted from her body,
he'd aimed well above her head.

He lowered the gun to aim at her stomach.

"Miss Pelletier, I have no wish to see your blood," Blake said. "I
have no wish to see your nudity either, but please, if not for you,
for us, do as he asks."

"He'll rape me."

"Not all men are slavering imbeciles when a naked woman emerges from
her cocoon, Miss Pelletier. If Johnson were holding the gun, I would
counsel you otherwise, but this young man will not rape you. I hope
I'm not wrong, but I really believe that, or wouldn't counsel you to
obey him."

"He'll rape me."

"He'll shoot you if you continue this path. Agony will not begin to
describe what you will feel. Please, Miss Pelletier."

"Please don't make me do this," Monique said to the man holding the
gun.

"Naked. Everything," he said simply. "Even your jewellery."

Her body shaking, it took a moment for her to decide. But in the
end, her fingers rose to her jacket and began to remove the buttons
holding it together.


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reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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