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From: bonkgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Serendipity Tales #1 - by bonkgirl (M/f, D/s, exhib, humil, blackmail)
Date: Sat, 31 May 2003 15:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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=========================================================
Hello,

The story you are about to read is a work of fiction. Certain elements
are loosely based on real people and real events however they've been
embellished for dramatic effect and all names of people, places and
other identifying details have been changed. This and many of the
stories I write contain themes of non-consensual sex and forced
submission along with blackmail and other activities which are illegal
in real life. Please note that the real events surrounding everything
written by me were all entirely legal and all people participating did
so within the framework of "safe, sane and consensual" as defined
within the BDSM scene to which I belonged when the events took place.
I hope you enjoy my tales. All feedback may be addressed either to
alt.sex.stories.d or by email to bonkgirl@[NO-SPAM]yahoo.com

Adrianna
(c) 2003
=========================================================
Serendipity Tales - #1

It's been a busy day! When I read Mr C's email warning this morning I
felt a terrible sinking feeling; a sudden realization I might be
deeply disappointed. He warned if I neglected to perform any of the
daring challenges he'd set for me simply to hasten the ultimate
humiliation I knew would come eventually, he'd withdraw from the
blackmail game I'd spent close to two years painstakingly plotting for
myself. Even though I'd only known Mr C for less than a week, I
already knew instinctively he was just the man to make my long-held
fantasy a reality - to have my boss at work serendipitously discover
my secret desire to surrender myself to him in any way he wanted. It
had become an obsession and so the thought of having everything fizzle
because of my own stupidity preoccupied my thoughts throughout the
rest of the morning.

Much of the morning was spent doing nothing much at all besides
lounging around reading the weekend papers with my husband. While
reading the papers an idea suddenly struck me as I was browsing one of
the Arts sections. A small advertisement soliciting students for life
drawing classes due to begin next month reminded me of a proposition
put to me earlier in the year - a proposition I'd all but forgotten
until this morning. I should probably quickly explain something about
the library where I work.

Whenever I tell most people I'm a librarian they invariably think
immediately: librarian - public library. Most times I don't even
bother denying this assumption because doing so forces me to admit I
actually work in a library which is infinitely MORE dull for the
average person than a regular library. It's a research library
specializing in art history and conservation and attached to an art
college which means most of our people I deal with every day are
academics and occasionally students who have a deeper interest in art
history than is offered by the college (which actually has Modern Art
as its main focus - Californian Philistinism at its highest level!)
Oh, and every now and then we'll get visits from art dealers or
auction house agents looking for inside information on an infantile
abstract pastal piece which some shyster is trying to unload on them.
But I digress.

Earlier this year a tutor from the college came into the library
searching for information on somethingorother and during the course of
our conversation he asked me if I might be interested in modeling for
one of his life drawing classes. The question came right out of the
blue and if I hadn't known he worked for the college I would have
considered the question to be a laughable pick-up line. Thinking back,
it probably was partly a pick up line. It's not like he looked
attractive to me or anything although I'd always thought he was quite
an affable guy; an air of ex-hippy/beatnik about him and a kind of
sparkle in his eye which made it easy to overlook his greying baldness
and underestimate his fifty or so years by half. Anyway, I was so
susprised by the unexpected proposition that I laughed him off and
never gave it another thought. It was only out of politeness I took
his card and while it was a challenge three months later to find it in
the 'black hole' which is my handbag, I found it and bravely decided
to try and get in touch with him.

I had to wait until after lunch to be alone in my apartment (my
husband had tickets for the Dodgers game this afternoon and it was
after lunch before he went to have a few drinks with friends and later
to the game with them.) Eventually I plucked up the courage to dial
the cell phone number on the card given to me by the art tutor,
Jeremy. My chest constricted and my stomach knotted nervously with
each ringing tone so that when he finally answered I felt like I could
hardly breathe. It's almost a sickness with me but I can easily
remember every person I've ever met. Jeremy clearly wasn't anything
like me in this regard and I felt like I was making an idiot of myself
until he finally twigged to who I was and why I was calling.

Anyway, we ended up talking for quite a while and, he had to make a
call or two and get back to me, but he managed to put off the regular
model for his classes tomorrow morning and another Tuesday afternoon.
In case it's not already clear, Jeremy tutors 'life drawing' classes
and I will have to pose nude in front of a group of college art
students for each hour and a half long class. It was difficult to
contain my enthusiasm, unlike Jeremy who sounded quite blase about the
whole idea of women posing nude for his classes. In fact he even
warned me most models actually found nude modeling to be the dullest
and most tedious of all the modeling assignments and that I should
bring a book to read so as not to die of boredom. If only he had an
inkling of all the wild thoughts that were racing through my mind!
Which book do you think I might take along? Well, thinking back to
what Mr C had said about me fulfilling my obligations with regards to
the little challenges he'd set to see me embarrass or humiliate
myself, I've decided to take Pauline Reage's 'Story Of O' to pass the
time while everybody is staring at my nude body! I feel so exhilerated
with the excitement of it all that I can barely type at the moment.
There's still a slight logistical problem for me in that Monday's
class begins at 11am and Tuesday's at 4pm which means I'm going to
have to rearrange my lunch times. Tuesday is the least of the problem.
I can cut work early if I start earlier in the morning that day.
Monday is slightly more tricky in that I only get an hour for lunch,
the class is an hour and a half and it will take me probably fifteen
minutes to get across to the college to be there on time to begin the
class. Thankfully my boss is not too demanding with regards to when I
take my breaks and it shouldn't be a problem taking two hours in the
middle of the day as long as I begin work earlier in the morning and
stay back a bit later in the afternoon.

So, after getting all worked up about what lies ahead for me tomorrow
I decided to refresh my memory of the challenges Mr C had set.
However, there was still one other thing which had been occupying my
thoughts for the past 48 hours - the challenge that Mr C had made
clear I had to do as punishment for forfeiting an earlier, relatively
more simple challenge. To strip completely naked, lock myself outside
my apartment and then go and ask the landlord to let me back in. Being
as excited as I was I knew I could have quickly brought myself off
right there and then but I reminded myself of one of the other
challenges which made it clear I wasn't allowed to do that. Besides, I
also knew my enthusiasm for the task I was about to do, not to mention
the total lack of rational thinking ability I have when I get this
excited, would quickly vanish once I orgasmed.

I dashed into the bathroom and undressed as quickly as I could. My
whole body felt electrified as I stood naked in front of the bathroom
mirror. I brushed my hair and pulled it back into a tight ponytail
before applying make-up to my face; a light dusting of rouge for my
cheeks; a little mascara to accentuate my eyes, and some bright red
lip gloss that seemed totally inappropriate for wearing Sunday
morning. I sprayed my neck, breasts and stomach and even the insides
of my thighs with a mist of my favorite perfume 'White Linen' and as a
final touch, carefully brushed my swollen nipples with some rouge to
highlight the manifest state of their arousal.

My knees threatened to buckle under my trembling weight when I opened
the door to my apartment and cautiously stepped outside onto the
deserted hallway. My apartment is on the third floor of an old four
story building - one apartment per floor; two small shops (now
offices) on the ground floor and the landlord who also owns the
building living in the top floor apartment, which has access to a
rooftop garden with views back across the valley. I didn't even stop
to think as I gently closed my apartment door; it was like being
possessed by some uncontrolable outside force which forced my arm to
pull the handle. The sound of the latch clicking into place, locking
me outside, seemed louder than usual. Maybe I was just more aware of
it? Whatever the case, I felt a rush of instant excitment knowing I
now had no choice but to journey upstairs and face the landlord.

The old wooden stairs squeaked quietly under the threadbare carpet as
I made my way up to the landlord's apartment on the floor above. I'd
never really thought much about him before. I rarely ever saw him and
in all of the three years my husband and I had lived in the block, I'd
never had a reason to go higher than the third floor. Now, not only
was I going up to this seemingly forbidden floor above, I was
completely naked!

I don't know what I expected to see. The fourth floor was every bit as
non-descript as the floors below except the carpet on this level was
noticably less worn than the floors below. The door to the landlord's
apartment didn't look much different from my own; small tarnished
brass door knocker below a spy hole; modern silver keyholes to
deadlocks above and below an old fashioned door knob; an italicized
beaten brass number four on the door. There was no sign of life; the
whole building seemed so silent as to be deserted.

The landlord, as far as I could remember from what my husband told me
about him, was an old widowed guy, supposedly loaded with money but
living alone and never entertaining visitors or anybody for that
matter. On the few occasions I'd seen him in the building he'd
reminded me of an older version of the actor Roddy MacDowell. He just
seemed to have one of those 'eyes too close together, stunned
expressions' on his face whenever I saw him or nodded any kind of
acknowledgement on the rare occasions we passed on the stairs.

I stood at the landlord's door doing nothing for a long moment before
nervously rapping my knuckles a couple of times. Then I held my breath
and listened. Nothing. Again I knocked, a couple of times each time a
bit louder. Still nothing. I began to feel a mild panic coming over
me. It hadn't occured to me he might not be home! I hugged my bare
breasts and hips, feeling the warmth generated by my excitement slowly
draining from my naked body. I had avoided the brass doorknocker
because I was afraid of being heard by anybody on the lower floors but
now I was forced to use it. The tack-like rat-a-tat-tat of metal
against metal resounded loudly through the entire apartment block even
though I barely touched the thing. Finally! The sound of movement
inside.

I waited for the moment I was both dreading and anxiously eager to
come. Nothing. I pressed my head against the door and quietly called
"hello?" through the door. Nothing. Perhaps I'd imagined the sound
inside. I grabbed the doorknocker again and, steeling myself for the
noise, knocked four or five times in a short, loud burst of nervous
impatience.

"Who is it?" a voice came from inside.

My moment had come and I felt immediately light headed, breathless and
dizzy. I tried to speak in a normal volume and told him I was the
neighbor from down stairs and then stood back from the door, assuming
he would try and check through the spyhole before opening the door.
This became the hardest moment. I sheepishly covered my nakedness with
my hands but there would have been no chance of him not realizing I
was nude unless he was totally blind. I could sense him looking at me
but again he asked "who is it?" I could feel my face now burning with
embarrassment.

"I'm from downstairs - I've locked myself out of my apartment," I
called back. I heard the snibs of the deadlocks turning and watched as
his door creep open an inch or two; a length of chain stopping it from
opening wider. Try and imagine Roddy MacDowell's pointy nose, close
set eyes and "that expression" gazing back at you like a strange and
distorted Jack Nicholson's face in the poster for The Shining and
you're some of the way to imagining what I saw! I had to repeat myself
yet again before he finally closed the door briefly, unhitched the
chain and then opened the door more fully.

He seemed to think he was on Candid Camera or something because he
kept looking past me towards the stairs behind. I smiled a crooked,
embarrassed smile and explained I'd locked myself out of my apartment.
His only reply was "like that?" There wasn't any real surprise in his
expression and this was unnerving for me. "Yes" I said, blushing more
deeply. He didn't ask anything else. He just stood there for a long
moment silently summing up the situation; his small, beady eyes
darting up and down me and then past me to the stairs. It was
difficult to read what he might have been thinking. He appeared to be
taking the whole thing seriously or at least with an indifference that
suggested he was neither amused or serious. When it seemed like we'd
reached some kind of impasse, I had to ask if he had a spare key to
let me back in to my apartment. "Yes" he said, still staring at me for
a second or two before suddenly shuffling back into his apartment,
closing the door until he re-emerged a minute or two later.

It wasn't until the landlord suggested I 'lead the way' that I felt a
proper tingle of excitement. I kept my hands clamped modestly over my
breasts and pussy as I walked ahead of him back down the stairs to my
apartment. I wondered what he must have been thinking as he followed;
whether he was watching my bottom jiggle with each step I took;
whether the sight of me completely naked like that might actually be
arousing him. Once I got to my door I looked back at him and glanced
down at the front of his baggy trousers. There was clearly a bulge
there; not very large, but the vague signs of an erection. I quickly
looked away, not wanting to be caught staring but at the same time
hoping he'd notice me staring and see that I was highly aroused by the
embarrassment of being caught naked by him.

The landlord stepped up to my door and searched through the small
bundle of keys in his hand. He unlocked my door, saying nothing as he
let me back in to my apartment. Then, without looking back,
disappeared back up the stairs to his his own apartment. I can't
believe it - I DID it! The perverse satisfaction I'm feeling right now
is impossible to describe. The whole embarrassing experience didn't
last more than five minutes in total but I expect to be high on the
sexual euphoria it created for hours!

--
ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"Serendip is not reached by plotting a course for it. Instead you must
set out in good faith and lose your bearings serendipitously" - from
The Sinbad Saga

http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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