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From: bonkgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Lunchtime Rendezvous With Serendipity - by bonkgirl (FF/f, blackmail, humil, anal, nc)
Date: Sun,  1 Jun 2003 05:10:06 -0400
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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
=========================================================

Lunchtime Rendezvous With Serendipity

I used to like surprises. I still do, I think, but lately they've 
come to be something entirely different than the ones I looked 
forward to as a child; the anticipation of birthday treats; the 
Christmas trinkets left under the tree supposedly by Santa if I'd 
been a "good girl" throughout the year. Of course, I always expected 
something and as I got older I could almost predict what the surprise 
might be such was my parents' inability to keep secrets from me. But 
the surprise I'd been told was due today was something quite unlike 
any before. The only foreknowledge I had of what to expect wasn't a 
casually dropped hint of something nice to come - it was a warning. 
Not a threat, althought that's now always implied since the blackmail 
game I created for myself escaped from my control. No, it was an 
ominous sign; a pointer to the direction I was expected to take 
unless I wanted to suffer unpleasant consequences which, ironically, 
were ultimately of my own creation.

The package addressed to me and delivered by courier just after 10am 
this morning was brought into my office by my young assistant David. 
It was almost impossible to hide the sudden and overwhelming feeling 
of dread I felt when he handed it to me; he even noticed it enough to 
question me as to what it might be to which I had to answer in a way 
that assured him it was nothing; I'd been expecting "it". There was a 
brief, frightening moment when I thought I might be forced to open it 
in front of him such were his manifest concerns the small, anonymous 
parcel might contain something sinister which should be brought to 
the notice of the FBI. I laughed off the suggestion; a nervous, 
unconvincing laugh, not because his concerns were unfounded - sadly, 
it's a different world today and such concerns are taken most 
seriously - but because I had to consider the possibility that 
perhaps David might know a whole lot more than he was letting on. The 
moment eventually passed and David left my office to resume his work 
outside leaving me to ponder his involvement in the whole clandestine 
operation against me.

There was no escaping the fact I had to open the package as soon as 
possible; to prepare myself to follow the instructions Mr C had 
told me the package would contain. With my heart pounding heavily and 
pulse racing, my trembling hands picked and snipped with scissors at 
the tape seal of the package. Once the seal was broken, I carefully 
prised open the lid and nervously peeked inside the box, much like a 
child expecting a spider or something worse to spring out. It wasn't 
much of a relief when the first thing I noticed was a small bundle of 
short, black leather straps - five in all - for my wrists and ankles 
and longer one which the note informed me was a collar. They were 
much simplier and lighter in design than the heavy leather set I kept 
in my handbag. There really wasn't anything at all to them: each 
short length of half-inch sueded leather nothing more than a strap 
with small D-rings on each end to be secured with small brass 
padlocks, also included, but without keys supplied. The note 
specified they weren't to be locked until the straps were in place. 
The keyring enclosed held just one key; a large deadlock style of key 
to the door of a place, directions for which were supplied with the 
note. The note was very specific in its instructions.

I was instructed to remove whatever underwear including stockings or 
hose I was wearing and cuff my wrists and ankles with the straps 
supplied. Similarly, I was to collar myself and then check to ensure 
each of the five small brass padlocks were securely fastened. It was 
clearly stated I was to do this immediately and without delay as my 
every action was being watched and there would be penalties for non-
compliance. My pantihose and briefs were easily slipped off under my 
desk but I had to slip out to the bathroom to deal with my bra, which 
couldn't be removed without first taking off my blouse. Once I 
returned to my office I cuffed and collared myself, feeling a small 
twinge of guilty pleasure at the sound of each small padlock clicking 
locked to secure the items in place.

The final part of the instruction was perhaps the most alarming. It 
said I was to drive to the address given to arrive there precisely at 
noon. Once there I was to remove the rest of my clothing - ALL of it -
 before proceeding to a door which "should", if I'm at the right 
place, be directly in front of the car parking space identified for 
me in the accompanying pencil sketch of the building and its 
surrounds. I spent the next hour and a half sitting in my office 
dreading this part of the plan and began to have doubts as to whether 
or not I could go through with it once I got there. But as the hour 
approached to leave, I steeled my nerves and strode briskly out of 
the library, praying the whole time nobody would stop me and notice 
the cuffs or collar which, as discreet as they were, felt like the 
only things I was wearing as I left the building.

I'm not a confident driver at the best of times and so the drive to 
the unfamiliar location was harrowing. I was acutely aware of the 
fact I was not wearing any underwear at all and thoughts of being 
involved in a car accident or some similar mishap where this 
embarrassing secret might be revealed played heavily on my thoughts 
and made the drive even more nerve wracking. But eventually I made it 
to my destination. Under normal circumstances I might have breathed a 
sigh of relief to be out of the traffic but the sight of the stark, 
weathered door in front of my parking space reminded me my journey 
was just beginning and the most arduous part of it still lay ahead.

The old brick building was not much more than a garage with an upper 
story; a tall, narrow structure; the facade windowless and layered in 
the peeling, smog stained whitewash of decades of neglect. It sat 
alone on the corner of a large block which appeared to have been 
cleared for redevelopment at some stage but which had since become 
overgrown again with the debris of urban life in the industrial area 
surrounding. I sat in my car staring through the windshield for a 
long while at the door; this portal to perversity, I thought to 
myself, trying to allieviate the profound anxiety attack I was 
suffering. Thoughts of Marilyn Chambers and the movie "Green Door" 
also flashed into mind, although the door in front of me was 
distinctive only in the way the grafitti which spread seamlessly 
across the front of the building seemed to camoflague it.

I checked the address one final time, comparing the sights around me 
to those marked on the rough map supplied and made sure I had the key 
ready. I placed it along with the neatly folded airline sleeping mask 
also supplied on the dashboard. The nearest activity of any kind 
appeared to be a construction crew breaking for lunch on a building 
site down on the next block; vehicular traffic was conspicuous by its 
absence. All seemed even more distant after I removed my glasses; the 
ones I need for driving. I'd memorized the instructions back in my 
office but I still double checked, just to make sure I hadn't 
overlooked anything. I hadn't.

It felt strangely erotic to quickly strip out of my skirt and blouse 
in my car, struggling between the seat and the steering wheel for a 
moment but eventually wrestling free. The sudden cool air that 
enveloped me the moment I opened the door a stark reality check that 
I was completely naked; the feeling of the cold concrete underfoot as 
I rushed brazenly from my car to the door enlivening the whole 
sensation of being naked outdoors. If I'd been wearing clothes I 
might have paused at the door to have one last look around; the note 
made it clear I was being watched but by who? And from where? I 
fumbled with the key, my heart threatening to leap from my mouth 
until the tumblers finally yielded to my panicked wriggling and 
twisting of it in the lock.

Inside the building looked even smaller than it had from outside; the 
room, barren of any decoration or furniture. My senses were 
immediately piqued to an overwhelming, sickly sweet scent hanging in 
the air; a familiar odor not smelled for a long time but which 
instantly brought back a flood of mixed feelings and a rush of 
crippling dread. I knew right then and there, at that exact moment, 
that Mr C was about to play his trump card: he'd set me up to be 
humiliated by the one person I'd both fantasized most about 
surrendering to and feared most about discovering my darkest desires 
in reality - Lana!

I felt a desperate urge to run back to my car and escape but I knew 
it was now far too late for that. She would have already seen me 
arrive; she would have seen me enter the building naked; she would 
have been briefed by Mr C on all my hitherto secret fantasies; 
she would have seen pictures he'd supplied her as proof, just as he 
had done when he set me up for Jeremy and Karl. In short, she would 
know absolutely everything she needed to know to punish me for 
interfering in the affair she had with my husband; to torture me in 
every way imaginable for having the ordacity to look down on her as 
if I was her superior in any way merely because of my education and 
upbringing. How desperately I wished it was all a dream; a pleasant 
fantasy from which I could easily escape. But the wheel had turned 
and I knew I was about to be broken on it. Even the fanciful little 
code I'd devised as part of a harmless little fantasy game - "just 
say Serendipity sent me" had been twisted against me. In my mind the 
thrill of the surprise was always supposed to come in some benign 
setting with built in escape clauses; opportunities to make denials 
of all knowledge of any such code; to carry on my "innocent" act 
while silently reveling in the illicit thrill. But now I was supposed 
to speak the words - to call them out loud like a broadcast to invoke 
my own Nemesis in a winner-take-all game. As I stood there, body 
shaking uncontrollably, I looked at the blindfold in my hand and saw 
in it the only salvation I could think of - I can close my eyes and 
hide behind the mask so I never have to admit I saw this coming. It 
was almost impossibly to vocalize the words but they 
came: "Serendipity sent ME!"

Time lost all sense of meaning, lost in the darkness behind the 
blindfold; my arms folded behind my back; my back to the door. I 
called again a second time, this time more confidently as my 
confusion swirled around the possibility that perhaps I'd talked 
myself into this state of hysteria. The blurring lines between 
fantasy and reality were clearly really taking a toll on my mental 
balance. But just when I thought it had all been an elaborate rouse, 
the sound of the door opening behind me exploded any delusions of 
escaping with my modesty battered but intact.

My nostrils immediately caught the heady smell of the cheap perfume I 
distinctly remembered enveloped Lana like a cloud wherever she went. 
It took my breath away as did the sudden fright of feeling my wrists 
being grabbed; the leather straps unexpectedly clipped together; the 
cold sensation of a chain brushing against my spine between my 
shoulder blades as my hands were hitched up to the back of the collar 
I was wearing. I remember starting to blubber incoherently, begging 
for some rules to be established; begging not to be hurt. I could 
hear the sounds of more than one pair of heels on the concrete floor 
and realized Lana wasn't alone. Not a word was spoken; the terror 
became palpable in my throat; a swollen dry lump which blocked off 
oxygen to my brain and caused my head to spin with dizziness.

I could feel myself becoming unsteady, losing my balance as hands 
grappled with my ankles; my feet forced widely apart on the concrete 
floor; the leather bracelets around my ankles tightening as they were 
clipped to some kind of spreader bar. All the while I kept pleading 
for things to stop; pleas which were ignored completely. Hands on my 
shoulders held me still until my ankles were secured; I don't know 
who was doing what; I imagined two women at first but there more have 
been more.

When the hands dropped away I was left for a long while just standing 
there, legs spread, shackled and vulnerable. I listened for every 
sound; anything which might give me a clue to the identity of those 
in the room. I could hear the hushed clip-clop of high heels moving 
around me; circling me; stalking me like predators about to pounce. I 
turned my head this way and that trying to follow the footsteps; my 
hearing acutely sensitized to every sound no matter how small. I 
could feel the shadow of somebody close behind me before the cold 
touch of something hard and slippery bumping against the undersides 
of my ass cheeks. I instinctively flinched, tensing my buttocks to 
repel what I quickly guessed to be a dildo of some sort; not an 
ordinary one, but quite obviously a strap on one. Small, strong hands 
gripped the soft orbs of my cheeks and spread them, holding them 
obscenely open like that while the tip of the dildo was seated in the 
crater of my anus. I knew what was about to happen and it terrified 
me.

My two tormentors began working in tandem; the one behind jerking her 
hips gently to force the thick bluntness of the dildo to spear my 
spincter; the one in front holding my hips to prevent me bucking 
forward and away from the assault. I tightened my resistence, 
fighting and struggling desperately. not wanting to surrender but 
knowing if I didn't the whole attack could be prolonged indefinitely. 
I thought if I yielded just a little I might be spared; I might 
endure some pain if it meant not being seriously hurt. In my 
confusion I tried to remind myself it wasn't the first time I'd had a 
dildo in my ass. My own 7" one had been there, sunk right to the 
base. But that was different. I was gentle with myself; taking it 
slowly and knowing I could withdraw it the moment it caused me any 
significant pain. But once I relaxed just that tiniest little bit, 
the strap on rammed hard and deeply right up into my bowel, feeling 
like it was thumping against the underside of my lungs. I started to 
scream and sob but a hand clamped tightly across my mouth. And then I 
really felt a surge of terror.

I had never imagined Lana to be anything less than a nasty sadist and 
in my fantasies about her this even held some kind of perverse, 
inexplicable allure for me. However, standing on the tips of my toes, 
legs spread and shackled, feeling totally overpowered and the agony 
of being so roughly sodomized, that fantasy pleasure vanished. 

I don't actually remember much of the detail about what happened 
after that - the pain was searing; burning and surreal in its 
intensity in my ass. A woman did eventually speak; the woman in front 
of me - I didn't recognize the voice at all. I could feel her hands 
on my breasts; her fingers pinching my nipples, teasing them with 
alternating caresses and then a twisting that I feared would rip them 
from my chest. She demanded I stop screaming, which was near on 
impossible when each time she made the demand she emphasized the 
urgency of it by twisting harder and encouraging Lana to drive the 
strap on even harder into my tortured anus.

When I finally managed to obey, which was really simply because the 
pain had passed that threshold to the point where I was almost 
unconscious, the hand over my mouth was released and I was allowed to 
whimper and sob quietly while she massaged my breasts. The continual, 
unceasing friction hard in my burning spincter was sharp contract to 
the almost pleasurable caressing of my breasts; her hands slowly 
expanding their circles to glide over all of my front while the slow 
assault continued behind.

Her voice became calm; seductive almost. She began asking me a 
question repeatedly; hypnotically - "you like this, don't you?" It 
was so incredibly perverse the way she asked - her voice soft and 
singing in tone; like a mother coaxing a child to eat brussel sprouts 
by planting the seed of positive suggestion into its head with a 
seductive, reassuring tone in her voice. The pain was killing me but 
I eventually found myself so lulled by her voice I timidly agreed.

This guilty admission brought forth a stinging, blinding pain 
suddenly to my clitoris. The tone of her voice instantly changed to 
one of overbearing, almost angry intensity as she ridiculed me, 
calling me a "slut" and other derogatory insults as she whipped my 
pussy. The thin fronds of the whip bit with excruciating pain - much 
more pain than I was feeling in my behind, although the hard rod-like 
dildo wedged there forced me to not move away from the whipping as 
much as I desperately wanted to. I was so confused. Just as suddenly, 
her voice would drop back to the soothing tone, encouraging me not to 
deny my pleasure. This little cyclic ritual was repeated ad infinitum 
until I no longer had any idea what was going on and, without the 
least bit of warning it was about to happen, my whole body spasmed 
and shook with an orgasm of such intensity tears of shame literally 
gushed from behind the blindfold.

In the minutes following, after the strap on was finally removed - an 
action which almost made me sick with the thought my guts might be 
sucked out along with the vacuum it created - I was eased down on to 
the hard cold floor; my wrist and ankle cuffs released from their 
positions by not the straps around them. I'm still wearing them now 
as I sit in my office recounting the story for you, numb from the 
day's "adventure" and so thoroughly and utterly humiliated by what 
happened that I fear I won't ever be able to look another person in 
the eye again.

--
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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