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Message-ID: <43335asstr$1057907406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimsonp@nym.alias.net>
Subject: {ASSM} (New) Dawn of Time [119/157] (MF+, bond, control) {Crimson Dragon}
Date: Fri, 11 Jul 2003 03:10:06 -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 119

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(C) Copyright 2002 - All Rights Reserved

Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)

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

He awoke, disoriented, two weights pressing gently against his
shoulders. The soft scent of clover infused his nostrils. It took
him a moment to realise that the weights were heads, and the sweet
scent of clover rose from soft feminine hair intermixed upon his
chest -- strands of brunette and crimson.

Leigh mumbled something completely incoherent as he quietly shifted
from beneath her. Kate made soft noises of complaint as he gently
moved her head from his shoulder to the pillow. Carefully, he pulled
the covers back over the girls, and padded to the sofa. There,
Monique lay, still tied to Andrea, their bare skin touching at the
hips and breasts. Despite all her protests, Monique slept, her eyes
closed, and her ribcage rising and falling. Her fingers twitched
occasionally behind her back. Andrea looked more peaceful, her head
propped against the sofa arm. He grimaced, sure that the girls would
be sore when they awakened, but not able to do anything about that
at the moment. He turned towards the last girl. Nicole's eyes
fluttered open as he approached, and she smiled. She pulled at her
bound hands for a moment, but then relaxed as he placed his fingers
against her lips.

"Shhhh," he said. Nicole nodded, and he released her mouth.

"Good morning," Nicole said in a whisper.

"You can sleep a little longer, if you like," he said.

Nicole nodded, almost thankfully, and lay her head back down. He
tucked the blanket around her nudity, and kissed her gently on her
uninjured cheek. Nicole smiled again, and before he even had
straightened, she seemed to fall asleep again.

A flash of her screaming in night terror touched him, and he
shivered for a moment. This girl was never going to be peaceful.
Ironically, as she sat in a living room chair, naked and handcuffed,
it was probably the most comfort that she'd enjoyed since returning
to this house after dropping out of school.

With a small sigh, he padded from the room, and into the kitchen.
Noon sunlight lit the room. It felt wrong -- the light should have
been more on the horizon, filtering in with cool rays of morning
light. He shrugged, and opened the refrigerator.

He stood without moving for a moment, his head cocked to the side,
almost as if he were listening for an intruder.

She was back. Her presence lay exactly at the mental coordinates in
which he'd left her. Linda, the girl in the honeymoon suite, had
returned to his control. Even from here, he could wake her, and free
her into the hot tub in which she undoubtedly still lay. He didn't.

Almost in a panic, he cast about, looking for that shielded presence
- -- the girl. Dawn. The one of the dusty blonde hair. He wasn't
exactly sure, but he didn't feel her in the hotel suite any longer.
She'd released Linda back under his control, and disappeared, as if
she were smoke amongst the haze.

He stood with one hand upon the refrigerator door, cool air washing
over his jeans. The door rattled as he gripped it, the knuckles of
his left hand turning white.

Where? Where? Where?

Linda was back. Dawn was gone.

Images of Dawn crouching outside the gate, brandishing a shotgun
flitted through his mind. He narrowed his mind, like a searchlight,
casting closer to the mansion.

Oh yes, she was close. Not here. Not yet. But close.

He wasn't afraid of her. Her approach seemed -- inevitable. Fated.
Balanced. He wasn't sure. But he would have to meet the girl. She
might not like it, any more than he did, but somehow, it seemed
determined and unavoidable.

He didn't know where she was, or even if she truly existed, but a
sense of nervous anticipation rumbled through him. The door rattled
again, breaking his concentration.

A soft laugh issued from his lips.

He was fairly certain that he could stop a shotgun from firing. She
might control time, somewhat, but could she free a trigger if he
chose to freeze it? He envisioned a tug or war, shifting the balance
of time between two -- him and her. In each iteration of the vision,
his side of the celestial rope shifted away from hers, tightening,
pulling Dawn forward through brute and uncompromising strength. If
he were so strong, though, why couldn't he pinpoint her presence?
Why?

Worst case, could he not simply raise a shield of frozen air about
himself, stopping the bullet before it reached his heart?

What if she shot before he saw her?

He shivered. Not likely to happen. Somehow, he knew her, almost as
if she were a sister, or a close lover. She wouldn't shoot him, not
without provocation, not without confrontation. Not Dawn.

He relaxed a little, even though he had no idea of how he knew with
so much certainty that she was no danger to his person.

She was coming. Oh, yes. Dawn approached. He could sense her,
vaguely through the mists. She was real. And she was coming.

He bit at his lower lip, and reached into the refrigerator. The
door snicked shut as he rested a container of orange juice upon the
counter.

Dawn approached. And when she finally made the pilgrimage to him, he
would be ready for her. He had to be. For the sake of everyone.

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

He carried the glass of orange juice carefully. Though it didn't
much matter if he spilled it -- not here and now -- habit guided his
arm and hand as he stepped into the living room where the girls
continued to sleep peacefully.

His penis throbbed almost painfully as Leigh turned over. The
blanket fell from her skin, revealing a single bared breast, peeking
out from the tangle of the covers. Her breathing continued, soft and
steady.

Yes. He wanted her, and she was so available, and even willing.
Leigh, and Kate, and Andrea, and Monique, and probably even Nicole.
If he wanted, all he need do now was ask them. Each girl would
gladly satisfy his every whim, within limits. And for some of them,
sex was within their limits. Oh, yes. Bound. Naked. Helpless. And it
aroused him. Without question his power over them aroused him.
Painfully.

He didn't understand why he waited. It was more than simply an
unwillingness to force himself directly upon their bodies. Rape was
an ugly word, but he wasn't stupid. Even standing here, watching
them sleep, bound, was probably technically rape, if there were
judges and lawyers and police to make that determination in an
unbiased manner. In the very least, sexual assault, and those were
ugly words, too. He wasn't stupid. If it weren't for the timeline
aspect, he supposed, the thought of doing this to the girls would be
completely unacceptable. Keeping them in chains, helpless and naked,
against their will, unconscionable. Somehow, and he didn't
understand it, he had carried over the old inhibitions. Rape was an
ugly word, no matter where one stood, no matter how it was
rationalised.

He could rape them -- but did he want to? That was the question.

His feet whispered over the carpet silently, the girls blissfully
unaware of his early presence. They had reason to be tired, and he
was more than willing to let them sleep. The pit in his stomach
suggested that they might very well have a trying day ahead. Let
them sleep in.

He turned at the doorway, watching them again.

Leigh's nipple rose and fell, lifting the sheet gently in cadence
with her sleep breathing. Her nipple tempted him, called to him. His
penis ached in response, demanding. He wanted to sigh, but didn't.
Leigh and Kate and Andrea and Monique and Nicole were exceptionally
beautiful in their own ways. He'd kept them. Forced them. Done
things to them and with them that fell beyond the realms of
controlling fantasies. And he was aroused. He wanted them all.

But was it enough to cause this?

His penis throbbed, and while it throbbed in rhythm with Leigh's
rising and falling breast, he was sure that there was more to this.

Dawn.

He felt her, joined to her, even if he couldn't sense her. She was
suffering somewhere, though he didn't fully understand. But it had
to do with his state of arousal. As she moved closer to him, through
the mists of Time, his arousal become more and more in control of
his being. His concentration was flagging, and the control over Time
would become tenuous as she approached.

With a flash, he understood. Somehow. She was aroused, not so much
from the control, as was he, but more because of what she'd seen,
had to do to survive in this strange and mixed up world.

Something similar was happening to Leigh, and Kate, and maybe Andrea
and Monique. Time control was changing them, changing their hormones
in strange and arousing ways, to the point of tears of sexual
frustration. And he was keeping them from satisfaction, with the
purest form of control.

He sighed.

Dawn approached. Might even be here.

His penis ached.

He glanced one last time at Leigh. He was tempted to cross the room
and cover her again, but he knew that his will at fighting the
impulses was weakening. He needed to think. To approach Leigh now,
would be to ravish her. And while it had its appeal, that ugly word
rose unbidden from the depths of his mind. It did nothing to quell
the ache, but he slowly turned away, walking through silent
corridors towards the back of the house, leaving the tease of the
naked girls safely sleeping in the living room.

God. His penis ached.

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

He sipped at his orange juice, gazing out across the expanse of the
estate that he'd co-opted into his base. The immaculate lawn rolled
away from the house ending in well tended gardens.

Coming from outside, one would never presume that Nicole might be
suffering untold and very real torments within the confines of this
perfect palace. He sighed again, and sipped at the orange juice.

He sat in the junction of the wall, the bay shelf, and the oversized
window itself, enjoying the mellow warmth of the unusual
morning-noon sunshine. Except for the height of the sun, it was
morning. His belly rumbled, complaining that the orange juice simply
was not enough to maintain the energy level required to keep the
universe in check.

He would have to wake them soon. He doubted if the girls would mind.
Someone would know how to cook breakfast and his belly rumbled
assent.

He shifted his position, draining the last of the juice and setting
the glass on the shelf beside his thigh.

Dawn was approaching. Might even be here already.

The gardens beyond the glass of the window remained silent and
still.

She was out there. Somewhere. Dangerous. Uncontrolled.

(Beautiful.)

Movement caught his eyes, and he gasped, unaware of the tightness in
his strung muscles. His eyes darted across the cropped lawn.
Movement? Where? Where? Where?

After a moment, the movement repeated itself.

A black squirrel rose up on its hind legs, searching for food, or
company of which it might never find. Not here.

His body relaxed, and the squirrel scampered through the blades of
grass towards the front of the house, something there catching its
attention.

He picked up the glass. He could have one of the girls retrieve the
glass later -- any of them would have performed the small, safe,
task without complaint, but he hefted the juice glass in his left
hand and swung his legs down.

Dawn approached. She might even be here already.

Not much he could do about it yet, but a plan began to form within
his mind. He didn't think the frightened girl would approach and
knock on the door. Oh no. In fact, if she were smart, she would
never even show herself. And if there was one thing he was certain
of, Dawn wasn't stupid either. No. There would be no knock on the
front door. There would be no announcement of her presence. At
least not until she was ready. And by then, a bullet might be racing
at his head.

The glimmering of a plan coalesced, and he smiled.


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