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Message-ID: <55518asstr$1175443801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Dirty Old Pervert" <dirtyoldpervert@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Bedtime (M/f+, F+/f+, f-self, teen, highschool, slavery, incest)
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Date: Sun, 01 Apr 2007 12:10:01 -0400
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Bedtime
by Dirty Old Pervert (dirtyoldpervert@hotmail.com)
[archived at http://www.bdsmlibrary.com/stories/story.php?storyid=4963]

This is a work of fiction.  Any resemblance between the events
depicted in this story and actual events is not only unintentional,
but also a tad disturbing.

This story was inspired by an article I was refered to entitled
"Overcoming Masturbation" which was writen in an effort to persuate
people that masturbating is evil, and to give people advice about how
to resist the urge to masturbate. I found myself imganing how
opressive our society would be if people really weren't allowed to
masturbate.  So, I decided to write a story based on that premise.

For the record, this author (along with most of the rest of the world)
believes that masturbating is normal and healthy. Furthermore, this
author hopes that by inspiring this story, the authors of "Overcoming
Masturbation" have managed to cause as much masturbation as humanly
possible.

Enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Jasmine's bedtime, but she did not want to go to bed. In fact,
she desperately wanted to be anywhere but in bed. She wanted to go
with her friends, or do homework, or watch television, or do virtually
anything that did not involve lying in the dark between her sheets,
with nothing but her own mind and her own body to keep her company. If
she had her way, she would stay up until she was on the verge of
collapsing from exhaustion.

Jasmine's desire to stay up was motivated by something far more
intense than mere adolescent rebellion. Although she had engaged in
her fair share of adolescent rebellion in the past, she was far more
well disciplined these days. She had to be. The sensation of Daddy's
hand swiftly striking her bare buttocks was enough to make any girl
resist the temptation to misbehave. There had been a time -- before
Jasmine had been born -- when many would have considered a girl
Jasmine's age "too old" for a spanking, but that time had long sense
passed. Society had long since come to realize that a female never
completely outgrew the need for that form of discipline.

No, the demon Jasmine had to fight was far more insidious than a mere
desire to misbehave. Her tormenter was the powerful sensation she had
in the nether regions between her thighs. Her pussy demanded to be
touched -- to be manipulated -- to be penetrated. And it seemed that
with each passing day its demands became more and more unrelenting.
Usually, during the day Jasmine was able to resist the temptations to
give in to her urges by simply keeping herself occupied, and
distracted from her female instincts. Once she was up, her only real
moment of vulnerability was in the shower, when she had no choice but
stand under the warm, invigorating flow of water in the nude and
lather every inch of her own body. These days, she showered in a mad
rush, taking barely enough time to get herself clean.

But she could not rush through the time she spent in bed. She had a
bedtime, and it was strictly enforced. So, for hours upon hours she
had to lay alone, in the dark, between her sheets with nothing but her
own thoughts and her own body to keep her company. She wore nothing
but panties and a flimsy nightshirt when she was under the covers, and
pussy was so terribly accessible . . . and so terribly inviting.

But this night, as she crawled into bed wearing her typical,
insubstantial outfit, she reminded herself that she must keep her mind
off of anything even remotely related to sex. It was extremely
difficult to do that these days, as it seemed as if her entire life
revolved around her own sexuality, but she had to. She had to.

Horrible things happened to girls who touched their pussies.

Like most girls her age, Jasmine's ambition was to become an affluent,
powerful career woman with a large cadre of minions following her
every command to the letter and catering to her every need. Daddy was
quite wealthy and influential enough to make that happen for her, if
she could only make it through the next few years. She had to prove to
both Daddy and the world that the she deserved to be a free woman --
to be mistress of herself and others, and to take care of those who
were unworthy to make decisions for themselves.

A free woman was pure in thought and deed. She was governed by her
wit, her cunning, and her ambition. She was not governed by her pussy.
A free woman, it was thought, simply did not have the sorts of vile
instincts that Jasmine even now had trouble suppressing. Jasmine tried
hard to convince herself that she deserved to be a free woman, and
that she could overcome her urge to touch herself. Only sluts touched
themselves, and Jasmine knew perfectly well what happened to sluts.

Daddy kept several sluts in the household as maids, servants, and the
like. They slept on the cold, cement floor, each locked in her own
cell. Each wore a collar on her neck, with which she could be led
around on a leash if need be. The collars were surgically attached to
the skin, and could not be removed. Save for the collar, each went
completely naked. No jewelry, no makeup, nothing. That was the way
Daddy liked them. The only distinguishing mark each girl had was a
serial number tattooed to the inside of her left thigh.

As Jasmine thought about this, she glanced under her covers and stole
a peak at the inside of her left thigh. It was bare. That, thought
Jasmine, was what made her different from the sluts who slept on bare
cement in Daddy's basement. Her glance traveled above her inner thigh
to her panties, on which a small spot of moisture was already
beginning to form. Some of Jasmine's pubic hair could be seen from the
outside of her panties, and that, thought Jasmine, was another thing
that separated her from them.

Only free women had hair down there -- sluts had no hair anywhere
below their necks. Some sort of chemical was used to kill their hair
follicles once they were captured and processed. Jasmine did not know
all of the technical details; all she knew was that she was constantly
having to shave her legs and her armpits, while these sluts never had
to shave at all. Of course, the hair around Jasmine's pussy was
untouched -- that was a badge of honor for any free woman. But what
she wouldn't give to be able to use that strange chemical on herself,
so her skin could be completely smooth everywhere else . . .

"Stop it!" she mentally told herself sharply. "Don't even THINK that."
She had had to reprove herself in this manner a lot lately. She should
be just as proud of her need to shave as she was of her pubic hair.
That is what made her a free woman. "Hold on to that," she thought.
"You are a free woman. You don't need to give in to these disgusting
urges; you are above them. You are better than the sluts downstairs."

Actually, it seemed almost as if that pussy hair was more a curse than
a blessing. There had been a time when she was younger that her pussy
was as smooth and devoid of hair as that of any slut. Daddy had told
her that it was nothing to worry about. He had said that Jasmine's
pussy hair would grow, and it did. In those days, Jasmine had not had
nearly as much of an urge to touch herself. But as the hair of
Jasmine's pussy grew, so too did its craving for attention -- its need
to be fondled, manipulated, fucked.

At that moment, Jasmine was overcome by a fit of anger toward the
source of all of her problems; her pussy. She spread her legs and
smacked her pussy hard with her open hand, as if to punish it for
being bad. The effect was, if anything, the exact opposite of what she
had intended. Being smacked in that manner simply made her pussy crave
attention more intently. Jasmine drew her hand back and smacked it
again, but this time her hand lingered in the now much more moist area
between her thighs. Without even thinking about it, she began to
gently rub the area of her panties between her legs.

"What difference does it make?" thought Jasmine. "Even if I get
caught, they'd never Auction me at my age."

But that very thought made her suddenly stop short, and with a cold
tremor. It was nonsense, and she knew it. Girls Jasmine's age did, in
fact, find themselves standing nude on the Auction Block with an
alarming frequency. In fact, just a few months ago, it had happened to
her best friend Brianna.

Throughout their childhood, Brianna and Jasmine had been inseparable.
They had spent their afternoons and weekends together, they had sat
together in class, they had studied together, and they had played
together. In their youth, they had even occasionally played "doctor"
together, although at the time both girls were far too young to fully
understand the sordid nature of that particular game.

As they grew older, they also looked for boys together, but not with
much success. Jasmine had heard rumors of a time when boys and girls
populated the world in roughly equal numbers, but supposedly some kind
of plague or something had happened. All Jasmine knew was that far
more girls than boys were born each year now, and that it was said
that the same disease that reduced the male birthrate turned the
majority of girls into sluts. The only way to tell the difference
between normal girls and sluts, it was said, was based on their
behavior. Normal girls -- the ones who were destined to become free
women and enjoy wealth, power, and leisure alongside the men -- were
pure of heart and mind. Sluts, on the other hand, were base, vial
creatures who were ruled by their sexuality. Normal girls had no need
to masturbate. If you needed to masturbate, you were a slut.

Jasmine and Brianna had often talked of a future time when they would
both be free women, each owning twenty sluts apiece who would wait on
them hand and foot and do their bidding. They would have strong,
handsome husbands whose insatiable sexual appetites would be more than
enough to keep them both satisfied.

Sometimes, just for practice, Jasmine would bring Brianna down to
Daddy's basement to "play with the sluts." Both girls would have
endless fun taking turns spanking the sluts, whipping them, and
fucking them with Daddy's dildos. Daddy encouraged this, saying that
the sluts "needed the exercise." If either Brianna or Jasmine had ever
fantasized about what it would be like to be on the receiving end of
this sort of treatment, they certainly never spoke of it out loud.

Jasmine and Brianna had had most of their classes together, including
gym class. Their gym class consisted entirely of girls, with one
exception: Robert. Robert was a very well developed young man with a
deep, sexy voice and a heavy, muscular build. The mere sight of him --
especially in his gym uniform -- was enough to make any girl's spine
turn into jelly. One day they were playing volleyball, and Jasmine and
Brianna found themselves on the team opposite Robert, completely
dazzled by his masculine attributes. Of course, Robert's team won
easily, but it was hard to say whether it was due to Robert's athletic
ability, or his ability to distract the opposing players.

After that game, the girls hit the showers. There and then, it
happened. Brianna completely forgot herself, and began to finger her
pussy right there, in front of everybody. Of course, the Monitors
immediately rushed into the girls' shower and dragged her away for
processing. Jasmine did not know how she had managed to keep from
touching herself after witnissing this scene, but somehow she had
managed it.

A few months later, Daddy had taken Jasmine to the Auction, as he
occasionally did, and there she saw Brianna being dragged onto the
Block. They called her "Lot 47" rather than "Brianna," and she was
completely nude and hairless from the neck down, but it was
unmistakably her. Jasmine had wanted to bid on her, but Daddy had
forbidden it. He had said that Jasmine had been to close to her, and
that she would not treat her the way a slut needs to be treated.
Brianna was ultimately bought, it looked like, by Robert, the boy in
the gym.

Jasmine thought for a moment about what it would be like if she,
herself, were on the Auction Block, nude, with men from all over
bidding on her. These thoughts made her hand unconsciously find its
way to her pussy. When she noticed this, she decided to give up
resisting. "The important thing," thought Jasmine, "is not to get
caught. Be discrete about it. If you do it under the covers, and you
don't make any noise, nobody will ever know."

The girls downstairs in the cells may have to sleep on cold cement,
thought Jasmine, but they could touch their pussies as much as they
wanted. They were beneath reproach. And the men seemed to use them to
satisfy their sexual needs more than they used their own wives. Free
women were supposed to be pure, so presumably they didn't need any
attention paid to their pussies.

Now, Jasmine's hand was under her panties, and her fingers were
burrowing their way into her hole. "Just so I can relax and go to
sleep," thought Jasmine, who then concentrated on keeping quiet.

Jasmine had once witnessed Daddy force a slut onto all fours, with her
eyes blindfolded, her mouth gagged, and her legs spread wide apart.
His massive cock was out, and he was thrusting it into her from
behind. That, thought Jasmine, was the life of a slut. To be on all
fours for the pleasure of the man who owned you. To have his cock
thrusting into your pussy. What would it be like to have such a
massive cock being thrust into you, and to be powerless to do anything
about it? What would it be like to have a cock, daddy's cock . . .

Oh no! Was that a moan that she had just made? Even a soft moan could
be detected by the sensitive microphones that Jasmine knew were in
hidden her room. In the dark, it didn't matter what she was actually
doing, but any sound . . .

The lights in her room suddenly turned on, having been activated
remotely. Now, she knew that the hidden cameras could clearly see her
lying on her back, with her legs spread apart, and with her hand
inside her panties. There was no point in hiding it anymore; she had
been caught.

She heard footsteps coming down the hall. Any moment, Daddy would come
bursting into her room to take her away. He would be disappointed,
just as he had been when he had taken her older sister Erica away, but
he would come. He would strip Jasmine naked, he would spank her ass
until it was red, then he would ship her off to one of those
"processing centers" where she would be trained to be a slut. Then,
there she would be, on the Auction Block, being sold to strangers as a
mere piece of meat.

The thought filled Jasmine with fear, but it also filled her with
sexual excitement of an intensity that she had never before known.
After she violently tore off her panties and nightshirt, it was this
thought that finally brought her to her first, and last, orgasm as a
free woman.

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