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From: Foxbat <foxbat00@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} The Long Trip (Mf nc?) by Foxbat
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Date: Tue, 11 Mar 2008 03:10:01 -0400
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The Long Trip (Mf nc?) by Foxbat


Disclaimer: This story contains graphic sex should not be
read if such stories are illegal in your state, or if you are a minor.

Please feel free to distribute this, on the condition that the
disclaimer and author's name remain intact and unaltered.

For previous parts, or other stories of mine, please check out
my website (thanks to ASSTR) at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/foxbat/www/ where
you can find all of my work as well as some recommendations.  All
the content is also available via ftp at www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/foxbat/


Feedback, comments, suggestions, etc are always welcomed and
appreciated at foxbat00@gmail.com

-------



The Long Trip (Mf nc?) by Foxbat




   Janet dropped her keys on the small shelf by the door and kicked off her
heels.  Her feet were sore and she was exhausted from her weekly travel as a
consultant.  It felt good to be home now - she was looking forward to a
quiet weekend in sweatpants before the next hectic week.

   Leaving her suitcase by the door, she turned the corner towards the
kitchen/living room of her small apartment.  She had to blink her eyes for a
moment before she could be sure of what she saw:  her kitchen table, draped
with a white table cloth and gently lit by two stately candles, white china
set out, steam rising from under the bottom edge of several sterling
plate-covers.  A bottle of wine was opened (squinting, she noticed it was
not one of hers), and a glass had been poured for her.

   "What the fuck..." she wondered out loud.  No one had a key to her
apartment, and she certainly wasn't dating anyone.  Her family lived in
another state, and if they had done this it wouldn't be so romantic
looking.  In her tired state, her brain couldn't get over the fact that this
was real.  She walked to the table, touching the wineglass as if to reassure
herself.

   At the precise moment that she realized that whoever had prepared this
meal was probably still lurking in her apartment, a firm yet quiet, deep
voice instructed her to sit.  She did.

   A man stepped out from the kitchen.  He was dressed in black, tastefully,
with sharp watchful eyes and a smile so thin as to seem almost an effect of
the lighting.  He quickly closed the distance between them, and held her
chair as she slid in.

   "Eat."

   "Who are you?"

   "Eat first, and then we will talk."  Janet was under assault from the
smells emanating from table in front of her:  the rich and savory smell of
meat, reminiscent of Thanksgiving in its golden perfection, delicious and
delicately flavored soup, and the floury smell of freshly baked bread.
Without second thought, Janet ate.

   ***

   Never had she eaten so well.  Each time she finished something, he would
come in an reveal the next dish.  The portions were small enough, and, with
each successive dish, the flavors seemed more vivid, animated, more
explosive.  She tasted the texture of the food, and felt the interaction of
tastes in a synesthesiastic way she never had before.  Her wine glass was
never empty, and by the time the chocolate desert torte was placed before
her, her mind had entirely given itself over to the tastes and sensory
overload.

   ***

   She stumbled up the stairs on his arm, the potent mixture of drugs that
he had laced into the dinner were in full effect.  She was talking; he said
nothing, but escorted her upwards to the second floor of the duplex.  She
lurched towards the bedroom, but he deftly guided her into the bathroom and
towards the toilet.  He had drawn a full bath earlier, and its gentle scent
tickled her nose.

   "I want to take a bath," she said suddenly, looking at him.  He just
smiled.

   "First you need to use the bathroom, and then I need to make you
beautiful."

   "I want to be beautiful," she said.

   ***

   When she was done using the toilet, he came in again, and helped her
stand.  Her balance was affected, as was her sensory perception, but her
memory would not be.

   "Let's get you out of those dirty work clothes," he said.  She raised her
arms over her arms over her head, and let him take her dress off.

   "I have some music for you... just relax and close your eyes and listen."

   He placed earbuds in her ears, and hit play on the iPod sitting on the
counter.  A loose velvet blindfold across her eyes marked the beginning of
the second phase of his plan.

   Using a cotton swab, he applied a very light topical anesthetic to her
nipples.  Setting a pair of gold rings on a sterile napkin on the counter,
he held the needle against the base of her nipple and watched the rhythm of
her breathing.

   ***

   She had never listened to classical music like this before.  The mournful
strains of an adagio performed by the French National Symphonic Orchestra
floated around her.  The feelings of the music became her feelings, and she
could almost feel each instrument - the horsehair violin bow dragging across
the strings, the air resonating inside the perfect cylinder of the flute.
As the music became sadder, she felt a slight pain as the feeling of the
music actually pierce her heart.

   ***

   He nodded approvingly to himself;  she was already shaved.

   The same anesthetic was applied to her labia, leaving her with two golden
rings and a third smaller one piercing her clit hood.  He cleaned each of
the piercings with antiseptic before gently removing the blindfold and
earplugs.

   "Bathtime," he said.

   ***

   Emerging from the bath, she looked down.  Her body was glistening with
bath oils and water, and sparkling with gold.  Her nipples were hard against
the cooler air of the room, and when he wrapped her in a towel, she felt
every pile on it gently drying her skin.  He pressed her hair in a towel
also, and she felt like a character out of the Iliad, a princess  in her
physical perfection.  Her breasts felt fuller and her hair more luxurious
than ever before.

   His strong hands guided her, naked, to the bedroom.  It too was lit only
by candles, and her normal bedclothes had been replaced by dark satin and
velvet, against which the four bright red silk cords emanating from the
corners stood out in stark contrast.

   She crawled onto the bed, wrapping her arms in the cords willingly, her
eyes closed, writhing against the softness of the sheets.  He stripped and
crawled on top of her.

   ***

   She felt his weight and warmth press on her, and her arms wrapped
themselves around him of their own accord.  He kissed her gently, and it
seemed to go on forever before he pulled away.  She could feel him pressing
and rubbing against her, every vein.

   "Put it in," his quiet yet firm voice commanded, right to her ear.  She
reached down, wrapped one hand around his [hot, thick, twitching], using her
other to make sure she was [slick, wet, warm, smooth, rings?].

   A sharp sting, echoing and reverberating like a gunshot in a canyon,
[red-hot] on her cheek.  "Open your eyes and look at me."  She opened her
eyes.  [veryclose, dark eyes, manly stubble].  She remembered she was
supposed to put it in.

   It was as if her entire consciousness relocated to her vagina - she felt
the friction of his penis against her labia on the first stroke; that
friction lessened on the next one from her wetness.  She felt her lips being
gently sucked in and gently pulled out by the slow thrusting.  His perfect
hardness moved in perfect rhythm.

   He slapped her across the face again.  He could see that the drugs were
drawing her inwards, into the sensation, but he wanted to keep a part of her
outside.  Her eyes locked with his, as he felt one of her hands beginning to
work her clit.  He increased his speed, fucking her hard, as she flushed.

   It was pure fucking pleasure - like a talented violinist drawing the bow
back and forth to create a seemingly continuous sound, his penis seemed to
produce pleasure at once dissociated with the underlying fucking and at the
same time completely comprised of the myriad of sensations that she was
feeling.  Suddenly, everything seemed profound, as if she had rushed out of
the forest to find her self standing at the edge of a cliff for a moment,
and then flying.

   "Remember that I'm raping you."

   Her eyes fluttered, rapidly gaining and losing focus of his sneering
face.  He hadn't stopped fucking, and her mind was utterly incapable of
handling the intellectual ramifications of RAPE.  Only the primordial power
of the word, punctuated by his thrusts, penetrated into her awareness.  She
shuddered in orgasm, unable to reconcile the intense pleasure, how special
he had made her feel against the shame of rape, and the innocently illicit
yet titillating feeling of having a cock inside her that wasn't supposed to
be there.

   "NNNNGGGGGHHHHHH!"  She spasmed underneath him, as he ground against her
pelvis, pinning her wrists, and forcing her over-stimulation.

   "You slut... you open your legs for any man that makes you dinner.  You
fucking cum on your rapist's cock.  Fuckmeat is all you are..."

   ***


   She woke up, feeling groggy, unsure of where she was.  Rolling over, she
felt the familiar scratch of her cotton sheets, not the silk and satin of
seemingly yestersecond;  no candles lit the room, only the harsh light of
morning. Moments ago, she'd been having the best orgasm of her life curtesy
of her dark stranger.  Her face reddened at the recollection of the dirty
words which still echoed in her head.  Her mind transitioned seamlessly to
casuistry - it was only a dream after all.  But a really hot dream, she
thought, as her hand drifted downwards, and perhaps good for one morning
masturbation session.

   Curling on her side, she slipped one finger between her lips to tease her
clit.  Adding a second finger, she pushed further down towards the source of
her wetness, freezing when her fingers encountered the two warm metal rings.




---


As always, I love to hear your reaction.  Ideas, suggestions (for this or
other stories), comments, and criticisms are welcome.

Yours,
Foxbat
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