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Message-ID: <61029asstr$1298398202@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Kenn Ghannon <kenn_ghannon@hotmail.com>
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Content-Language: en-us
Subject: {ASSM} Partial Submission 01/03 [nosex] | [Mf Ff FF MFf MFF inc bro sis D/s oral anal spank {Light BDSM} preg?]
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Date: Tue, 22 Feb 2011 13:10:02 -0500
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End Reader License Agreement ("ERLA") 


By proceeding beyond the end of this license you are agreeing to the terms
and conditions set forth herein.

1.	Kenn Ghannon, his heirs and designates, ("the Licensor") provide you
( "End Reader") with a non-exclusive license to read, copy and display all
erotic prose contained within the body of this document ("the Document")
unless otherwise specifically noted and conditioned on the following
clauses: 

a.	The End Reader shall not by action or omission of action allow the
Document in whole or in part to be made available on any medium for which
there is an additional cost incurred beyond the intrinsic cost of the core
medium (where core medium is explicitly defined as the cost of the final
reader's base Internet connection from his or her ISP; hereafter called "the
Connection"). 
b.	The End Reader shall not by action or omission of action allow a
link, otherwise known as a hyper-link, or an FTP transfer or any other data
transfer currently known or unknown to occur where the cost of that data
transfer is subject to a fee separate from the fee of the Connection. 
c.	The End Reader shall not by action or omission of action allow a
minor (where minor is explicitly defined as being below the age of sexual
consent in the county, state, municipality or country where the targeted
reader lives) to read the Document in whole or in part. 
d.	The End Reader is not him- or her-self such a minor as defined in
article 1c. 
e.	The End Reader is not morally, legally, or emotionally prohibited
from or otherwise against the reading of erotic literature which may include
but is not limited to written acts of sexual intercourse either protected or
unprotected, sexual deviancy, intimacy, polygamy, incest, and/or pedophilia.

f.	The End Reader shall not, in whole or in part, refer to any part of
the Document as your work. 

2.	This license Agreement is made between the End Reader and the
Licensor and is governed by the laws in the state of New York in the United
States of America. 
3.	This license Agreement is subject to revision at any time without
advance notice of any kind. 
4.	Kenn Ghannon retains complete rights to the Document, in whole and
in all its parts. 
5.	The Document is a work of fiction; any and all resemblances to
actual people, either living or dead, are completely coincidental. 

Thank you.

 

Feedback and constructive criticism cheerfully encouraged to kenn_ghannon at
hotmail dot com.  Flames cheerfully ignored.
<1st attachment, "Partial Submission.CH01.txt" begin>

Partial Submission.01 [nosex] | [Mf Ff FF inc bro sis D/s oral anal spank
{Light BDSM} preg?] By Kenn Ghannon

   I entered through the back door, as my Mistress had commanded me.  I was
in a non-descript mud room, a small cleaning area built into the ground to
my left and washing machine and dryer to my right.  Directly in front of me
was a door, leading into my Mistress's house, with some empty shelves next
to it on the right.  The whole room was done in white; walls, door, even
the washing machine and dryer were all white.  Only the floor was
different, bare concrete with a two inch basin that gave the room its name;
you could wash the mud off your feet or shoes in that basin, or maybe even
clean a small pet.



   On the door was taped a small white sheet of paper with large, black
non-descript letters in my Mistress' perfect handwriting giving me my
instructions.



   Daniel;

   You are to remain in this room and prepare for our Scene.  You will
remove your clothes and fold them neatly, storing them on the shelf next to
the door.  Ensure that your body is clean and prepared for Me.  When you
are done, knock three times on the door and assume your position.  When I
am ready for you, I will collect you.



   I set the small box I had brought on the shelf and loosened my tie.  As
I removed it, I couldn't help but wonder at the strange road that brought
me to this place.



   I have always been in charge; always in control.  Since I was young, I
was a leader.  Swim team captain, pee wee football captain, baseball team
captain, debate team captain; there'd never been a time when I wasn't front
and center, instructing people, leading people, telling people what to do.



   Even at home, I was expected to be in charge.  I have two sisters,
Sylvia who is 5 years younger than me and Megan who is 4 years younger than
her and all I heard was how I was supposed to look out for them, care for
them, and protect them.  When I was 13, my parents started making me
babysit the two of them after school and sometimes on the weekends.  As
usual, I was supposed to be in charge.  I was supposed to be the
responsible one.



   I went through high school with straight A's and my High School
sweetheart, Sarah, followed me to college.  We married the summer after we
graduated, Sarah with a degree in Computer Science and me with a degree in
Political Science.  We were 21 and ready to take on the world.  Sarah went
to work at a local manufacturing firm helping to run their network and I
went to Law School while she supported me.  We had it all worked out.



   My dad hooked me up when I graduated and I got a job with a local law
firm right out of Law School.  It meant Sarah had to change jobs, but she
didn't mind.  Sarah never seemed to mind anything.  She was always
supportive.



   I told myself everything was great and I think I almost convinced
myself. I had a great job, a great wife, a great future.  I was a tiger in
the court room; most court battles have to do with control and I was always
in control.  I was perceptive and forceful; I was ready for the bright
future.



   A little over a year ago, though, I started realizing that I was
unhappy. I know, silly right?  I was 24 and had everything anyone could
ever want.  Something, though, was missing.



   It wasn't from my marriage; I loved Sarah more than life itself.  She
was the ideal wife; beautiful, successful and smart.  Our sex life was
beyond awesome.  She had a few sexual hang-ups and there were a few things
she wouldn't even consider, but for the most part she was passionate and
caring and loving and everything I'd ever imagined a wife could be.



   It wasn't professionally.  I hadn't won all of my cases, but I'd won the
majority of them.  I quickly became the dependable attorney, the one that
the partners could call on when they had a tough case and needed someone to
fight for it.  I had the heart of a tiger, the courage of a lion and I
never said no.  I never stopped.



   There were no issues financially.  Between both our incomes, we were
quickly paying off our student loans and even considering buying a house in
the near future.  We were a bit in debt, but I made sure that our bills
were paid off early and we hadn't fallen into the credit card trap; if we
couldn't afford to pay cash, we didn't buy it.



   I think, if I hadn't stumbled on the porn site, I would never have truly
realized what the problem was.  I was looking for some porn videos and
"marital aids" to add to our collection when I came across it.  The
pictures fascinated me.  The video clips mesmerized me.



   It was primarily a D/s site - dominance and submission - with some BDSM
through in for spice.  There were pictures of men dominating women and
women dominating men.  It was mostly the stock photos that you see
everywhere; men or women dressed in black leather, pulling their slaves
back by the hair, showing riding crops to them, paddling their ass.



   I found myself strangely excited, heart racing, dick hard, perspiration
congealing on my brow.  There was something so feral about it, so enticing.
It got me to thinking about losing control; about having someone else
completely in command, so I wouldn't have to be.



   I turned it off.  I thought there was something wrong with me; I had
never even considered anything kinky like that.  Plus, the costumes made it
seem so...theatrical.  It couldn't be real; no one would ever dress like
that, act like that.



   I made it a week before I was back.  A long, long week where I found
myself masturbating to images of a woman forcing me to do things I didn't
want to do.  I swear I masturbated more than I made love to my wife.



   Going back actually almost cured me.  The rubber suits disgusted me. 
The leather hoods revolted me.  It was put on, unreal.  This wasn't what I
wanted.



   Then I saw the clip that changed it for me.  It was a woman and a man
but they were dressed normally.  There were cuffs and blindfolds and gags,
but not the "black leather" that you see in every picture and movie.  They
used scarves, ropes.  There was a paddle, but it looked like a ping pong
paddle and not the black, studded contraptions that seem to proliferate in
the genre.



   I was lost.  Whether with my hand or my wife, I almost couldn't cum
without thinking of the woman in that movie ordering me to do it.  All I
could think about, morning, noon and night was being under someone else's
control .  All I wanted was, for just a little while, someone else to be
responsible for me.



   I tested the waters with my wife a week later.  I tried to explain what
I wanted, telling her it was just an experiment.  She tried, but it wasn't
for her.  She couldn't be something she wasn't and she just didn't feel
comfortable being in charge like that.  At least she tried; there were very
few things - like anal sex or bisexuality - that my wife wouldn't try at
least once.  Heck, she wouldn't even watch two girls together in a porn
movie, declaring it disgusting and shuddering in revulsion.



   I made it two weeks.



   I told myself it was nothing.  I told myself I had lived all my life
without it and I could make do without it now.  I lied to myself
outrageously.



   I had never felt dirty visiting an adult bookshop before, but I did that
time.  I told myself I was just going to get a new video or some new toys
to use on my wife.  I knew why I was there, though.  I went right to the
magazine section, looking for magazines on my new kink.



   I was disappointed.  All of them were the same leather bound crap.  They
disgusted me.  If I hadn't been looking at them, though, I would never have
seen the leaflet.



   It was for a pair of local Mistresses; Mistresses Kennedy and Kali. 
Neither of them was dressed in black leather; they were dressed in
professional business suits.  The only acknowledgement they made to the
leather crowd was the black, feathered masks they were wearing.  Other than
that, they seemed completely normal.  They promised, though, "discreet,
professional BDSM and D/s services for the discerning adult."



   I honestly don't remember pocketing the leaflet.  I don't really
remember putting it in my desk drawer at home.  I do remember thinking
about it.  I do remember fighting with myself, trying to talk myself out of
calling.



   I did, though.  Two days later, a Friday, I called and made an
appointment.  I was to meet with Mistress Kennedy the following Tuesday.



   She seemed surprised when I came in.  Not more surprised than I was,
however.  I had sat for the past half hour in my car in front of the house
trying to talk myself out of going in.



   She was dressed in a business suit, gray slacks and coat with a white,
button up blouse.  She stood still for a moment, her eyes wide, letting me
examine her as I nervously walked forward.  She was wearing the same mask
as on the leaflet, her beautiful, kinky red hair travelling freely over her
shoulders.  She was maybe 5'6", slim.  She had an impeccable manicure and I
noticed how soft her hands were as we shook.



   Her voice was more gruff, more husky, than it had seemed on the phone.
She stuttered initially, but took a deep breath before smiling and asking
me to sit.  It was funny; she seemed more nervous than I was.



   We talked for over an hour.  Inconsequentials, mostly.  Things about my
life, but nothing identifying; it was one of the first rules she had set,
on the phone.  She explained it further as we sat there; this was to be
completely anonymous.  If she chose to accept me, I would be given a slave
name and that would be the only name I answered to.  Transactions would be
in cash.  I would not know her and she would not know me; it was the only
way that we would be able to keep our private lives private.



   I felt relief, until it came to the end of the interview.



   "I'm sorry," she said, smiling.  "I don't think this is going to work
out.  I'm not sure we have the correct...rapport...to continue."



   I was stunned.  I couldn't believe she had refused me.  Without a word,
I stood up to leave, turning to the door without speaking.



   I'm not proud of what I did next.  I turned back and begged.



   "Please," I said quietly.  "Please reconsider.  All my life, I've been
the responsible one, the one that was always supposed to be in charge.  I
need a break.  I'm not looking to change my whole life.  I just need a
time, a little time, to let someone else be completely in charge.  To tell
me what to do and have me do it."



   "Maybe that's why this is a bad idea," she said, her voice still gruff.
"I'm not your mother.  What I do won't be to...take care of you."



   "That isn't what I'm looking for," I replied earnestly.  "I just...I
need a part of my life where I'm not in control.  Please reconsider.  If I
walk out that door, I don't think I'll ever find the...strength...in myself
to do this again.  To trust myself to try to let someone else be in
control."



   She looked at me, her green eyes seeming to look through me.  Her hands
were clasped in front of her, and they seemed to be moving nervously.  I
wasn't sure what she was nervous about, though I was to find out later.



   "How often?" she said quietly and I smiled in relief.



   "Once a week?" I asked in reply.  "Maybe two hours once a week?"



   She seemed to stand up a little straighter all of a sudden, her mind
evidently made up.  She turned and picked up an appointment book and
started writing in it.



   "You said Tuesday evenings worked for you?" she questioned without
looking at me.  Tuesdays were the days I normally went out with the guys,
so Sarah wouldn't expect me home until late.  "You will be here next
Tuesday promptly at 6pm...Daniel.  I will be displeased if you are late. 
You will have $250 dollars in a white envelope.  You will park behind this
house and you will come in the back door."



   Her choice of a slave name startled me just a bit.  Daniel was my middle
name; David Daniel Rogers.  I chalked it up to coincidence.



   I made it to three sessions before the guilt got to me.  Three
wonderful, glorious, absolutely perfect sessions.  I was hooked...but I
couldn't stand the lies I was telling to my wife.  I loved Sarah too much
to continue lying to her.  So, the Saturday morning after the third
session, I sat her down and confessed.



   There were tears, screams, and a lot of anger.  There was recrimination
and I couldn't argue with her.  I worried she'd divorce me.  I worried
she'd hate me.  She would be well within her rights.



   For the first time since college, we slept apart when we didn't need to.
She didn't speak to me, and I deserved it.  Her perfect husband was a lie.



   I didn't miss the next Tuesday appointment, though.  I didn't miss my
session with Mistress Kennedy.  I thought, though, that it would be my
last. I loved my wife too much to continue hurting her like this.  I
explained it to Mistress Kennedy and, although she seemed disappointed, she
said she understood.



   On Wednesday morning, Sarah was at the kitchen table when I was leaving
for work.  Her eyes were bloodshot and you could tell she'd been crying
again.  I felt like the biggest heel in the world, for hurting this perfect
woman...and I was.



   I told her I'd stopped it.  I tried to explain to her that I'd just felt
it was something important in my life that I was missing...but that I loved
her too much and wanted her too much.  I told her if she'd forgive me, I
promised to be her perfect husband again.



   "I love you, David," she groaned, sitting there.  "I don't want you to
be perfect.  I just want you.  I know when we...when I...tried to be more
dominating that it wasn't good.  I just didn't know that it was...so
important to you.  I could promise to try, but I think we both know that I
can't do that; I'm not that way.  I can't be the one to make you do things.
I can't...control...you."



   "You know, I knew something was going on the past few weeks," she
continued, wringing her hands.  "I couldn't understand why you were so
happy all of a sudden.  You seemed so full of life, like when we first met.
I thought maybe you were getting a promotion at work or something.  Then I
find...I find it was...because of some...some..."



   I started towards her, to hold her, but she shook me off.



   "I love you, David," she intoned, her face stony.  "Your happiness is
more important to me than...than anything.  So, I'll give you your Tuesday
nights...but only on two conditions.  One, you don't touch me on Tuesdays.
You don't talk to me; you don't even acknowledge I exist.  You sleep on the
couch.  Two, you don't ever tell me about it again.  Ever."



   It was difficult, but we made it past that problem.  I couldn't believe
Sarah's strength, but she never asked me about Tuesdays again.  She didn't
greet me on Tuesday morning, she never called me on Tuedays.  Every other
day, she'd be my smiling wife...but on Tuesdays she wouldn't even talk to
me.



   The thought of my wife's pain and sacrifice broke me out of my reverie
and I placed my neatly folded clothes on the shelf, taking the small box
off it.  The room was slightly chilly, but it didn't stop my cock from
being hard as a rock in anticipation.  I knocked three times on the door
and then stepped back and knelt, my legs spread slightly, hands - holding
the box - behind my back, and my upper torso bowed slightly so my face
pointed towards the ground.



   I don't know how long I sat there.  It probably wasn't more than 5
minutes, but waiting on my Mistress today seemed to take forever.  My
wife's company had sent her out of town for some training last Wednesday
and she wasn't due to return until this coming Saturday afternoon.  I'd
asked for, and gotten permission from, my Mistress to spend the night with
her.
   

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