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From: Gwydion McCarthy <sir_gwydion@rocketmail.com>
Subject: STORY: "wall/flower" (d/s, s/m, non-con) PART 2
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Continued from part 1:

Please do not read if you are under 21.

Note: this story contains d/s and s/m elements and non-consensual
touching.

She moved onto the streets quietly, apathy dripped from her as she
walked to the subway station.  Her disdain for the street settled
about her like protective armor.  The boredom vanished from her on the
subway, and she wondered what the *hell* she was doing up this late,
without a bodyguard, dressed like she was. But she didn't care.  Her
heart raced. She felt alive.

She staggered around in a pair of Kat's high heels, walking this way
and that looking for the address of the place.  She passed some kind
of country and western bar.  The neighborhood was quite rough. Eyes
followed her where she walked. She was at the edge of fear,
considering hailing the nearest cab and cabbing it back home (all of
her saved spend-it money wasted on the trip) when she realized that
the Hellfire was downstairs.

She took each step gingerly, hoping she wouldn't fall and break her
ankle.  The black leather straps held the shoes on. The steel stairs
resounded with each step. She paused at the heavy steel door and then
yanked it wide.

Stepping inside, there was a little vestibule, a little area where a
man said, through a grated window, "That will be $5, missie."  He was
wearing a leather banker's visor and was tattooed up and down his
burly forearm. She paid the money without speaking, walked over to the
coatcheck (around a very interesting piece of antique medical
equipment - an examination chair from what looked like the Roaring
Twenties), and handed her coat to the leatherboy behind the counter. 

She looked around the room.  She could not decide which was stranger
to her: the man dressed in a latex teddy, the two transvestites
kissing, the short woman with pigtails being spanked (on her frilly
white panties) by a big woman wearing a strap-on dildo that dangled
rudely between her legs, or the cowering, begging man who was being
slapped by a larger woman dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt with the
word "BITCH" emblazoned on it.  Wherever she looked, stranger things
revealed themselves to her.

What was even stranger were the quite plainly dressed tourist-types
who wandered through as if this were some sort of Disneyland of
perversion, stopping at Kodak moments of pure voyeurism, taking mental
pictures that they would always have with them.  Then there were the
wandering weenie whackers who moved from place to place, taking in
what was going on and pounding their meat relentlessly, as if their
penises might fall off if they let them go.

The only remotely interesting thing that was going on was a woman in
the corner who was bent over a PVC-pipe chair, holding on to it with
all her might as a man, dressed in black silk, who moved with catlike
grace and strength, beat the shit out of her with various implements.
Diane thought the woman was pretty.  She had the kind of face that
could have been on a librarian or an account executive - or a student.

A student, just like herself.

She watched as the woman endured her punishment, punishment that she
had read about all day. Punishment that became very real to her as she
watched. She ignored the men watching her now - they faded into the
background like a mass of masturbating wallpaper. She saw this woman's
face, she saw the sexual reaction of her body as her nipple stiffened,
her hips rolled as if she was welcoming an invisible lover. 

Something about the scene penetrated her deeply held apathy. Something
touched her soul. Something cracked open inside of her. She was
utterly alone and utterly needy and frightened of it and there was
nobody here who understood all of that. Nobody here who would ever
understand what it was like to be alone, against the wall, breaking
through like a flower through the cracks, but still rooted firmly in
the reality of it all.

And then, just as revelations were pouring up out of her, as she
watched enraptured, she came to herself and realized that there was
someone - an important Someone - watching her.

It was the Yes-man.

He grinned as if he knew a secret. Well, he *did* know a secret. Diane
couldn't keep her eyes from meeting his because her shock at seeing
was in large part the only thing on her mind.  She was still riding
shotgun in her own consciousness for the most part.

He stepped up to her and was saying something, but she couldn't hear
him.  He took her hand and led her away from the scene - and it was
then she noticed that the dampness between her legs was not the
residual wetness from the laundering earlier.

She let herself be led, she listened to his words, which he nearly had
to scream over the technobeat that was slamming the crowd and
entraining whips being used everywhere.

He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to talk to her alone. She almost
turned and ran as the fear within her boiled up, as the boredom was no
longer around to provide a comfortably numb blanket through which she
wouldn't have to care.  He brought her out onto the street (leaving
behind her coat) and she was drunk on circumstance and fate.

"What do you want?" She said quietly to him on the street.

"I just wanted you to know you look great in Kat's dress."

Diane turned to leave.

"That's not all...wait." Yes-man said.

"What?" Diane said, startled at herself for the growl under her tone.

"What if I told you I wanted you more than Kat - ever since I first
saw you?" Yes-man said.

"Like I'm going to believe that! You're forgetting how we met - you
had my room-mate on a leash, half-naked, strutting through my
bedroom!" She made a show of looking him up and down. "Where's your
leash?

"Back at the club." He said quietly.

There was silence.

"Want me to get it?" Yes-man said, smiling.

She slapped him. "Fuck you."

He stood there in the darkness, the slap making a red mark on his
cheek. He touched his cheek. "I owe you one." He said softly, quietly.

"You deserved it." Diane said softly, but she was shaking inside.

"You were the one reading Story of O.  With your panties around your
ankles." Yes-man said smugly.

"So? Masturbation isn't illegal. Doesn't mean I like this stuff.
Doesn't mean *you* own me or anything. Doesn't mean..." Diane began,
but she was cut off.

"I know - look, I know.  I think you are a wonderful woman. I want you
more than I can say. But I can see where our circumstances will never
work. You won't believe me, and I can't not want you." Yes-man said.

Diane looked at him, her head tilted. "How could you even want me? You
just want to fuck anything that moves."

Yes-man shook his head. 'no'. "I just want what I have tasted - I want
that again."

"What do you mean?" She said, incredulous.

"I want to taste you again. You tasted really good the other night.
Even Kat said so. I let her suck my finger."

"You fucking molested me in my sleep?" Diane was agape.

She slapped him again.

He put his hand to his other cheek. "That's two."

"I can't believe how perverted you are!" She exclaimed.

"And you're not? Or did you buy that vibrator at a Quik Chek?" Yes-man
said quietly.

She looked at the pavement, shaking her head. A cold laugh escaped her
mouth, but it was more like a sob than a laugh. She looked up at him,
mortified.  She hated herself for wanting him so badly right this
moment. And she was mortified that this stranger had tasted the very
same juices that were now seeping through the tiny thong she was
wearing.

It was as if her rational mind ruled the words she was saying, and the
other parts of her body were doing whatever they damn well pleased.
She was continuing to pick apart all the indignity and wrong she had
suffered when Yes-man just reached for her and kissed her.  Her head
sent word to the body not to respond, but somehow it got lost in
translation.

He pushed her against the cold stone wall and kissed her so hard she
thought he would rip her throat out if she broke the kiss. She was
further betrayed as he found his way under her dress and masturbated
her.  She was angry even at how he did that - wet against his hand,
wetter than she had been in along time - he was expert at doing this.
Probably had done it to Kat, maybe even right here. She tried to will
herself dry, tried desperately to stop his effect on her. But it
didn't work. She just let out a moan as he brought her close to the
edge faster than she had ever been before.

"Yes, that's it...." His silky voice crept into her.

She grabbed on to him and held to him closely as he brought her off
right there on the street, with a wino watching.

"I hate you." She whispered to him.

"I know." He said softly, stroking her hair, holding her closely. She
tried very hard not to like it. She was no longer in control of her
feelings. It was curiously freeing.

"Take me home now." She said. *He* would fucking pay the cab fare.

***

They got their stuff from the club - Diane's coat and a curious
leather bag of Yes-man's: his name, she learned from the coat-check,
was David.

In the cab on the way back to her apartment, David fingered her again.
She didn't even resist this time - nor did she think about resisting.
In fact, she stopped him and very frustratingly rolled off her thong,
untangling it from her heel as she tossed it aside. He rescued it and
popped into a pocket as she leaned against him, the cabbie watching
them as he kissed her and fingered her pussy expertly from any angle
she tried him at.

It was ridiculous to her rational mind, but her body was applauding. 
She met her next orgasm as they passed 7th Avenue on the way to her
apartment.  Before she was allowed to come on David's fingers, he made
her ask for it, made her ask to be allowed to come. After it, there
were tears as she leaned against him, tears that were soaked up by the
black velvet dress. She knew they were tears for her old life, when
everything was simple. Somehow she knew what she was doing would mean
she could never go back to that simplicity.

It wasn't long really before he was taking her on Kat's bed.

She lay on the same sheets he had fucked her on, looking at the
mirror, watching his white cat's ass move into her.  Her old rational
self seemed to be far away. She still had on the stockings and the
heels, and she realized that by just resting her heels she dug them
into his ass and it seemed to make him move faster. 

"Yes" boiled out of her as she neared her orgasm.

He smiled at her, on top of her, his thick cock making her wider than
she had ever been before.

He slapped her. "That's one paid back."

She cried out, but he met the cry with a hard thrust, his pubic bone
hitting her clit as if it were made to fit there.

"Am I Kat to you?" She said in the middle of it all.

"No." He said quietly, but firmly.

"Are you going to make me her?" She whimpered as he brought her closer
with fingers and tongue.

"I'm going to make you *you*."

He pushed her hands back on the bed while he talked, and she felt as
if she was not in control, she knew he could keep her there and hold
her there, fucking her for as long as he wanted.

"You're *mine* though. Little slut." David said softly, punctuating
each statement with another hard thrust.

She felt as though she had been thrown into a deep tank of water,
drowning, like he was holding her down, but she didn't want him to
stop.

Something inside of her wanted it again - the pain, the indignity of
it all. She looked at him, tears in her eyes from the slap, but she
nodded. "Yes. Yes. Yes please." 

She felt a stab of electric heat inside of her...

"Very well..." he slapped her again. "That's two, and all I owe you..."

She cried out as she came around his latex-enrobed piece.

She came again not long afterward, as he was using his fingers to use
her nipples as handles to get a good thrust in. The pain on her tiny
pale breasts was intense, but she didn't seem to care. She wondered
how she would even begin to protest any of this. Then she decided that
he would probably stop if she asked him to - but she couldn't bring
herself to ask him. She didn't want to.

He wasn't able to cum until they switched positions, and she was on
top of him, riding his hard cock.  She looked down at him in wonder as
if she could still see the old part of her in another pane of reality.
The reality of the bed, the smells, the screams she was making -
hadn't she heard this all before? The deja-vu was intense. As was his
orgasm when it finally tested the structural integrity of his condom.
His cock ballooned out even wider as he came, screaming, and she
mimicked him only softer.

They moved to her futon to sleep, exhausted.

She checked her watch - it was still Friday evening. Her Econ book
glared at her, as did her Mom from the shelf. She didn't care. It was
over. That old life was over. She would do whatever she wanted with
David, and if that didn't work, she would find someone else who
understood.  Still, she told him to be gone when she woke up in the
morning, and he smiled at her, because he knew he would be back. That
night if he wanted to. 

And he was.

If you would like to write me, send email to gwydion@writeme.com






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