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From: dantedibby@aol.com (Dantedibby)
Subject: Twighlight Zone 4 by Seurat:Art Critic 1a/8
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     The following story (which was actually written as the first
Twighlight Zone story by me some two years ago and never posted) contains
but is not limited to: normal (vaginal) sex, oral sex, anal sex,
combinations of the those three, masturbation, fetish clothing, blackmail,
extra-marital affairs, mind controlling drugs, bondage, domination, sadism,
masochism, and a whole lot of other stuff that, since I'm sure it doesn't
happen in real life, needs to have a disclaimer saying you must be of legal
age where you are to read this stuff.
     This is basically a fantasy type story I wrote a while back.  It is
copyright(c) by me, Seurat, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't post
it or archive it without my permission (Eli already has permission, oh
great keeper of the archives!).  If you do post it, don't accept any money
(i.e. cd roms or pay web sites) because I have left enough identifiable
items in the story to make my lawsuit stick.  And I do know a lot of lawyers.



Not the typical Twighlight Zone story that people have been nice enough to
send me complimentary mail about.  You have been warned.



THE ART CRITIC, by Seurat
     Chapter Four of æThe Twighlight Zone' series.

Wednesday, May 8th.

     THWOCK!  The ball hit high and wide right.  A hard shot, but not
impossible.  I lunged
for the return and put away the kill into the corner.  My point, giving me
the second game.  "Nice
shot" said my opponent, a Ms. Tara Worthington.  She was cute, sexy, and
dressed in spandex
shorts and a loose fitting T-shirt.  I had noticed she wasn't wearing any
bra during the first game
and it was probably why I lost.  It made the second game a close one, but
I had eaked that one
out.  In point of fact she was almost as good as me, but she had a way of
twisting and arching for
shots that distracted me to no end and gave her an edge.
     Third games are always the worst for me, even though they only go to
eleven.  By the
time I get that far, I don't have a whole lot of directional power left. 
Power, yes.  Direction, no.  I
just hoped I could it them to a corner where she couldn't return them. 
The first few serves went
off the way I wanted.  Strong, fast, and so powerful that when I hit the
ball it lifted me off the
ground.  By the time I lost the serve I was up 5-0.  Her first serve was
an ace, and not because it
was fast.  Just before she hit the ball she bent over, and the spandex (or
rather what was in
the spandex) distracted me.  On the next serve she wiggled a little and it
had the desired effect:
another ace. I may be married, but I'm not dead, and I was really
beginning to notice her body.
     By this time she knew exactly what effect she was having on me and my
game.  She was
constantly wiggling a little, or smiling, or liking her lips.  By the time
I returned a serve she was
up 9-5.  She was so suprised that I made a return that she stood there and
watched as I took the
serve back.
     The muscles in my legs and arms were so tired they were quivering. 
If I could
keep the power going, I might just pull off a win.  The first serve was
fast and low, and her return
was short.  Same with the second.  7-9.  I gave her a lob and she was
caught off guard.  Two
more power shots and I was up 10-9, a point away from victory.  She
returned my next shot and
we volleyed for a while before she put it away.  Just like me she tried to
put away the next two
serves.  They were screwy back corner lobs, but I returned one for a kill
and we were tied 10-10.  
     I stood in the sever area, trying to catch my breath.  "Ready?"
     "Hot, wet, and ready, yes."  I bounced the ball and brought the
raquet around just as her
words hit me.  The ball went high off the front, and she slammed it high
for a wall hugger on the
far side.  I sprinted across in a valiant attempt to catch it on the
rebound, and only succeeded in
slamming into the wall.  "Sorry, but I couldn't resist.  If you want the
serve over, I understand." 
I shook my head, declining the offer.  Tied 10-10, a point away.
     She bounced the ball a few times as she walked to the lines.  She
turned around, looked at
me, and made a show of giving the ball a squeeze.  "Ready for me?"  I
would've swore the
temperature on the court went up 10 degrees.  I nodded.
     The ball moved so fast off the front wall that I didn't even see it
coming.  I should have,
because it was aimed straight at me, and it caught me between the legs.  I
dropped to the ground
and folded into the fetal position.  No return made it her point, her
game, and her match.  I didn't
care.  I tried to uncurl my body and congratulate her, and decided instead
to wait for a minute or
two.
     I've caught it in the crotch before, always unexpectedly, and
recovered fairly fast since it
doesn't really hurt that much.  Unless, of course, your playing with a
tease and you have a
hard-on straining against your shorts, because getting hit then is like
falling onto the bar of your
bicycle.  It hurts real bad, and you wonder if the pain will ever go away.
     She waited until I started to get up before she asked if I was okay,
and if I wanted to get
some coffee or tea afterwards.  At least I think that was when she asked
me, as I was a little
preoccupied before that.  I agreed,  and searched around for my goggles
and glasses, both of
which came off when I hit the ground.  I could soon see again.
     A little backgound before we go too far here.  My name is Alan
O'Neill, and I'm a critic for
a local newspaper.  I specialize in art shows, and I had met Tara the
night before at a show at the
University.  In fact, it was her show.  We talked a little, and came on
the subject of sports.  That
was how we ended up playing tonight.
     When I first met her I thought she was attractive.  She was short,
for my tastes, about five-
four, maybe five-five.  Long curly black hair framed a delicate face with
blue eyes, small nose and
full lips.  Her body was nice; not nice like when your wife gives you
exercise equipment for
Christmas and you didn't think you needed it, but nice like what you say
when you get caught by
the same wife watching Kelly LeBrock in a movie you hate and she asks you
if you think LeBrock
has a sexy body and you tell her it's just...nice.  Let me just say it was
athletic and firm...some
parts so firm that I wasn't sure they were all natural.  I didn't really care.
     I wasn't going to be hitting on her.  I am what they call happily
married, and am also what
they call a dog.  I talk a good show, and always figured there was nothing
wrong with looking as
long as I didn't touch.
      My mind was still preoccupied with the pain, and I realized that not
only had I agreed to tea at
her place, now, but I would be driving her back to her house.  She had
taken a cab.
     I pulled up outside the gym in my sensible little two door, and let
her in.  I could tell she
had not showered either, and her scent started to fill the car, or at
least that was the way it
seemed.  I was getting thoughts that a married man shouldn't be getting. 
"Everything okay?" she
asked, "I mean, you got hit pretty hard.  I hope everything works okay."  
     I decided to let that one slip by.  
     "Yeah, nothing that's never happened before."  It was true.  You take
your life and
genitals and pretty much hope they don't get it by the ball, let alone a
racquet or an elbow.  She
gave me directions to one of the nicer areas of the town, where rows of
large brownstones lined
the streets.  Hers was like the others there, a one-car garage and
basement entrance off the street,
and a short flight of stairs led up to the main entry.
     I parked in the drive and we headed up to the huge cherrywood and
leaded glass front
door. Inside was a tastefully decorated, if sparse, living room and dining
area with a kitchen in
back. Pieces of modern art and sculpture decorated the room.
     "Any particular type of tea?" she asked, walking across the room to
the kitchen.
     "No, as long as it's hot."  I looked around.  "Nice place you have here."
     Her voice rang from the kitchen.  "Thanks.  It used to be my
father's.  He had made some
good investments a few years back, and when he retired to Florida, I got
this place.  I'm still
remodeling some parts, but it'll be done to my tastes soon.  Would you
like honey in your tea?"  I
yelled back 'yes', and she returned to the living room, where I still
stood, admiring the art.  Force
of habit, I guess.  "Have a seat."
     I took the mug of tea, sat down on an overstuffed  leather chair, and
had another look
around.  "Most of this stuff yours?"  It all seemed pretty eclectic, but
the was some undercurrent
that tied them all together.  I figured it was the artist.
      "Oh no.  I just like to dabble in a little sculpture.  This is
actually my private collection. 
Mostly unknowns, but maybe someday they'll be worth what I payed for them."
     "You live here, and support starving artists?  Dad must have made
some good
investments.  Wish I could get into art that way."
     "I'm sure you'll really get into art someday. I do have a day job. I'm a
computer-technochemist for Baum-Dietrich Technologies.  I have to have
some way to relax."
     "Computer-technochemist?"  I was in way over my head on this one. 
"Just what does a
computer-technochemist do? 
     "Right now, we're developing synthetic nerve actuators.  Sort of a
replacement skin, which
could be regulated through the use of micro-computers."  She could tell
she was losing me fast,
and I could tell she was on the way to change the subject.  She looked at
me for a moment, then
asked,"more tea?"  
     Taking a quick look at the clock, I saw that I had plenty of time to
get home before my
wife.  "Sure."
     The next move was pure textbook slapstick, though I probably couldn't
prove it.  As she stood
her knee hit the table and her mug of tea was knocked into the air.  As if
in slow motion I
watched it come right at me, dousing my left thigh and crotch with hot tea.
     "Shit! I'm really sorry."  She grabbed her sweat towel and rushed
over as I tried in vain to
dry of with some tissues from the table.  She began to towel of my thigh
and, before I could stop
her, she began wiping my crotch too.  My cock sprang to life at her touch.
 "Seems more got wet
than I first thought."
     I grabbed her hand and pushed it away.   "Please!  I'm married, if
you hadn't noticed."  I
showed her the gold band on my finger.
     "I didn't mean anything.  Really.  Why don't you run upstairs and
shower off, while I wash
your clothes.  Unless you want to explain to your wife why your privates
are covered in
honey-tea. Upstairs, through the bedroom.  Should be plenty of towels."  I
got up and climbed up
the spiral stairs.  "Better hurry.  You don't want to have any stains
there, do you?"  My pace
picked up.
     I quick-stepped it back through the bedroom and into the bathroom,
taking a quick look at
the four-poster bed decorated with gossamer scarves and the other
furnishings as I passed by. 
Once in the bathroom, I turned on the water and stripped out my clothes. 
Putting my glasses and
wedding ring on the vanity, I hopped under the hot spray and pulled the
curtain shut.  After a few
moments I heard the door open, and a slight noise as my clothes were
picked up.  The door shut
again.  I finished the shower quickly.
     I reached out of the shower and grabbed a towel, and looked around as
I dried myself off. 
The whole room was done in maroon and white, down to the soap in the dish
and the toothbrush. 
I toweled off my hair, put my glasses back on, and wrapped the towel
around my waist and made
a roll-over knot.  Turning off the light, I stepped out into the bedroom.
     There was a chair in one corner of the room with an odd looking
terry-cloth robe lying across
it.  I say strange because it looked too bulky to be just a robe.  As it
was not there when I went
into the bathroom, I figured it was for me.  I undid the towel, letting it
drop to the floor, and put
on the robe.  The lining of the robe was cotton; it was snug around my
arms (probably wasn't
used to arms larger then Tara's) and cinched it tight around my waist. 
The robe was cut high for a
woman, and rode even higher on me, nearly exposing my genitals.  I vowed
not to sit down while
wearing it.
       "Guess that robe isn't quite big enough for you," she said,
standing in the doorway.  I
probably turned red enough to heat water.  She walked over to me, her body
swaying the way I
had noticed in the court, and I could feel myself starting to get hard. 
"We should really find
something a little more appropriately sized for you.  I always did like
that robe.  You didn't pull
the sleaves down far enough, though.  Here, let me show you."  She stepped
behind me.  "Cross
your arms in front of you."  I did as she asked, and felt her hands run up
the sleeves a little, her
left up my right, and vice-versa.  The cotton sleeves were about halfway
up my forearm, and by
the time she reached them, she was giving me a tight hug from behind.  I
looked down to see my
now stiff prick sticking out from the folds of the robe.
     I felt her grab the ends of the sleeves and start to slide them down
my forearm.  With a
suddeness that caught me completely unaware, Tara brought her knee up to
the center of my back
and pulled hard on the sleeves, and I heard some snaps pop.  The sleeves
slipped over my hands,
and she somehow connected them behind me, effectively straightjacketing
me.  Tara grabbed my
shoulder as I started to protest and spun me around, throwing me off
balance.  With a smile of
contempt she pushed my off-kilter body backwards, causing me to fall on
the bed.
     "What the hell do you think you're doing!?!"
     She looked at me and laughed.  "I figured we would have a little fun.
 Looks like you were
figuring on it, too.  The flesh seems willing enough."  With that she
grabbed my cock, "Is the
spirit just as willing?"
     "I told you, I'm married!  Now let me out of this thing!"
     "If you really were happily married, you wouldn't have come back to
my house.  And you
certainly wouldn't have such a big erection.  Now move back onto the bed,
before I make you do
it myself."  I felt her fingernails jab into my flesh, and decided that,
at the moment, I should
probably go along with her.
     I slid back on the bed so that my head was on the pillows.   She got
on the bed on walked
over (on her knees) until she was straddling me, the earthy smell of her
body preceding her.  She
looked me in the face, smiled, then looked at my crotch.  She then leaned
over and began kissing
my neck, then my chest, then moved downward, finally reaching head of my
cock, and my head
flopped back.  Seeing her chance, she quickly moved up so that her knees
were on the outsides of
my arms, and sat back on my chest.  "Now, I'm going to go change, and I
don't want you to go
anywhere.  Promise you won't move?"  I nodded.  "For some reason, I don't
believe you.  But I
do know how to help you keep your promise."  She reached below my crotch
and under my ass,
and pulled up another strap, this one about a half inch in width, and I
felt a tug on the back of the
robe.  Tara pulled it up through my ass cheeks tightly, so that it felt
like I had a wedgey.  With her
left hand she lifted my cock and balls up, and with her right wound the
strap tightly twice around
the base of my genitals.  The strap then went back under itself and up to
my crossed arms, which
it circled twice, and was tied off on the headboard.
     She walked around to the foot of the bed and pulled a scarf from
under the bed and
looped it around my left ankle, drawing the loop tight.  I panicked and
tried to get out, but
realized that any attempt to escape might mean serious injury to my
manhood. She stretched out
the scarf, tying it to an unseen anchor at the bottom corner of the bed. 
She then did the same with
my right ankle.
     "Now, I'm going to change into something a little more appropriate. 
Don't go anywhere. 
Like you would."
     With that she walked out of the room, and I heard her as she walked
down the stairs. 
Even though I had come out of the shower only a few minutes ago, I was
really starting to sweat.
     I heard her return a few minutes later.  If I had gone limp at all
while she was gone, it was
even harder when she came in.  Dressed neck to toe in a white cyre'
catsuit, she looked the picture
of kinky sex.  White leather spike heeled boots adorned her feet, and her
hands were in white
latex gloves,  Her nipples stood erect through cutouts for purpose of
showing them off, and the
lips of her pussy showed through the cutout between her legs.
     "My, you look good enough to eat.  No, don't say anything, just relax
and enjoy.  In fact, I
don't want to here a word from you."  She leaned over and took off my
glasses, then reached
under the bed at the side, and when I saw what she pulled out I started to
buck frantically to get
away.  Knowing my predicament, she took the black leather hood she had
pulled out and wiggled
it over my head, cinching it tight behind my head and under my chin.  The
hood had cutouts for
eyes and mouth, but the nose was so firm against my own I couldn't breath
that way.  When I
made the mistake of opening my mouth to protest she promptly filled it
with a large pacifier
shaped gag, which velcroed in place.  The inside of the gag was big enough
that I couldn't move
my tongue, but was perforated at the front so that I could breathe.  Then
she undid the cock strap.
     "That's better.  Now, before we begin, let's set a few ground rules. 
One - I do to you what
I want, when I want, and you accept, willingly or not.  Hmm.  Guess that
about covers it."  With
that she moved her head back down to my now red prick and took it into her
mouth.  She
wrapped her left hand around the shaft and began to fondle my balls with
her right as she bobbed
her head up and down.  She must have felt me about to explode because she
stopped and gripped
my dick so tight that I couldn't cum.  "Something wrong here.  I know!" 
She waited a few
seconds to make sure I was relaxed enough so that I wouldn't cum, then
dropped my cock and
jumped of the bed and back into the kitchen.  When she returned I saw that
she carried a small
spray can, a cup, and a large towel.  She put the can, the cup and
something else down on the
ground at the foot of the bed and started wedging the tower under my legs
from ankles to hips. 
"Cream can get so messy, you know."  Cream?  As in whipped cream?  This
was definitely getting
different.  
     She leaned off the edge of the bed and I heard the spray can.  When
she came back up her
hand was filled with a large mound of foamy cream, which she proceeded to
rub all over my cock
and through my pubic hair.  By the time she was finished the cool cream
covered me from hips to
knees.  "Ready for the big surprise?"  What next? chocolate syrup and a
cherry?     Tara leaned
back off the bed and came back up with a ten-pack of razors.  My eyes must of
bugged out in surprise because when she looked up she started to laugh. 
"Always did hate getting
hair in my mouth.  Don't move; I don't want to cut you."  With that, she
proceeded to shave
my lower body clean.  When she was done my body stung from the effects of
the razors but I was
hairless.  She went into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth and
cleaned me up, then
removed the towel and climbed on the bed again, straddling me.
     "Guess I owe you a good fuck now.  Tell you what."  She reached over
my head and grabbed
something, which she pushed into the outside of the pacifier gag.  "I'll
blow you now, and you
give me seven more of your Wednesdays to do with you as I wish.  No harm
will come to you,
your wife will never know anything more than she knows now, and you'll get
to experience some
great sex.  And if you're really good, I'll give you your wedding ring
back."  With that, she lifted
up my ring in front of my face.  She must have taken it when I took it off
for my shower!  "Or -
you could get up right now and leave.  Which is it?"  She looked at me as
if waiting for me to do
something.  As if I was physically able.  "You don't seem to be leaving,
so I'll take that
as a 'yes - I will stay'.  Good.  Now, I'm going to blow you twice. 
Better hold your breathe."  She
reached behind the pillows and turned something and suddenly there was
something blowing in
through the gag.  I closed my mouth tight and pressed my tongue over the
perforations to try to
keep the gas out.  "Alan, I'm going to suck you into submission.  If you
can cum without passing
out, I'll turn off the gas and we call it even."  Her head moved down and
once again encased my
cock.  I closed my eyes and concentrated on cuming as fast as I could. 
One of Tara's hands
started to massage my ass and balls as the other pumped up and down my
shaft, all while she
sucked and licked like her life depended on it.
     That's when I realized the deviousness of the whole situation.  The
rush of blood in my body
due to the blowjob would use oxygen faster and force me to breathe, while
holding my breathe
actually prolonged the onset of the orgasm.  My head started to spin as my
tongue weakened and
the gas and the blowjob had there effect.  My body started bucking as I
came, and she pulled her
mouth off my prick.  A huge explosion erupted from my cock, shooting cum
into a cup she held
for that purpose, seconds before I passed out.  I thought I heard her say,
"Aw, too bad."

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