Message-ID: <4318eli$9709241004@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/4318.txt>
From: zanna@whoever.com (Joyce Melton & Morgan Preece)
Subject: Repost: Mercedes 3: Kitchen Heat {Morgan Preece} /C*R* 10/10/10/
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories.tg,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
Path: qz!not-for-mail
Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam
Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Original-Message-ID: <343deb11.20361631@news.gte.net>


This story is intended for the entertainment of adults only. 
If you are under 18 please stop reading immediately. If you 
are offended by strong adult-oriented themes, explicit sex, 
erotic fantasy or vulgar language, what are you doing here?


Copyright (C) 1997 by Morgan Preece. All rights reserved. Permission
is hereby granted for noncommercial use of this complete and unaltered
text (including disclaimer paragraph above and this paragraph) in
electronic form such as posting to EBBS's or Newsgroups or free access
Electronic Archives. Electronic storage of unaltered copies for
personal use is also permitted. Any other use of this text is a
violation of copyright. Additionally, no permission is given hereby
for any sort of distribution (including Email) to minors or other
persons to whom such distribution would be illegal in the jurisdiction
of distributor, recipient or intermediary. No hardcopies may be made
without written permission from the author.


MERCEDES


by Morgan Preece


CHAPTER 3




	Just then, Concepcion tapped my skull with the frying pan. 

	I collapsed  again, my face colliding one more time with flat
smooth concrete. "Bitch! Slut! Hija de una puta! No en el piso! You
mess up my floor, you tonta!"

	My head throbbed but somehow I felt good. The only thing I
couldn't figure out was why on Earth was I crying? I lay there naked
on the concrete in the slightly oily debris of the garage. I knew that
I had fallen into the hands of some sort of madwoman and somehow, I
felt happy. Frightened, the way one feels on a darkened roller
coaster, but I knew better than to try to get out in the middle of the
ride.

	Concepcion stood astride me then, suddenly. She put a
high-heeled shoe in the middle of my back and pulled my hands behind
me where she wrapped my wrists with some sort of tape almost up to my
elbows. I struggled uselessly, grunting through my oily rag but we
both knew I could not get away and somehow, no longer wanted to. 

	She kept up a stream of commentary in her mixture of English
and Spanish. She called me by endearing names like "querida" and
"darling." She called me nasty ones like "puta" and "cunt". She made
me stand up, difficult to do with your hands behind you. She pushed me
up the stairs ahead of her, warning me solicitously not to stumble.
"You clomsy, dickless teeng," she said almost fondly.

	I stared at the spotless kitchen behind the door. Every modern
convenience laid out with style and lots and lots of money. I had
almost forgotten the money. Normally thinking about money and women
could make me hard but this time it didn't seem to be happening. I
worried a little, would I be able to perform when it came time for
Sylvia or whatever her name was. Perhaps Concepcion had used me up
with her little skillet.

	Standing naked in the middle of the room, shivering a little
on the cold tile, the hot water caught me completely by surprise.
Concepcion stood beside the sink with the stainless steel hose and the
black plastic nozzle of the sink sprayer in her hands. My mercenary
little reverie cut short by the nearly scalding spray, I thought she
had burned me, that I would have scars.

	 "Got to wash off the grease," Concepcion laughed. I tried to
push the gag out of my mouth to scream. When she flipped the lever to
cold my breath caught in my throat. I tried to inhale the rag, I
choked, I gagged. I felt my bile rise and I feared that if I vomited,
I would choke to death. I fell to the floor, the water alternating hot
and cold, shocking me while Concepcion continued laughing, "I got to 
wash you, you feelthy thing."

	The water made the floor so slippery that I did not dare try
to stand again, but attempted to crawl or swim out of the reach of the
deranged housemaid. Frantically, I struggled to an archway where steps
led down to a sunken living room but Concepcion grabbed my ankle and
dragged me back. I fell on my chin and would have bit my tongue but
for the greasy rag in my mouth. At least she had to stop spraying me
with hot water to grab my leg. "Poor baby," she laughed "you doan like
to get a bath, ha?"

	I lay where she left me, out of breath and hoping the torture
would not begin again. And it seemed that it would not for she turned
off the water and approached me with a towel. Laughing softly, she
crooned to me in Spanish while she dried me off, scrubbing away the
oily stains roughly. She ordered me to be quiet and then she even
removed the gag. She smiled at me, so thoroughly cowed was I that I 
smiled back, nervously, like a prisoner smiling at a guard or a
hostage smiling at a terrorist. My arms were still fastened behind me,
taped together from wrist to elbows.

	When she got to my penis and balls with the towel, she warned
me again to be quiet. I was not surprised to feel an erection
beginning again. 


	"Concha!" a voice snapped as Sylvia strode into the room. 

	She had obviously changed clothes. Thigh-high lace-up black
leather boots with seven-inch spike heels encased her legs. A tight
corset of similar material supported her heavy breasts while cinching
her waist to a delicious slenderness. Big blocky earrings with stones
so large they must have been paste matched the jeweled gloves she
wore, black leather also, and reaching so high above her elbows they
compressed the flesh of her upper arms into slight rolls of white
flesh at her armpits, which were shaved smooth as was her naked pubic
area. She had no tan lines, being the same even ivory all over, from
forehead to thigh.

	Then I saw also that her nether lips had been pierced, several
times, perhaps six or seven, on both sides of her cunt slit and that
large rings had been entered into the piercings. These rings had then
been pulled together and a curved rod of some sort placed through
them, first a ring of one side and then a ring of the other, so that
her poor twat lips must have been very pinched against the rings and
the rod. The rod was also pierced on both ends, the upper end broadly
knobbed with a bright steel ring through it. The lower end of the rod
was pierced also with a wider ring. Through these rings and also
through the lip rings, bright red leather laces had been threaded,
this way and that in a complex braiding that begged to be undone,
setting sweet tortured flesh free. The bizarre eroticism of it sent a
charge through my penis and completed the job Concepcion had started,
my dick stood erect and ready once more.

	I got such a detailed view of her private area because Sylvia
strode forward and thrust the gordian knot of her chastity into my
face. "Take a good long look, slut," she ordered and Concha, or
Concepcion, held my face close enough that I could not help to see
such details as that the underside of the knob at the upper end of the
rod was grooved deeply where it pressed against the flesh above her
hidden clitoris. Why would that be, perhaps to increase, or perhaps to
prevent, stimulation to that button I could not see? Or that the rings
through her lips were ovoid with the thinner end through the lips and
the wider end opening to admit the rod which was not straight but
curved, this way then that, yielding to the demands of the rings. I
saw, too, that between the lip rings other rings pieced the rod at an
angle, interlocking with the lip rings on either side. Even were the
lacings cut or the rings disentangled, how could such a rod be removed
from the rings? How could she attend to the callings of nature, urine
and menstrual flow, without leaving laces, rings, rod and flesh in
such a state as to promote disease?

	 "Fascinated?" she asked, smiling. "Disappointed?"

	I could only stare. How could she wear such a thing everyday,
how could she remove it? It would be the work of hours, even if the
rods and rings could be removed without tearing the flesh. I yearned
to undo the bindings and plunge my throbbing dick into the secret of
her imprisoned snatch but my own hands were still taped behind my
back. Leaning forward, I gently licked the smooth skin above the
knobbed upper end of the key rod. I felt no stubble under my tongue,
but soft tiny hairs, nearly invisible. She had not shaved the area but
had instead depilated it electrolytically. That must have hurt, I
thought, and the idea of her endured pain, her suffering in the making
of this sweet mystery nearly caused me to orgasm then and there. With
effort, I controlled myself. 

	She sighed, to my sighs, as I continued my explorations with
my tongue. The lacings tasted of leather, and salt, and woman. The
whole area had been depilated, down to where her thighs disappeared
into the tops of her leather boots. The effect was one more oddity on
top of the enigma of the rings and rods and laces. And I did have a
puzzle, how was I to pleasure this woman who had so thoroughly
concealed her pleasure place? Women, and knowing how to please them,
had been my fortune but I had never faced such a challenge. Pressing
my face against the knobbed end of the rod, I seized a loop of lacing
in my teeth. With rhythmic pressure on the rod, I worried at the
laces, testing gently to see if they might be easily unraveled.

	Concha murmured something in Spanish behind me, Sylvia
responded also not in English. She sighed, leaning in against my
pressure. "That is good, you will be a good student." Moving suddenly,
she stepped away from me and I nearly fell face first on the tiles.
Only her hand on my chest saved me for she squatted directly in front
of me.

	Her gloved hands seized my penis in a cross-handed grip, one
thumb against the underside of the head of my uncircumcised dick, the
other probing the scrotal area under the base. Here she discovered my
genital oddity. "Where is your other testicle?" she asked, curiously.

	We were nearly face to face in this position. I leaned a bit
forward to whisper in her ear, "I must have left it in my other
pants." Actually, I simply did not have but one, a condition known
medically as monorchidism. My joke almost always got a laugh and did
not fail me this time. 

	"Remember, I told you to bring anything you couldn't do
without," she laughed musically. Still smiling directly into my face,
her hands pumped and stroked. Her caressing thumb brought me to the
edge of orgasm. I fought the release, trying to sustain the moment. I
wanted to cry out, to stop her, it wasn't part of my game plan to come
before she did. I tried to think of my aching shoulders, with my arms
taped together behind me, they truly did ache.

	But the pain seemed merely part of the pleasure. I heard
Concha behind me and I knew she intended something. I tried to worry
about that. Sylvia leaned forward to take my lower lip between her
teeth. Her face, so strong, so feminine, so near to me, I knew that
she controlled this encounter, not me. In a moment, I would lose the
struggle, I would cum into Sylvia's hands. Perhaps then she would
allow me to pleasure her.

	I almost did not feel the needle of the hypodermic Concha
slipped into the meat of my thigh. I noticed first that redness swam
in from the edges of my vision. Still short of the release I had
struggled against, I blacked out slowly to the sound of women
laughing.


(to be continued)

-- 
+--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+
| story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |
| Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |
\ <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/>    .../assm/faq.html> /