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Subject: {ASSM} The Joy of Slavery (md, mc)
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Standard disclaimer and notes:
This is a story featuring explicit sexual situations. Kids, don't try
this at home. If you're underage or don't like this sort of thing there
are some lovely sites on quilting you could be browsing right now.
Also, this story is mine, so don't reproduce or post it without
permission. If you do I will find out about it, track you down like the
animal you are, and enroll you in the Fetish-Gear-Of-The-Month Club,
making sure they deliver to your office. Oh, and comments/criticism
would be nice.
*****
The Joy of Slavery
by Droewyn
(This was written very late at night after reading one story too many
where Our Hero uses his telepathic powers to seduce and enslave
Beautiful Women With Big Breasts. You've been warned)
I flipped a page in my novel and settled myself more
comfortably into the curve of the park bench. The sun shone
warmly on my face and hair, a gentle breeze blowing just hard
enough to cool pleasantly but not annoy. It was a perfect day
and I couldn't help marvelling at how few people occupied the
park. Too busy to take the time, I guessed, and smiled to
myself. Their loss, I thought smugly.
A shadow fell on my face and I looked up in sudden
irritation to see a man in his early thirties standing over me,
blocking the sun. He was tall and had ordinary enough features:
brown hair and hazel eyes, tanned skin, a straight nose. His
smile was a little too wide for my liking, and his gaze was fixed
undeniably on my not unample chest. I was stunned at his
audacity. I am accustomed to receiving appreciative looks from
men, but he was being offensive. I quickly opened my mouth to
tell him where to get off--
'What are you THINKING?' I screamed to myself, suddenly
aghast at my own idiocy. 'Here is the most georgeous guy you've
ever seen, and you're going to tell him to get lost?' My jaw
closed with an audible snap and I smiled dreamily up at him. I
didn't think to wonder at how he went from ordinary looking to
the incredible specimen of man who was now standing before me.
He seemed to radiate masculinity, and I basked in the aura of his
presence. I felt honored to be near him. Staring at him in
rapture, I explored his perfect features, savoring and memorizing
each one. His hair, bronzed and shining, perfect for running my
fingers through. His mouth, wide and sensitive. I could taste
those lips in my thoughts. A fine nose, strong and noble. And
when my eyes finally rested on his, I thought I was going to die.
My paperback fell forgotten from suddenly nerveless fingers
as I found myself drowning, all sense of being lost somewhere in
the depths of his gaze. I forgot where I was, and I nearly
forgot WHO I was in the sudden rush of emotion. My heart was
pounding, and my head began to ache. Suddenly I knew that all I
wanted was to love this man, submit to this man, be whatever it
was he asked of me. At that moment, I would gladly have died for
him. Physical sensations rushed over me as well; my entire being
was a tangle of contradictory feelings, pleasure and pain. The
throbbing of my brow melded with the throbbing of my sex, each
sensation in itself a swirling maelstrom of bliss and agony.
I felt myself, my mind, begin to change, molding to suit the
wishes of the man I knew would be my lover, my lord, and so much
more. My spirit sang in answer to his summons, and the tears
that suddenly filled my eyes were only partly due to the
thundering in my skull. I heard, felt, His voice issuing
commands, the words that filled my being and rewrote my soul.
"Submit to me...obey..." How could I do any differently? His
voice was my universe! I trembled at His feet, overcome, and I
think I began to masturbate.
How to describe the strength of that which had held me
instantly captive? Tsunami. Fortissimo. The most powerful
words are inadequate. Everything that I had thought of as 'me'
dissolved under the force of His will to be replaced by a
creature of his making, and I rejoiced in my rebirth. I belonged
to Him, body and soul, and I knew that it was as I was always
meant to be. I orgasmed then, and felt as if a lightning bolt
was blasting through my skull. I screamed, and in my confusion
of ecstasy and agony, tried to physically push away the pain. I
touched the man who was my Master--
--and found myself staring in shock at the young man who had
been leering at me earlier, and who was now lying unconscious at
my feet. My headache was gone as if it had never been, and I
felt a strange stirring in its place. I think I would have
believed I'd daydreamed the entire episode, if the scent of my
own arousal didn't fill my nostrils.
I was confused. I was afraid. I wondered absently if I
should get help for the man, but at that moment he moaned,
beginning to stir. To my amazement, I could feel his
disorientation at the back of my own mind as he slowly regained
consciousness. He climbed shakily to his feet as I watched, and
I asked him if he was all right. Ridiculous? Certainly, the man
had just tried to commit an act that was worse than rape. I
think I was so dazed that I asked him out of habit. At any rate
he looked at me then, and I knew his rapture even before he
whispered awed phrases of adulation to me. He dropped to his
knees before me, and it was with a growing sense of deepest
wonder that I ordered him to his feet--without speaking a word.
I don't know how I knew what had happened; perhaps it was
instinctive knowledge, perhaps I was pulling it from the mind of
my would-be Master. In any case, I knew that his attempt to gain
control of my mind had somehow awakened my own previously latent
telepathic ability. It was a crazy combination of instinct,
emotion and luck that saved me in the end.
I brought him home, of course. What else could I have done?
I hadn't MEANT to force his control to backlash on him, but it
had happened, and I felt at least somewhat responsible for him.
Besides, he was fixated on me. Trying to order him away from me
made him collapse into frightened tears, and I could sense the
very real physical pain he felt at the mere idea of separation
from me. Turning him over to the police was out, for obvious
reasons (YOU try to explain what happened to them, if you're so
interested. I shall skip that pleasure, thank you. I have no
interest in being made to see a therapist). And aside from his
programmed thoughts, he had nothing left. No thoughts of his
own, no memories. He didn't even know his own name. I couldn't
help it, I pitied him.
Pitied him for all of ten minutes after we got to my
apartment, that is! What kind of IDIOT would program anyone to
only want to wear white satin lingerie? He ruined three of my
best camisoles before I could stop him, and several pairs of
underwear that he cut the crotches out of. To make matters
worse, he absolutely refuses to wear a robe, even to answer the
door--which he DOES insist on doing, to save me the trouble.
He'll put clothing on to go out in public, but he won't even
leave the apartment unless I'm with him. I can't get rid of him,
he follows me around like a lost little puppy--and if you think
this is an attractive concept, YOU get woken up by a strange
thirty-something guy in an ill-fitting satin neglige trying to
pull your panties off so that he can be some kind of oral sex
alarm clock. And THEN stumble blearily into the bathroom where
you discover that your unwanted slave boy didn't clean your razor
after he used it to shave off his pubic hair because SOMEBODY
obviously had a thing about liking his women clean-shaven. And
he didn't even put the damn toilet seat down. The worst part is
that I can't even bear to yell at him because his adoration
tickles constantly at the back of my thoughts. Besides, he's a
masochist, and I don't want to give him any encouragement.
I WANT MY LIFE BACK! I don't find him attractive, and I
don't want his ministrations. I just want him to go away, and I
don't even know enough about my newfound mental abilities to try
and "fix" him. I suppose you could argue that any change would
be an improvement, but I don't want to risk damage, not even to a
former scum sucking slimebag.
And for the icing on the cake, my mother just called to
remind me that we have a dinner date tonight. At my place, and I
absolutely can't get out of it. She's been looking forward to it
all week, and she knows we'll have a lovely time, just us girls.
Hah. Not after she gets a look at my new roomie, we won't.
Which brings me to the reason I'm posting my tale of woe. I was
wondering if there are any experienced telepaths out there who
would be interested in a challenge. I'd be really, REALLY
grateful if someone could take him off my hands...say, by around
sixish? If you're interested, send email quickly to--oh damn,
he's just found the dessert toppings...oh bloody hell...hold
on....@#$%$&*%^&#$^$^*%%
NO CARRIER
***
"The Joy of Slavery" (c) 1999 by Sydney Ashcraft, all rights reserved.
Comments/criticism may be sent to ashcraf3@pilot.msu.edu
--
--'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ _\@/_ @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- @>--,--'--
Sydney Allison Ashcraft |Wonder and hope will draw the unicorn, faith
Lavender GoodWench and |and love will bind him. This is Innocence.
Unsavory Malcontent |Sexual ignorance has nothing to do with it.
--'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ --'--,--<@ _\@/_ @>--,--'-- @>--,--'-- @>--,--'--
Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.
--
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are their only payment. Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is
copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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