Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d 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> From: Mad Dog Literata <literata@cyberramp.net> Subject: STORY: One Woman's Fantasy, Part 1/4 You're at a mall -- say, the Galleria. You've been there for about an hour; you're there because you've been told that today is the day, there because you've been ordered to. You're there because you want to be. Your outfit: Black velvet evening gown (tastefully decollete), black high-heeled opera pumps, black silk hosiery with a seam in the rear -- and a garter belt to hold them up. Black lacy panties and matching brassiere. The entire outfit, all your choice. People passing you in the mall think you're getting ready to go to an elegant dinner, perhaps, or a ball. They're wrong. Where you're going, no one would ever guess... You spent the afternoon getting dressed for this, getting your hair and makeup done just right; you've been waiting for this for a long time, and when you found out that it would happen today, you almost melted. So you savor the experience: The whole thing. You enjoy the treatment you get at the upscale dress shops, the jewelry stores. You're wet -- you've been wet, for what -- hours now, it seems like -- and you enjoy rubbing your thighs together as you are waited on by the young, gorgeous salesgirls, hoping that they can smell you. One salesgirl in particular was turned on, kept complimenting your outfit, telling you that you have the prettiest eyes she's ever seen, and watching her gaze dart to your chest -- the second compliment unspoken, but you know she'd like to brush her hand against your breast -- accidentally, of course -- and test your reaction. Her nametag reads Lisa, and on any other night than tonight, you'd want to respond to her, see what her limits are, what games she'd be up to. Knowing what tonight has in store for you, you depart, taking one of her cards and putting it into your purse. She's for another time, another scene... It's 9 pm; the stores are beginning to close, and the banks of lights are going out at irregular intervals. You're wondering if you might have gotten the location wrong, or if you were looked for and not found. People are making their way through the entrances in twos and threes. You decide to pause at Bachendorf's, watching yourself in the reflection of the window displays. Then it starts: Someone moves up behind you (where did he come from?), moves into you, and you feel a blunt metal object against your back. "Rosebud," a strange voice whispers. (That is the password -- God forbid that this happen to you for real on this night!) "Don't move. Don't make a fucking sound. I've got a gun at your back -- you fuck up, I'll blow a hole in you big enough to put my hands through." For a moment -- for an eternity -- the only sound you hear is your own breathing, heavy and labored. "Nod slowly if you understand, slut," he says. (You don't recognize the voice.) You nod, almost imperceptively. "All right," he says, after a space, "here's the deal: You're going to go over to the parking entrance down on this level by Cache. When you get there, you're going to face the display that has the blue sequined dress. You're going to stay there until I tell you what else to do. Got it?" You nod, yes. "Now, here are the rules," he continues. "You talk to anyone, and you die. I can hit you from as far away as sixty feet, and with this silencer, you'll never even hear it." Your legs almost give way, but something else -- you're about to wet yourself from being so utterly aroused. "Any deviation from my instructions, I put a bullet in the base of your skull," he tells you. "And I mean any deviation." Another interval of silence -- your breathing is hard, you try to make out in the reflection the figure standing behind you, and you so desparately want to finger yourself. "One last thing: Keep looking straight ahead. If I see those bright, pretty eyes of yours, I'll put a bullet between them. Now, get going." He pushes off, and you see movement out of the corner of your eye. But fear has you deep within its spell; you turn toward Cache, and walk -- not very steadily -- to the parking garage entrance. The mall is almost deserted; your heels click down on the floor. There's another sound, more of an echo than another set of footsteps, but you know you're being followed. You know it. It takes you almost ten minutes to reach Cache; by the time you're there, the lights in the store are out. You take up your position in front of the display holding a sparkling blue gown, and you wait. Your heart is racing by now; you're savoring the fear of all this as if it were an aged brandy -- you want to gulp it down, but you also want to make it last, stretch it out as far as it can go. You've dreamed of this scene, masturbated furiously to it, and you're wondrously surprised that the reality matches the image. You're lost in reverie, which is probably why you don't hear him approach you. Again, from the back, and again, you feel the cold steel of the silencer press into the small of your back. "That was good," the stranger tells you. "Not much farther to go now." He slips his hand down to your ass, leans into you. Your body roils against his touch. He doesn't say anything, just presses against you, and now you're feeling two hard objects bearing into you. You don't know whether to be aroused or terrified -- and then you realize that you're both. "You like that, don't you, you little slut," he whispers in your ear. "You're a bitch in heat tonight." You want to nod, yes! He pulls away. "Not much farther to go now," he says. "Go out to the garage. About halfway up the ramp is a black Dodge van. You're going to walk up to it, open the rear door, and get in. Once you're inside, close the door. Understand? Nod once if you do, bitch." You nod once. "Good," he continues, "and remember, you fuck up just one time, and I blow a hole through your skull." That one makes you shiver. "Go on, slut." You walk unevenly through the doors, out onto the corridor connecting the garage to the mall. The parking lot is almost empty, and you pick out the black van easily. You go around to the back of the van (you notice the dark tint on the windows and shiver again), and open the door. It's completely dark inside. You climb in and close the door behind you. Suddenly, you feel hands on you -- someone slips a blindfold over your eyes, and you start to yell when a hand covers your mouth. "Shut the fuck up!" another voice -- female?? -- growls at you. "Here!" A strong hand -- masculine, you think, and that means at least three people in on this caper -- grabs your hair violently and pulls your head back. Something slips over your face; it's a penis gag that rides just this side of making you cough. Your lips slide over it involuntarily. "Now," you hear the woman say, "go ahead and moan as much as you want." You're lifted and placed in a seat. Your arms are brought back behind you and bound together; your ankles are tied to the seat. A door opens, then closes. "Is the bitch belted in?" you hear the first stranger say. "Yeah," the woman replies, "we're ready to roll." "Alright," the man tells his partners, "Now it's off to the warehouse..." ---------- -- Story Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> Newsgroup FAQ: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/faq.html> Archive site: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/> (Not pretty yet)