Message-ID: <5234eli$9710291216@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.netusa.net/~eli/erotica/assm/Year97/5234.txt>
From: PleaseCain@aol.com
Subject: (a.s.s.)   DOMINATRIX FOUND IN AMBER!!!   by Cain
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
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: <971029002218_410075261@mrin41.mail.aol.com>


EXPLICIT MATERIAL NOT INTENDED FOR MINORS



DOMINATRIX FOUND IN AMBER!!!

The watchman pulled the latch with
trepidation.  One hand gripped the cold pull-
lever, the other his gun.  The door clicked
and creaked heavily open.  There was
darkness within.

He peeked behind him.  He would have some
time before he had to get back, as he had
skipped most of his rounds to come straight
here.  The coast was clear.  He flicked on his
flashlight and peeled inside, then closed the
door slightly ajar.  The room was cold.

There it was, in the middle of the room.  He
gave the room the once-over with the beam,
and his breath poured out in billows of steam.
A few gizmos, a few blinking lights, but it
looked safe.  He flicked on one bank of lights,
and holstered his gun.

A tarp draped over the large, rectangular
block.  Being over seven feet tall, its
appearance was imposing, suddenly illuminated
just a few feet away.  He couldn't fathom why
they would keep the thing carefully wrapped
and refrigerated now, after it had weathered
eons of harsh treatment by the elements on
its own.

He drew nearer.  On inspection, he found with
relief that the specimen was not that
carefully wrapped.  He placed his hat on some
shelving.  Then, he bent and grasped the
heavy cloth with both hands, and snapped the
tarp sharply upwards.  The covering was
surprisingly heavy.  Not only did the tarp fail
to clear the top, but the watchman felt the
painful, familiar pinch of his ailing back.

Cursing, he stamped his feet in the freezer,
psyching himself up.  He seized the tarp
again and pulled at it, grunting ferociously.
He stopped after making little headway.
Determined that his curiousity would not be
denied, he ran to the opposite side, shorter
and dangling from the top.   He stood on his
tiptoes, and with all his might threw the end
over.  Breathless, he fell back and sat.
Staring up through the clouds of his
exhalations, he beheld her.

She was crouched in that same position that
he had seen in the newspaper photos, except
now that he stood beneath her she was so
much more imposing.  Actually, she wasn't
crouched down so much as curled
aggressively forward, as if jumping down to
pounce upon him, her prey.  Her long hair
was suspended up behind her.  Her knees
were bent and splayed apart.  Her rigid torso
leaned forward above her hips, and her arms
raised menacingly before her and above her
head, hands and fingers clawed out and
hooked.  Frozen at the moment of kill--long,
sleek and angry.

Strictly speaking, her face wasn't beautiful,
but it was sexy in its attitude and frame of
mind.  It was unmistakable what had been on
her mind.  Her lips were full, and ominously
raised in a sultry, arrogant snarl.  Blue eyes
glared large and hard down at him.

The frozen position was awkward and tense,
demanding a coda, a next and final moment.
She sought a murderous rest she would never
feel.  He recalled discovering a praying
mantis as a boy, a wirey, evil-looking
creature unlike anything he had seen before.
It sat large and dangerously still forever
before him, like it could explode at any
moment.  He had that same feeling now, so
long forgotten.  But this time he had already
resolved, he would draw near and touch.

She was covered from head to toe in a
glorious black leather, slick and tight beneath
the heavy translucent amber.  The leather
seamlessly conformed to her muscular thighs
and the curve of her hips.  The supple
stomach and her breasts, conical and jutting
proudly out, were outlined perfectly.  He
could distinctly see the indentations beneath
her biceps, smoothing to her ampits, and
strong calves sloping dramatically into the
tops of pointed stilletto boots.

He unzipped his slacks, and walked slowly
around the slab, surveying her body from all
angles.  The sleek catsuit revealed more
about the body by its wrinkles than it did in
the areas where it was stretched tight.  The
long creases that ran down the front of the
suit between her meaty breasts, which had
been frozen at the moment of weightlessness,
and inflated against the inside of the suit.
Those folds behind her bent knees,
illuminating in relief the powerful muscles of
her shapely legs, the vertical lines of strong
calves and hamstrings, that could crush a
man's neck.

And that complex of folds and creases in the
cleft between her legs, reaching from the
rounded bottom of perfectly toned buttocks
into that mysterious area, where bumps and
pinches and a definite protruding bulge
promised at what lay beneath.  He had never
had a chance to really stare at a woman's
genitals enough to comprehend them.
Certainly Trudy would never allow him to, nor
would he ever ask, or want to.  He had only
extracted what he needed from them, a hole
somewhere within.  The rest was pure
awkwardness.  They surely did not look like
those neat diagrams in books, where
everything was very distinct and labeled with
a name and an arrow.  In real life, there
were no separate colors and shapes.  It just
melted together in a mish-mash of skins, too
intricate and embarrassing to be of interest.
Just so the glorious hole could be found.  But
this woman, he wanted to see this one.  He
could stare at hers forever, just inches but
eons away, trying to touch it with his mind.
He exhaled and grunted deeply, grinding his
hips forward.

Ah, but he knew she would never let him
gawk at her this long were she alive.  She
was suspended above the ground, and due to
her posture, it was impossible to tell how tall
she was, but he could see she was a tall
lady.  Maybe 5-9, 5-10.   Not a short, stubby
kielbasa woman.  No, she was tall, lean,
powerful, unforgiving.  She wouldn't let him
roll atop of her and let him do his business
in her on the dark bed before sleep.

She would not allow him to lasciviously stare
at her womanhood while he rubbed on his
dicky.  She would spit angry words on him
while he played with himself.  She would cuff
the side of his head while he turned his gaze
down in humiliation.

"Don't look down now!  Go on, look at my
beautiful body," she taunted, and his groin
wrenched at the sound of her catty growl.
"Look at me!"

His head trembled as his gaze lifted slowly
from her pointed toe up her shin and knee,
along the mighty thighs, to her pussy.  "Look
at me while you finish your dirty business,
you little shit!  Now!"

At her forceful command, his shaking hands
once more sprung to life, doing her bidding,
pulling on his swollen penis with urgency and
fear.  She growled to the rhythm of his
strokes, louder and faster, to intimidate him,
until he felt her hot breath and saliva
beating on his crown.

"No, no," he fearfully wailed.  She was
hissing and cackling obscenely under her
breath.  In her guttural animal gurgling he
discerned a barely intelligible mantra of
threats and curses and hatred.  Her pussy
was so near, he needed to see it, to throw
himself on it, to please her.   Please, please,
if it could only be.  His face, chest, thighs
and penis ground desperately against the
block, and finally, he grunted, and shouted,
and light erupted all around him.

"Gierzyck, what the fuck are you doing!"



The soundstage bulbs blare heat and light
down upon the platform, glistening on the
edges of the translucent obelisk below.

An irritable voice barks orders over the
public address system.  "Jesus! Pull those
lights downstage!  You're burning my monitors
up."

"Can we get this damned thing over with?"
yells the kinky-haired talent standing beside
the pale yellow block.  "This whole scene
really blows.  Right, Georgio?"

"Yes, babe," again from the loudspeaker.
"Let's look alive.  Are we go on the effects
shot?"

"Check, G!" calls an engineer.

"Come on!"  The talent snaps her dark plastic
eyeframes on.

"Audio!"  An aggressive hip-hop beat begins
to pound.  The roomful of young dancers
springs to life.  The music cuts, interrupted
briefly.  "We're patching in from L.A.
Everybody's watching the red clock, got it?
Watch it!"

The music resumes, with a voice-over.  "Five,
four, three, two, one, we're active!"

The talent barks into her mike, "Yeah, Pauly,
we're here at Club Dom on the Lower East
Side.  Are we partying our asses off,
people?"

The dull red lights turned to blue, and the
dancing crowd screams above the music.
"Whoo!"

"Yeah, and we have to be very good tonight,
as you know, because tonight we are
entertaining The Lady."  The talent walks to
her left on the platform, until she is standing
next to the tall transluscent block containing
the suspended form of a savage woman
bedecked in a catsuit.  A manic strobe flashes
through the block from behind her.

The talent coyly raps the slab with a riding
crop.  "That's right, history's very own
mistress, and we've got her right here.  She's
making her list, checking it twice, so you'd
better be good, heh-heh. . . ."  She turns.
"What's your name?"

"Lisa," a blond red-leather dancer calls
through the music.

"Well, Lisa, have you been a good girl this
year?"

"No way!" she screams, leaning close to hear.

"What do you think of our mistress of
ceremonies, Lisa?"

"Oh, I think she's very liberating and
inspiring to me as a woman.  To think that
back then, in prehistoric times, women were
choosing their own roles as individuals."

"Oh, really?  And what are you going to do
then to appease the goddess," she taps the
amber expectantly, "and to help her ring in
the new year?"

The blond drops to her knees and presses
her face to the clear stone, at the spot
closest to the toe of the catwoman's stilletto
boot, and licks as if at a bowl of milk.  The
cameraman zooms in.

"Whoa, what is this?  The things they show
on TV these days, huh!  Lisa?  Lisa?  Well,
you just have a good ol' time, girl, and we'll
just go to Bill down on the floor.  Bill!  Bill,
are you there?"

"We're here, baby, we're here.  Your
homeboy's here on the dancefloor, where
things are pretty hot and slick, I'm saying.
As you can see, all the right kinda wildlife is
out and playing tonight.  It's going to be a
bad, bad New Year.  See?"

The lights pulse yellow-over-red to the beat,
and the cameras pan around the dungeon.
The cameraman is jostled by bumping and
grinding leathermen, whip-women, chained
peoples, ladies dancing in bras and hotpants.

"What's your New Years resolution, little
boy?"

A dancer wears black Dockers, a black leather
cap and two nipple clamps.  "Whoo!" he
answers.

"OK," the male talent counters facetiously,
and moves to the man's partner, a no-
nonsense brunette with tasteful make-up and
a leather collar set with sparkling gems.
"And what's your New Years resolution?"

She waves toward the platform, her eyelids
heavy.  "If I could be like her."

"Oh yeah, I know what you mean.  By the
way, it looks like you're line dancing."

"Huh?" she draws closer.

"I say, it looks a lot like you are line
dancing."

She dances away.

The male talent laughs.  "Tell you what, let's
go to our sizzling cyber-corner, where
hundreds of people nationwide are joining our
party, doing a little of the cerebral tango,
shall we say.  Oh yeah!"

The dancers parts before the approaching
camera, revealing caroles scattered about the
far end of the dance floor, each with a
glowing computer terminal, and one or several
people hunched before them.

"Yes, these people are practicing cyber-
bondage with real, hot-blooded kinksters all
across the country on one of America's
biggest online services, which shall remain
nameless!"  The host leans down to a skinny
young man, staring intently at his screen.
"How's it going?"

"OK," he states in a monotone.

"You two'd better hurry," the host shouts.
"Midnight's coming!"

"Yeah, OK."  He sits motionless but for his
hands, which fluidly clack keys.

"Right."  The host rolls his eyes for the
camera and moves to the next table.  "Here's
the organizer of Cyber-And-Gomorrah '95, Dr.
Che Liebowitz, professor of psychology at New
York University.  Doctor, how's things going?"

"Bill, we're very pleased with the
participation and enthusiasm here.  We're
very convinced that the virtual community is
the next realm of human interaction.  Cases of
people falling in love in cyberspace are now
commonplace.  Why, then, can't society
embrace this tool as one of liberation and
experimentation in sexuality?  We're saying,
there's nothing wrong here.  It frees us from
the constraints of our bodies and our day-to-
day responsibilities, into the realm pure
ideas.  Hence, this vivacious, exciting woman I
perceive on my screen right now, is probably
in fact a fat, boring housewife in Iowa, for all
one knows."

Bill leans to read from the screen and pats
the doctor on the back.  "I see!  Safe sex,
right?"

"Right.  For instance, right now, I've got this
woman . . ."

The host yanks the mike away.  "Ho!  Watch
that!  We gonna have New York's finest
throwing down on us."  He thinks a moment.
"Man, tell her to. . . ."   He whispers in the
doctor's ear.  They both chortle.

"I don't think she'll go for it," the doctor
replies as he types.  The host peers to the
screen.

They both laugh after a moment.  "I told you!
I told you!" bellows the host.  They slap a
high five.  "I gotta be going, but I'll be
back!  I'll be back here."  The host walks
away.

Bill's voice is now heard loudly over the
sound system, the hip-hop now in the
background.  "We got business, crew.  Listen
up.  The moment has arrived.  It's time to
ring in the New Year.  Give it up for our
ladies of the night."  The people look up to
the platform and cheer.  A spotlight shines on
the hostess standing beside the block of
amber.

"Ready to count in the New Year, devils?
Fine, together:  ten, nine, eight . . ."

At the stroke of twelve, a huge bank of
strobelights fire off from behind the amber
block, lights aimed at the slab from different
angles.  The catwoman suspended within
appears to dance, as lusty bodies crowd and
writhe, making love to the obelisk.




"Come, my pet, awake.  Rouse thyself.  I have
your treats."  A thin man of effeminate
features and sickeningly pale skin, clad in
black, called in a reedy voice into the huge
open-air observation tank below.  The tank
comprised most of the cavernous room, and
consisted of a circular ten foot wall, paneled
within by white easy-wash vinyl.  The solid
white walls of the arena were interrupted
only by a Buick-sized ground-level plexiglass
observation window, and a small hole of two-
to-three feet in diameter opposite the
observation window.  The hole was used for
access in and out of the open-air terrarium,
and the gaunt man was particularly proud of
it, as this was his idea.  As he predicted, his
subject within could no longer escape through
the hole.

The huge tank contained only a few objects.
A jungle mat, a beanbag chair, rubber
playballs of various sizes and colors, building
blocks and a wide-screen TV.

The tank was also ringed at its top by black
steel scaffolding, which allowed onlookers to
walk around and observe from any angle.
The waiflike black figure stood upon the
scaffolding, as he reached into a greasy
brown grocery bag.

"Up, my friend.  It's time to eat!"  He pulled
his hand from the bag, and tossed packages
wrapped in white paper to the floor of the
tank.  He grabbed another handful and tossed
them.  Some remained wrapped until they hit
the ground.  Others fell from their wrapping,
and hit the floor as scattered buns and
ketchup-laden patties and pickles.  "Come on,
it's the fun time!"

On the far side below, a makeshift wall of
building blocks tumbled down, and an animal-
like grumbling emanated from beyond.  When
the next volley of burgers splatted upon the
floor, a large creature charged out from
behind the rubble of blocks, across the tank
toward the debris.

The creature charged huffing to the culinary
litter scattered about the tank floor, scooping
up and devouring the scraps as it moved
along.  The brute was obese, his body clad
only in a large diaper.  Food bits sprayed to
the ground as it hunched and ravaged its
food.  The subject wore meaty sideburns down
its cheeks, and a long, silvered pompadour,
which it repeatedly tossed away from its face
as it fed.  As it ate the smaller bits, the
brute scooped and gathered larger burger
chunks in its cradled arm.  Still chewing, it
stood, still holding its armful of booty.

It crammed a whole burger into its mouth,
then shook a fist up at its captor.  "Ah'monna
get you, Michael."  It choked, and then
stuffed another patty in, with some effort.

The observer giggled like a child from the
scaffold.  "Be happy, my friend," he
reassured in his thin voice, "I have a
surprise for you.  We have a new friend to
play with."

The wraithlike man-boy snapped into motion
and nimbly danced down the stairs.  He
reappeared at ground-level, at the plexiglass
viewing window, and knocked on it.  He called
the brute over with his finger.  The diapered
hulk moved closer, then looked perplexed as
it took in the sight.

"Say hello to our new friend."  The gaunt
man stroked lovingly at the yellow encasing
surrounding the leatherclad catwoman.  "I
don't have a name for her yet.  Can you
think of a name for her?  She's very pretty,
isn't she?"

The amber block had fresh cuts on four of its
sides--above the woman's head, below her
feet, and at both of her sides--as large
sections of the slab had been sawed away.
Parts of the woman were now only millimeters
beneath the surface.

"Soon she will be free," the thin man said
dreamily, "and then, the fun we will
have. . . ." 

"Do you like her?" the thin man asked.  The
brute only stared and chewed from the other
side of the window.

"Well, Mr. Merrick likes her," he continued,
and turned to address the human skeleton
hanging from a nearby pole.  "You like her,
don't you, Mr. Merrick?  Yes, Mr. Merrick
likes her.  Yes he does."

"Yes, soon she will be free," he mused while
walking a few steps to an oblong coffin-like
machine.  He flipped some switches on the
side, and the box began to hum and whir, and
fog rose out, illuminated from within.  "And
then we can all play together, here in our
secret world."  He climbed over the side and
into the open chamber of the machine.  He sat
up inside of it, with the fog rising all around
him.  "I just have to think of her name," and
he laid down into the haze to sleep.

-- 
+--------------' 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> /