Message-ID: <11043eli$9805082229@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11043.txt>
From: Erotales <Erotales@aol.com>
Subject: "Ruthie's Afternoon," by Erotales (bdsm, nc(?), Mf)
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: <fa0ce243.3553a864@aol.com>


***


Story: "Ruthie's Afternoon" by Erotales (bdsm, nc(?), Mf)

This is a work entirely of fiction. It shouldn't be read by anybody 
under 18 or taken seriously by anyone who does read it. Send comments
to Erotales@aol.com.

This story is dedicated to Ruthie, who is a real person and likes this
kind of thing. :)

			 RUTHIE'S AFTERNOON

Ruthie hated flagging down cabs in the rain, but she hated the subway
even more. She nearly gave up when three cabs sped past in a spray of
dirty street-water, but a fourth finally jerked over to the curb and
stopped about ten feet ahead of her. She ran ahead gratefully towards
the flung-open rear door and was halfway in before she noticed the back
seat was already occupied.

"Oh... Ow!" She'd banged the back of her head on the top of the
doorframe in her haste to back out, then realized that if the cab hadn't
been stopping for her then it must be about to let its passenger out --
whereupon she could claim it. She hesitated, rubbing her head.

The man in the back seat had an Italian look to him, with a darkness to
the bottom half of his face that would probably always be there unless
he shaved every few hours. He was big, but his suit was well-tailored
and made his bulk seem less threatening. He smiled at her. "Where ya
goin', lady?"

Ruthie didn't care for the brusqueness and didn't really feel it was his
business, but his smile was charming enough -- sincere, not
ingratiating. She fought with her umbrella and said, "I'm trying to get
to a restaurant on West 42nd."

"No problemo, I'm goin' close to there. I tol' the cabbie to stop for 
ya -- hated seein' ya out there gettin' soaked." He slid to the far side
of the seat and waved her in, gathering the coat beside him into his
lap.

She slipped in gratefully, telling the cabbie in front, "Porter's. Do
you know where it is? On 42nd?" The driver nodded without turning and
pulled away from the curb.

She started fumbling with her purse. The man beside her said, "Listen,
you're already havin' a bad lunch hour. This ride's on me, how 'bout
that?"

She sensed the beginnings of a pickup line. "No, there's no need for
that, really. You've already been very nice, stopping for me."

She expected him to insist, but he shrugged and repeated the smile. She
couldn't help smiling back. She felt safe with him. Her warning sensors
backed off a notch.

He seemed content to ride in silence, watching the crowds on the
sidewalks hunched against the rain. It had receded to a thick mist by
this time.

She was used to cabs taking unexpected short cuts, so the first turn
onto a quieter side street didn't bother her. She felt the first squirt
of adrenaline when the car suddenly turned into a narrow alley in the
middle of the block.

"Where are -- no!" she gasped, as her new friend, in an obviously
practiced motion, drew his coat out of his lap and threw it over her
head, pushing her sideways down onto the seat. Through the fabric she
felt something push against her throat, like a finger but too hard,
unyielding. It seemed prudent to assume it was a gun, and she listened
when the man said, "Don't yell. Don't get up."

She closed her eyes, useless under the coat anyway, and concentrated on
breathing shakily, her heart trying to pound out of her chest. She tried
to ask, "Where are you taking me?" but her lips felt like cheap plastic
imitations.

The man looked too rich to need her money -- of course, maybe that's how
he got rich. He couldn't be going to rape her, could he? The cabbie was
a witness... Ruthie, you idiot, the driver's in on it, she told herself.
The guy hadn't told him to turn. Oh God, she thought, if You'll just let
me make it through this...

"Whatta ya think, Tino? You seen her close up now. She okay?"

She heard the cabbie's voice for the first time, a nasal Puerto Rican
cadence. "She tall, real pretty. Got nice legs, man. She be okay."

"Good. I was tired o' lookin'. She's it, then."

She moaned to herself, her eyes tearing up. It was something sexual.
Just the other day she'd told Daniel she didn't feel ready for sex.
Ready or not, she thought, here it comes now.

* * *

Ruthie couldn't be sure, but she thought most of the trip had been on
the Long Island Expressway. About forty minutes or so, maybe. The man
had kept her prone on the seat, under the coat but had not made any
further threats. Her thoughts ran wild in waves -- losing focus for
minutes at a time, and then reassembling in terrified imaginings. They
turned off the expressway at last, onto a busy road at first and slower,
quieter streets afterwards. At last they came to a stop at which the man
rolled his window down -- she could feel the breeze on her legs -- and
said, "Jimmy, open up, it's me." She could hear the clinking sound of a
metal gate opening, and they drove on. Moments later they stopped again.

"Okay, lady, we're here. Everybody out." He pulled the coat off her
head, and she shakily sat up, running her fingers through her mussed
blonde hair -- and froze. The view out the window was nothing like what
she'd expected.

They were parked in the drive in front of an enormous mansion. Out the
left windows a trimmed lawn rolled out to a line of trees, several
hundred yards away. The rain had stopped, and the sun was poking through
the clouds, giving the wet grounds a near-heavenly glow. Immediately to
the right was an entrance of marble steps that began very wide and
narrowed towards the top.

She jumped as the door on her side was opened -- she'd been too absorbed
in examining the house to notice anyone approaching. She looked back at
the man next to her, who waved her out with a friendly smile as if he
hadn't just kidnapped her and threatened her with a gun. She felt she
ought to be more scared than she was, but the house was so far outside
her expectations that she couldn't help feeling now that it was some
sort of elaborate practical joke. She went up the steps and through the
front door, held open for her by an elderly maid in a black dress and
white apron. Having no idea where she was meant to go next, she stopped
and waited for the man from the cab.

As he passed her and beckoned her to follow him, she felt it was time to
get some answers. "You live here?"

"Not me. My boss does. I just work here."

"Who's your employer?"

"He din't tell me ta tell ya that. I better not say."

"Well, what does he want with me?"

"He wants ya ta wait upstairs. Up this way." He swept his arm to
indicate a long, curved staircase that led to an upper level.

She shrugged. She could tell a dead end when she saw one, and her sense
of danger was lessening by the second. Maybe an eccentric millionaire
had decided to share his wealth with her. She could live with that.

They arrived at an open door and the man smiled and waved her inside 
with a flourish. She returned his smile and then froze, partway through
the door. Again, just not quite what she'd been picturing.

It was obviously a bedroom, by definition: there was a bed in it. That
was pretty much all, though: queen-size, with a bare mattress, a nice
carpet on the floor underneath it and no other furniture in the room.
She turned back to the man. "This has to be the wrong room."

"No, this is the place. Wait here, we'll have ya fixed up in no time."

Rolling her eyes and muttering "This better not get any more nuts" she 
walked halfway to the bed. She stopped when she heard a click behind
her. She whirled to see if that was what it sounded like. It was. The
existence of the previously theoretical gun had now been proven.

She tried to maintain a steady voice with marginal success. "Wh-what do
you want? It can't be money."

"I want ya ta take off all your clothes." As she gasped and folded her
arms across her chest, he went on, "It ain't for me, if that's what
you're thinking. I got orders. Go on," he gestured with the gun.

"C-could you tell me what's going to happen, at least? What this is
about?" Her fingers started fumbling with the top button of her blouse.
They didn't have much success, partly due to shaking, partly as a stall.

He shook his head, and pointed the gun directly at her. She suddenly 
remembered how the buttons worked. He said, "Toss that over ta me," as
she started to drop the blouse on the bed. Her short skirt followed, her
bra, her thigh-high stockings. She stood shakily in her brief panties,
unable to make herself take the final step, until he sighed impatiently.
Quickly she slid the panties down her legs and stood in the middle of
the room, naked, shivering, telling herself it must be awfully cold in
the room. It wasn't. She found that standing naked in a strange house
while your host points a gun at you isn't as much fun as many people
suppose.

She stifled a yell as he casually tossed her clothes out into the
hallway. His instruction to lay on the bed wasn't difficult to follow,
as she had been backing towards it and nearly fallen over it anyway. The
yell came out anyway, as he moved towards her.

Minutes later, she lay on the bed, thinking belatedly that being shot
might not have been such a bad idea. There was an itch on her upper
thigh, but she couldn't do much about it. She was laying on her back, in
a very stretched-out X, her wrists cuffed to the bedposts, her ankles
cuffed with chains running to opposite corners at the foot of the bed,
her legs straining outward like calipers measuring just how wide a
queen-sized bed really is. He had cut off her protests early on with a
ball gag, now filling her mouth and secured with a cord running around
her head.

It was quiet in the room now: she was the only one in it. The man had
left, pulling the door closed. She wished she had fought harder, gun or
no. She wished she had waited for another cab. She wished she had
ordered lunch in. She wished the itch would stop.

Obviously the man's boss meant to rape her. He must be rich enough to
think he could have anything he wanted. He probably assumed he could buy
her silence afterwards. Not this baby. Ruthie meant to see him in court
and later in prison. She buried her fear for a few moments with a
satisfying fantasy of visiting him in the slammer. Asking him if the Big
House was as nice as his former one.

After a few minutes it became clear that whatever was going to happen
wasn't going to happen immediately, and she made her first attempts to
get loose. It didn't take long to get over that idea. The cuffs on both
her wrists and her ankles were professional heavy-duty ones, gripping
her extremities snugly, not quite enough to cut off circulation but
enough to tell she couldn't wriggle free of them. The chains connecting
the cuffs to the bed were thick links of metal, and breaking them was
obviously well beyond her strength: several minutes of tugging, her
muscles in her arms and thighs quivering with tension, produced no
effect she could detect. She struggled to twist her head enough to get a
view of her wrists, looking for any obvious way to get them free, then
lifted her head off the bed, her neck muscles screaming, to look down
her body towards her feet. All she got for her pains was an overwhelming
sense of helplessness. While she wasn't stretched enough to be
immediately painful, she could tell her arms and legs, and even her
stomach muscles, were going to be tired of the taut tension before too
long. She didn't bother to try yelling through the gag -- even if it
hadn't been there she doubted anybody within earshot would be of a mind
to help her.

She started to cry and, in near panic, frantically ordered herself to
stop: she couldn't afford to let her nose get plugged with snot. Safer,
she decided, to get back to her revenge fantasies.

She gasped and nearly choked as the door opened suddenly: this is it! A
young, dark-haired, bare-chested man in shorts walked in, Italian or
Hispanic, Ruthie thought. He was looking back towards someone he was
talking to in the hallway. 

"Louie, I don't get it, there's nothing in here. Why's Dad want me in
here? Are you sure..." His gaze turned into the room and he suddenly saw
Ruthie. He stopped dead and stared, his mouth open in shock. "Louie!
What the fuck..."

A hand on the doorknob, presumably Louie's, pulled the door closed with
a slam. Judging from the sleeves Ruthie could see, it was the man who'd
kidnapped her in the cab. The young man whirled and lunged at the
doorknob, obviously eager to get out of there. Equally obviously, the
door was locked.

The young man pounded on the door. "Louie, this isn't funny. Open up!"

>From beyond the door, a muffled voice that Ruthie recognized. "Can't,
Danny. I got orders."

"WHOSE orders? Louie, if you're screwing with the family, you know my
dad will..."

"It's your dad's orders, Danny. And you know what this is about."

The young man, Danny, stopped pounding on the door as the words struck
home. "Jesus, Louie, it's impossible. He was never serious about that."

"I always take your dad serious, Danny, and you should too."

"Louie, let me out and I'll make it worth it to you."

"You can't, Danny. I'll let you out when it's time. You know when that
is."

Danny continued staring at the door for several seconds. Ruthie watched
him, nonplussed. She thought she should be more scared, but her mind was
occupied trying to make sense of what was happening. Whatever danger she
was in, Danny didn't seem to be a source of it.

The silence stretched, rather unproductively from Ruthie's point of
view. She wasn't sure Danny would help her, but nobody else was
available. She hmmmmm'ed into the gag and flexed her stretched legs the
tiny amount she could, making the chains rattle. Danny looked
automatically towards her and then looked quickly away, the back of his
neck reddening, muttering "Jesus Christ" under his breath.

She rolled her eyes in frustration: the only person in the entire drama
so far that was showing any sympathy for her was afraid to admit she was
there. She shook her legs again and mmmmm'ed a little louder, letting a
little pique creep into it.

Danny looked down and shook his head, and started backing towards her
like a small child required to approach the closet that had the monsters
in it.

"L-look, I'm... sorry about all this. I -- I'm sorry, I'll have to look.
I'll try to see if I can get you out of this." He turned towards her,
squinting as if trying to see as little of her as possible. Sitting on
the mattress, he bent down to look closely at her right wrist, the one
on his side, checking on the nature of its imprisonment. He held her
wrist with his thumb and forefinger as if it was a ticking bomb,
carefully trying to ease it through the narrow ring of the metal cuff.
Giving up, he faced the other end of the bed, his back still towards
her, to check out her ankle. Finally he looked away from her, closed his
eyes and sighed.

Ruthie bounced her head on the bed and mmmm'ed still more insistently.

"Oh! Jeez, yes, I'm sorry, at least I could do that. Here..." He turned
towards her again and untied the cords holding the gag in place. She
spat it into his hand and blew air through her lips to loosen them up,
giving her jaw some exercise. She looked at the back of his still
reddened neck.

"Danny, is it? I heard the man say you know what this is about. What's
going on?"

He shook his head. "It's kind of a long story."

"I've got time."

"I -- It's -- " He sat for at least a minute, until Ruthie decided she
needed to come at it more obliquely.

"Danny is for -- Daniel? I've got a friend named Daniel." If she could
persuade him to be a friend... well, it couldn't hurt.

He shook his head. "Dante. Nobody calls me that, though."

She made herself smile. "Dante. That's a nice name. I'll call you that."

He turned just enough to see her face, and smiled. It wasn't like
Louie's smile; it was a sad, remote, but hopeful smile.

Ruthie squirmed slightly on her buttocks to take some of the strain out
of her arms, at the expense of adding it to her legs. "Why am I here,
Dante? Why won't Louie let you out?"

Dante sighed again and looked down at his hands. Ruthie was about to
speak again when he asked, "Did you ever see a 28-year-old virgin?"

"Probably, Dante. I don't pry into everybody's sexual history. You're
one, you mean?"

Mutely, he nodded.

"It's not a big deal, Dante, really. I'm sure there's more people in 
that boat than we know. It's nobody's business."

"It's a big deal to my dad, and everything's his business."

"Are you... well, this isn't my business either, but I guess I deserve
*some* answers here... are you gay?"

"No!" He threw up his hands. "I mean, I don't think that's insulting or
anything, it's just you're about the hundred-and-first person to ask me.
No, I'm not, I'm just... a little shy around women. A lot shy."

"You just can't even talk to women, is that it?"

"Yeah, that's about it. I open my mouth and I freeze up."

"You're doing okay with me. I'm a woman, in case you missed that." She
saw him redden again. "I'm sorry, Dante, I wasn't making fun of you,
really...  I can't say I'm glad about the way we're meeting, but if
somebody had to walk in on me here I'm glad it was somebody like you.
I'm Ruthie, by the way."

He half turned and caught himself, stifling a giggle. "I was going to
shake hands, but..."

"You can. It's up here." She wiggled her fingers. At that his giggle
opened into an actual laugh, and he wrapped his fingers around hers and
let go after a quick squeeze.

"Did you really mean that, Ruthie? About being glad it was me?"

"God, Dante, of course. Can you imagine what I thought was going to
happen to me? Dante, could you do me a little favor? There's an itch on
my thigh that's been driving me nuts. Could you... you're going to have
to look at me to do this, you know."

He turned towards her, put his hands over his face and laughed 
nervously, shaking his head, and finally put his hands down. "I've never 
even see a naked woman before. Outside of pictures, I mean. Okay, 
where?"

"Oh God, this is tricky, I can't even point. Put your hand over my right
hip, start from there. Put your finger on it."

Still more nervously, he touched the skin on the upper side of her hip
as if testing for mouse traps. "There?"

"Yes, I mean that's not where it itches, go about... nine inches
straight down my leg from there."

He moved his finger. "Here?"

"Yes, scratch there. No, an inch farther inside... yes! Ooooh, that's it
exactly. Dante, you're a lifesaver." She closed her eyes in relief.
"Dante, have you just never wanted sex?"

"Oh, yeah, I want it! I've had erections thinking about women, but I've
never had one when I'm *with* a woman. I just get too nervous. I've been
seeing a shrink for years. It's helping! I asked a woman for a date last
week! She said no, but... well, I think I could work through it. My dad
likes to take things in his own hands, though." He had turned farther
towards her, his posture visibly relaxing, looking mostly at her face,
but she could see his eyes flicking towards her breasts frequently.

"And so... this is all his idea."

"Exactly."

"And... oh!" She followed the thought to the end, finally. "This isn't
just to get you a captive audience to talk to. You're supposed to have
sex with me. Louie won't let you out until you do."

She could see him tighten up again, looking away once more. "Ummm,
yeah."

"Dante, for God's sake, just tell him we did it and let me get out of
here. I like you okay, but nobody's going to tell me who I have to have
sex with!"

"Ruthie, they'll... check you. For... you know. We'll both be in deep
shit if we try to fool them. You more than me, probably."

"Is your dad totally nuts?" She backtracked when she saw the pain in his
eyes. "I'm sorry, Dante, he's your dad, I shouldn't say that, but this
can't work. What's he plan to do afterwards, pay me off? There's no
amount of money that would get me to keep quiet about this. He can't
possibly think he can do this to somebody."

Dante was shaking his head. "He can do it because of who he is. He's...
connected. He's Family. You know what that means? And no, he wouldn't be
planning to buy you off. If you told anybody about this, you'd just...
disappear."

She stared at him as she let this thought sink in. It had hardly seemed
possible she might be in even more trouble than she had thought, but she
was.

He saw the look of impending panic on her face. "Oh, no, Ruthie, it's
not really as bad as that. Dad doesn't do anything to people who don't
cross him. He's not paranoid, he's just careful. As long as he doesn't
find out you've told anybody, you'll be fine."

Somewhat short of feeling reassured, Ruthie asked, "What about your
mother, does she know about this? Does she..." She stopped abruptly at
the sight of the tension that suddenly stiffened his body.

He closed his eyes in an apparent effort to relax. "She's... not around
any more."

Not sure what he meant, but not willing to probe at an obviously sore
spot, she changed the subject to the only other thing she could think
of, the thing that so occupied her mind that she barely remembered her
present spread-eagled, naked state in front of him. "Tell me some more
about your father."

Dante smiled. "I'm not sure where to start. It's not like you'd think.
I didn't even know what he did for a living until I was 15. It's not 
like he's constantly ordering people killed -- at least not in front of
me. I don't think they really do too much of that any more. It's almost
like any other business, and he's the CEO... they just deal with their
problems, and enemies, and competition, a little more ruthlessly than
AT&T, say. A lot of it is completely legal. Casinos in Atlantic City,
that kind of thing. If it makes money they don't mess with it. If it
doesn't make money, they change the rules a little so it does... sorry,
I'm not defending him or trying to win you over. I don't like a lot of
it. But Dad has always been great to me. He never tried to make me go
into the Family business. I'm working as an architect now. It's all fine
with Dad. Except about women. He doesn't understand that part. It's like
I'm shaming him. I don't mean to."

"Do you live here?"

"Mostly. I travel a lot. I love getting around, seeing other parts of
the country."

She had nearly forgotten about her body, naked and vulnerable as it
was, but talking and the aftereffects of fear and the gag had made her
mouth unbearably dry. "Dante, I'm really thirsty. Is that a bathroom
through that door there? Could you get me a glass of water or
something?"

"Yeah, hold on..." He moved to the door at the side of the room and
disappeared beyond it. She heard him snort. "It's weird, they took
everything out of it. No towels or anything. Like they didn't want me to
cover you up. They probably figured I would. There's a Dixie cup
dispenser, though, I guess they figured I couldn't cover you with that."

She heard water running briefly, and he came back in carefully holding a
brimming cup. He held it out to her. "Here you go..." He rolled his eyes
then, amazed at his dimwittedness. "I know you can't do anything with
it, sorry. Here..." He sat beside her and put his hand behind her head,
gently lifting it off the mattress to meet the cup he held to her lips.
How, she wondered, could somebody this sweet have struck out with women
his entire life?

She finished the water, and shook her head and smiled at him. "I can't
believe you came from this background, Dante. Your parents did a good
job with you."

"My dad, maybe. My mom..."

She mentally yelled at herself. The compliment to his parents had come
out of her automatically, defying her will to stay clear of that touchy
subject. Maybe, she decided, hitting it head-on would be better.

"Dante, did you know you clench your fists every time you mention your
mother?" Inwardly she cringed, not at all sure this was a good idea, not
that surprised when he suddenly jumped off the bed and started pacing,
not looking at her.

"My shrink said nearly the same thing, you know? Not about fists,
exactly, but he saw I always tense up. He thinks maybe that's a big part
of the trouble. Like I see every woman as my mom."

She couldn't help blurting, "But what did she *do*?"

He was pacing faster, his words slurring as if they were bumping 
together in their haste to get out. "Do? What didn't she do? She was so
hateful! She thought I'd ruined her body by being born, that I
embarrassed her just by being around. Everything I did was wrong,
especially if her friends were around. She wouldn't do anything to me
when they were there, but I'd pay for it later. The shrink says I've got
a lot of buried feelings about her. Buried? Ha! They're right on the
surface."

"Dante, calm down, okay? Nobody's going to hurt you now. You know *I*
can't. What does the doctor tell you to do when you feel this way?" She
hoped to God there was *some* way to get him back on balance. It didn't
occur to her to be afraid for herself. She had been taken with him from
the start, and hated seeing him so upset. The tension in her stomach and
pain in her wrists made her realize how hard she'd been trying to sit up
and reach for him, to hold him, to make everything okay.

He stood still for a moment, took a deep, calming breath. "He tries to
get me to roleplay." He snickered. "Talk to him like he's my mom. I try
it, but I can't get serious about it. He doesn't exactly look like her,
to say the least." He looked towards her, less embarrassed than earlier.
"*You* look a little like her, Ruthie. Your body, I mean. I don't mean I
ever saw her... you know, but you're about her age, her size, her shape.
She had a really nice figure."

Ruthie grinned. "Thanks, I think. Do you want to roleplay now? I could
try to be her. I bet I could react like her, just from what you've told
me."

He shrugged. "Thanks, but I don't think you'd do it any better than the
doc could. Yeah, your body is like hers, but your face doesn't look
anything like her. Different color hair, different mouth, yours can
smile." They both did, at that. "You don't have the piercing voice,
either. As soon as you said anything I'd know you weren't her."

She chewed on her lip absently. "Why don't you cover my face up, then?"

"Cover it? With what, Ruthie?"

She looked at his shorts. He looked down, shook his head, laughing. "No
way! I don't have anything on under them."

"Oh, for God's sake, Dante, you're worried about me seeing you naked?
How fair is that? Besides, I won't be able to see anything after you
cover me."

"I'll still know it's you."

"Are you worried I'll say something and break the spell? I won't. In
fact... why don't you put that gag back in? Then I won't forget myself
and talk back to you. I really want this to work for you, Dante. Who
else is going to do it, hmm? Who else knows how you feel about... her?"

Dante looked towards the ceiling and sighed. "Okay, if you're absolutely
sure. Maybe it'll work."

"It'll work if you work. Take it seriously, I mean. Make me be her. Tell
her whatever you've always wanted to tell her. I won't be able to talk
back to you, and maybe that's better. She probably didn't let you get
many words in, did she?"

He laughed. "No, you got that right. Okay, here you go." He held the
ball gag in front of her lips and she opened her mouth wide to let it
in. After he'd tied the cord together behind her head to hold it, he
hesitated. "Look over that way, okay?"

She rolled her eyes, and pointed her index fingers down the length of
her body, trying again to remind him of her own nakedness.

"I know, I know, but... look, you know I've never done this in front of
a woman before. This is your idea, just humor me."

She shrugged and looked away, towards the wall. She could hear him
loosening his belt and pulling his zipper down, and the hushed swish of
cloth sliding down his legs. He muttered "Lemme get the belt out, you
don't need that dangling over your face." She heard the whistling of the
belt slipping out from the shorts' beltloops.

He gently lifted her head as he had minutes before, this time to pull
the shorts down over her head to surround it. She felt a momentary pang
of worry about breathing, but saw that it was no problem as the
lightweight fabric gently settled onto her forehead, her nose, her chin.
She couldn't see anything except the green and yellow plaid design, and
nearly got dizzy crossing her eyes trying to focus on it, pointless as
that was. She relaxed, finally, waiting for him to speak.

It seemed several minutes must have gone by -- probably only one, but
her tense anticipation stretched it out forever. He must be psyching
himself up, she thought, trying to convince himself his mother was here,
a captive audience for him to finally vent on.

He muttered something, finally, and she strained to make out what it
was. Something like "Always wanted..."

A little louder then: "I thought a lot about getting you back. Giving
you some of what you gave me. So you'd know how it felt." It barely
sounded like Dante's voice. It was husky, full of emotion, tight with
tension. She heard a jingling sound.

The sudden burst of pain across her upper left thigh made her whole body
convulse. The belt! That had made the jingling noise she had heard, just
before he'd slapped it across her leg.

She drank in air in tiny sips, struggling to deal with the streak of
fire across her thigh, while her wrists throbbed with the semiconscious
effort to pull free of the cuffs. The belt jingled and struck again,
this time leaving a trail of screaming nerve endings across her stomach.
Every muscle in her body was frantically trying to deal with the pain,
without success, without the ability to wrap herself around it and
soothe it, without the ability to ward off future blows, without the
ability to even see where they would be coming.

What were you thinking, Ruthie? She demanded an answer of herself, as a
third blow fell across her hip, frighteningly close to her undefendable
sex. Didn't it sink in that this guy was a psychiatric patient? But we
all go to shrinks these days, don't we? Ruthie knew it wasn't her fault
that she was in this room, naked and infinitely vulnerable -- yes, said
her inner voice, that's true, but you're the one who cut off your means
of convincing him you aren't the mother he hates.

Self-criticism is all very well at the appropriate time, but Ruthie
found rational thought increasingly difficult, as a blow from the belt
streaked across the upper curve of both breasts. Mental confusion grew
inside her as the pain spread on the outside, in part because along with
the pain she felt a growing emotional exultation, a sexual excitement
that quickly spread beyond the usual boundaries. Her fondest, most
closely guarded fantasy was to give up control completely, to put
herself totally at the mercy of someone who could do anything he wanted
with her. She had played at submissive games before, but had never
experienced this degree of helplessness, of putting her whole being in
someone else's hands, and had never experienced this degree of arousal
in any of those games. She knew, as she hadn't known consciously at the
time, that when she had suggested to Dante that he gag her and blind
her, that she had wished at the time, and wished all her life, that she
could get into a situation exactly like this.

The next blow struck her left breast, and competing forces inside her
battled for control of her muscles, on the one hand desperately trying
to free herself from the tight metal cuffs and escape from the pain,
while at the same time shifting her hips rhythmically, trying to find a
release from the building sexual tension --- even though neither goal
could be accomplished by any of the limited moves she could make. Above
and beyond all the areas of fire on her body she was conscious of one
region of coolness, as her sexual juices dripped between her legs,
slipping down her buttocks to the bed and tickling the cleft between.
She could feel the muscles standing out on her right arm as she
continued trying to free her wrist, not even thinking now of wanting to
use it to remove her makeshift blindfold or ward off another blow. All
she could think of to do with her hand was to reach down between her
legs and stroke herself, rub herself, and she cried, not being able to
do it.

Her latest writhings had been making Dante's shorts ride up her face,
revealing her chin first, her nose, her eyes. She could see him now,
standing over her, taking the belt back for another swing --- and
suddenly freezing, his eyes as wide as saucers. "Oh Jesus, Ruthie! Oh
God! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't... Oh my God!"

He jumped onto the bed on his knees, straddling her, quickly tossing
away the shorts that her head had nearly worked free of and untying the
cord behind her head holding the gag. She spit it out into his hand, and
told the frantic Dante, "I'm okay! I'm okay!"

"Jesus, Ruthie, are you sure?"

"Well, actually I've been better. But..." 

"What can I do? Do you want some more water?"

Her hips still seemed to have a life of their own, on the twisting deck
of a boat on storm-tossed seas. The intense excitement hadn't started to
dissipate, and it wasn't helping that Dante's impressive erection was
hovering just inches from her face. If what he'd said earlier was true,
that barrier seemed to have been broken.

"Okay, there is one thing you could do."

"What's that?"

She looked directly at it, her eyes narrowing, and said in a husky 
voice, "Dante, get that thing inside me right this second."

He looked down, seeming nearly as surprised as she was to see his organ
looking like that, then looked in her eyes and smiled. He backed on his
knees down the bed, past her hips, and then eased himself down on top of
her. It slid into her easily; it was hard, she was wet, and instinct is
a wonderful guide. With his stomach resting on hers, his chest pressing
against her breasts, he kissed her, again and again, letting his lips
get to know hers, their tongues also joining in the introduction. He
rocked his hips on top of hers, slowly at first, then gradually faster
as his own excitement rose to meet hers. He put his arms under her back,
his hands cradling her head as their lips started to explore wider areas
of each other's faces. She grunted with the effort of once more trying
to get loose, wanting more than anything in the world to wrap her arms
and legs around him and pull him tightly against her body. She gave up
and let herself undulate, pushing her hips at him in a rhythm matching
his, to get him inside her deeper, longer. She felt enormous forces
inside her upwelling now, like a massive air bubble rising through the
water surrounding it, and she tried to hold it back, waiting for him. At
the instant she felt him jerk against her, spilling his seed inside her
and starting to fill her, the bubble broke the surface, and the tension
that had been building in her from the moment she had first felt the
belt finally exploded out of her, shaking her entire body in an orgasm
that convinced her she had never really, really had one before.

They lay together gasping, finally, him on top of her, his head next to
hers, both of them bathed in sweat. She sadly felt him starting to
shrink out of her, wishing she could hold him inside her longer.

He lifted his head, breathing nearly evenly now, and kissed her one more
time on the lips. "I can get them to let you loose now." He got up and
started walking towards the door, retrieving his shorts along the way.

She stifled a giggle. "Dante!" She fixed her eyes on his in mock
sternness. She wriggled on the bed, trying once more to ease some of the
strain on her stretched-out body.

"Hmm?" he stopped, gazed at her quizzically.

"We don't need to call them right this minute, do we?"

[end]




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