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From: Erotales <Erotales@aol.com>
Subject: "Ruthie's Afternoon" (Part 2/2) (bdsm, nc(?), Mf)
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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 (Part 2/2)

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]


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