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From: "Seurat" <seurat7@enter.net>
Subject: {ASSM} RP Seurat's Twighlight Zone, Chapter 4 (b): Art Critic (Femdom, oral)
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Sorry about the headers, but I will get them straight.  There are a total
of ten sections to chapter four, labelled a thru j.  The divisions are not
natural breaks in the story; instead they were convenient spots were the
story could be broken into chunks under 20k, which was the limit of my last
provider (AOL).  If you like the stories or have any ideas about them, let
me know.

As always, the following is adult in nature, and should not be read by
minors or prudes.  Remember: it's only a story.








     Tara leaned back off the bed and came back up with a ten-pack 
of razors.  My eyes must of bugged out in surprise because when she 
looked up she started to laugh.  "Always did hate getting hair in my
 mouth.  Don't move; I don't want to cut you."  With that, she 
proceeded to shave my lower body clean.  When she was done my body 
stung from the effects of the razors but I was hairless.  She went 
into the bathroom and came back with a washcloth and cleaned me up, 
then removed the towel and climbed on the bed again, straddling me.
     "Guess I owe you a good fuck now.  Tell you what."  She reached 
over my head and grabbed something, which she pushed into the outside 
of the pacifier gag.  "I'll blow you now, and you give me seven more 
of your Wednesdays to do with you as I wish.  No harm will come to you,
your wife will never know anything more than she knows now, and you'll 
get to experience some great sex.  And if you're really good, I'll give 
you your wedding ring back."  With that, she lifted up my ring in front 
of my face.  She must have taken it when I took it off for my shower!  
"Or - you could get up right now and leave.  Which is it?"  She looked 
at me as if waiting for me to do something.  As if I was physically 
able.  "You don't seem to be leaving, so I'll take that as a 'yes - I 
will stay'.  Good.  Now, I'm going to blow you twice.  Better hold your 
breathe."  She reached behind the pillows and turned something and 
suddenly there was something blowing in through the gag.  I closed 
my mouth tight and pressed my tongue over the perforations to try to
keep the gas out.  "Alan, I'm going to suck you into submission.  If 
you can cum without passing out, I'll turn off the gas and we call it 
even."  Her head moved down and once again encased my cock.  I closed 
my eyes and concentrated on cuming as fast as I could.  One of Tara's 
hands started to massage my ass and balls as the other pumped up and 
down my shaft, all while she sucked and licked like her life depended 
on it.
     That's when I realized the deviousness of the whole situation.  
The rush of blood in my body due to the blowjob would use oxygen faster 
and force me to breathe, while holding my breathe actually prolonged 
the onset of the orgasm.  My head started to spin as my tongue weakened 
and the gas and the blowjob had there effect.  My body started bucking 
as I came, and she pulled her mouth off my prick.  A huge explosion 
erupted from my cock, shooting cum into a cup she held for that purpose, 
seconds before I passed out.  I thought I heard her say, "Aw, too bad."

     In my mind I saw myself, an observer in my own life.  I saw my wife 
as she was when we first met; plain yet attractive, and how she changed 
through the years of our relationship.  Our wedding day, the two years 
since, the changes in her and the changes in me.  Things had slowed
for us, become routine.  Sex happened once or twice a month, 
interspersed with art shows, odd jobs, racquetball games, and her 
choir practice. In fact, we hardly saw each other during the evenings; 
I played Racquetball Monday and Thursday and had a regular art opening 
on Tuesdays, and she had choir on Wednesdays.  It was one particular 
art show that stood out in my head, and the racquetball game the 
following night that put me where I was now.
      I met Tara Worthington at one of those art openings.  I was 
there to write a review, she was there as the artist.  She was 
attractive by all accounts.  Long curly black hair framed a perfect 
face with full lips and blue eyes; she was short next to me, her  
firm five-four frame dwarfed by my lanky six-four.  We got to talking 
about things, such as her sculptures (mostly wrought iron and manequin 
parts), my racquetball, and finally decided to play a game the next 
night.  If I knew then what was to come out of the game, I probably 
would have given up the sport.
     My mind drifted towards more recent memories, of a day that seemed 
very recent..  I felt myself sitting on our couch, watching TV during 
a rainstorm.  If you could call it watching.  Mostly I just sat 
there, remote control in hand, and flipped through the channels.  
On rainy days like this, that was all there was to do.  That, or 
read the porn on the internet.  I had collected over three thousand 
sex stories, and the number grew daily.
     My wife came in to remind me to pick up lottery tickets on the 
way to my game tonight. Always playing the lottery.  She said we would 
hit the big one some day - the Super Seven, and we could both retire.  
Retired at thirty, to do what ever we wanted, when we wanted, with no 
ties to anybody.  Only in my dreams.  She put on her coat over the 
suitably frumpy outfit she wore, kissed me goodbye, and walked out 
the door to the garage.  She loved me, and I her, but whereas I hadn't 
changed much physically in the past eight years since we'd met, she had 
put on weight.  That, when combined with career problems, had killed 
our sex life and was stagnating our marriage.
     Soon after she left, I went upstairs and changed into shorts and 
T-shirt for that night's game.  Tara Worthington would either be an 
easy kill or impossible to beat; I couldn't seem to find a player in 
them middle.  Not that it made much difference.  Just to see her in 
shorts would be enough to keep my masturbation fantasies going for 
weeks.  All this began to fade from my mind as the drug-fog lifted 
from my head.
     My eyes fluttered open once or twice, trying to adjust to the 
bright light which surrounded me.  As I awoke, I took mental stock 
of everything I could feel or sense.  Arms straight out, fingers 
spread apart and held by some force.  Body horizontal, head restrained 
by a strap over the forehead and another under the chin but over the 
neck.  Another strap just above the knees, and another over the ankles.
     "Wakey, wakey, Alan.  Glad to have you back."  I tried to reply, 
but found that my mouth had been gagged with a dental dam.  "Alan, you 
have just become part of my latest art project.  Tonight was only the 
first part, and you've passed with flying colors.  I realize that you'll 
have to get back to your darling wife soon, so I'll make this quick.  
You will follow my directions for the next six Wednesday nights, and 
will follow all my orders.  If you don't,"  She said, as she made a
motion out of my view,"you'll experience a little discomfort."  I saw 
her press a button on what looked to be a remote control, and a searing 
pain went through my cock and balls, centered at the base.  I screamed 
into the gag, and tears fell from my eyes.
     "That was a low level.  Imagine what could be done at a higher 
level.  Disobey, and you won't have to imagine.  I'm very serious 
when it comes to my art."  She removed the ball gag and head straps, 
and I immediately looked down at my cock.  I saw nothing that wasn't 
there normally.
     "What did you do to me?  Why are you doing this to me?  Why?" I 
blurted out, unable to control myself.
     "Well Alan.  I can call you Alan, can't I?  After our little get 
together before, I figured we should be on a first name basis.  Well, 
I did a little research into your life.  Quite a fascination you
have with the internet.  Evidently you have saved over 3000 stories 
from the alternate-sex boards.  I, too, get a lot of my ideas from the 
alt.sex boards.  Femine dominance, bondage, all the fun stuff.  The 
predominant theme which runs through those stories you saved.  As the 
saying goes, 'be careful what you wish for, even if it's in your 
dreams.  You may get it.'  Well Alan, you're gonna get it."  She got 
up and started to untie my legs.
     I noticed for the first time the shape and color of the room.  
All white, circular, almost antiseptic in nature.  A large electronic 
device shaped like a mixing board, hooked to a computer and a rack of 
components.  A distinctive mix of alcohol and cooked rubber.
     "Why?"
     "You are an experiment, Alan.  A work of art in progress."

     Just my luck, to meet a 'Fatal Attraction' psycho.
     "Before I let you up, I want to warn you that to try to harm me 
would be very stupid and even more painful.  You would live out your 
days wishing for death, the pain would be so great.  All I ask for 
is a few evenings of your time."
     I started to get up, but by fingers were still tied down.  "Do you 
mind?"
     "As I said, don't do anything foolish."  She pressed another 
button on the remote control, and my hands were suddenly free.  I 
tried to get up, but my head spun, and as soon as I moved any of my 
muscles, my entire body ached like I had a bad sunburn.  I decided 
to lie down for a few more minutes.
     "The pain you feel is part of my project.  I've laced your body 
with a crystal nerotransmitter, just under the surface of the skin.  
It covers nearly your entire body, a little less on your scalp, but
it isn't easy working around all that hair.  Now you know why I shaved 
you.  The crystals are not noticeable but they are permanent; the 
pain you feel is from their implantation, and will pass in a day or 
two.  It's sort of an invisible tatoo.
     "By themselves the crystals do nothing.  However, they are linked 
by means of your own nerve synapses, creating a receiving net which 
covers your entire body.  They are attuned to a set of ocillating high 
frequencies to this remote.  When connected to another set of 
liqui-crystals, they will transmit electrical signals directly to 
nerve centers, allowing you to experience sensations through external 
media.  What this means to you, my little confused friend, is that I 
can, with the help of my other toys, make you feel the rush of water, 
or the touch of a rose, or the pain of fire.  This is all part of one 
of my artistic experiments, and you were lucky enough to be chosen.  
Don't you feel proud?"
     I tried again to get up, and it didn't work.  "Excuse me for being 
a little dense, but I was recently drugged.  What the HELL is going on?"
     She walked over to a small table and picked up a tube of some sort 
of gel, squeezed some into her hand, and rubbed it over my chest.  She 
returned to the table and picked up two small objects, about the size 
of bean bags, and came back to me.  "Do you like breasts, Alan?  You
know, tits?  Something nice to suck on, a female errogenous zone, a sex 
object?  Well, tell me what you think about these."  She first pushed 
one onto my chest (which I noticed was shaved clean), centering my 
nipple into a small indentation on the back of the small falsey, then 
did the other.  They were small and flesh colored, and would have been 
less than a half handful.  Wiping what was left of the goop off her 
hand, she picked up the remote, and pressed a number of buttons.
     The remote hummed for a second, then let out a beep.  A wave of 
tingling swept across my chest, and before my eyes the fake breasts 
became part of my chest.  "Hey!  Wait a minute!  What do you think 
you're doing?"  She just smiled, and pressed a few more buttons on 
the remote.  I got up and, still stumbling, tried to reach Tara.   
The control hummed, then beeped again.  My new chest expanded greatly, 
now to a c-cup, standing high and firm.  The weight threw me off   
balance, and I fell to the carpeting.  Tara walked over to me, and 
smiled at my dilemma.  
     "My prosthetics are composed of a number of different crystals, 
which can simulate the feel of nearly any material, including skin.  
Once activated, the prosthetics integrate themselves with the crystal  
neuro-network.  By exchanging moisture from the surrounding air and 
chemicals from the dead skin on which it lies, it can expand or 
contract as required.  In effect, I can sculpt your body into a
nything I want, as long as it is skin tight.  Like give you the kind 
of tits you always wanted in a girl."
     "Please don't do this to me..."
     "Oh Alan, so predictable.  I'm not doing this on a permanent basis 
to you.  The way this works will be simple.  I've given you a small 
ring of extra skin around the base of your genitals. That was what 
caused you the pain.  Follow my directions, and in a few weeks I'll 
take it off."
     "What is it you want?"  I got off the floor, trying to arch my 
back to support my new chest, and succeeded only in making them stand 
out.  The whole situation was unnerving. 
     "That's better.  On Wednesdays, when you return home from work, 
you will find a box in your house.  As soon as your wife leaves, you 
will follow the directions in the box, and dress in the items you'll 
find within.  You will activate the remote and attach the prosthetics, 
and dress in theclothes provided.  The remote will be timed so that 
if you do not begin the operation by six-thirty, the pain will begin, 
and will progress until you are incapacitated.  Any time after 
nine-thirty you may enter your code, and the prosthetics will 
deactivate and come off.  Very simple, actually.  One night a week for 
a few weeks, and you get to experience what most men would die for.  
Do we have an agreement?"
     "I don't think I have a choice in the matter, do I?"  She shook 
her head no, smiling all the while.  "Then would you mind taking these 
off, so I may leave, and get back to the real world?"
     "Why no, no problem.  One other thing" she said.  I groaned.  
"We can balloon nerve  areas and concentrate them to points, so 
effects are magnified."  She reached over and began carressing my 
new left breast.  Sensations akin to a coming orgasms fogged my mind, 
and I saw the nipple become hard and erect.  She smiled again, and 
stopped.  "Thought you might like to know.  By planning things 
carefully, I can enhance your most sensitive areas, or turn them 
off, or even give you all new ones.  Isn't this going to be fun?"  
She tapped a number code into the remote and hit a red button.  
The remote hummed for a second and beeped.  My new breasts shrank and 
with an audible sucking sound came off in Tara's hands.  She put them 
on a table.
     "One other small rule.  I don't want you to masturbate, at all.  
Sex with your wife is okay, but none by yourself.  Your little device 
will let me know if you falter."  Oh wonderful, I thought. I can't go 
two days without jacking off, let alone a week at a shot.
     Tara handed me my clothes and, without saying a word, rushed me to 
the stairs.  I saw a small digital clock on the wall and realized why.  
Almost time for the wife to come home.  I pulled on the shorts and 
rushed downstairs; her little lab had been in the attic.  As she opened
the front door she gave me a little kiss.  "Don't forget to shave.  
If you do it at least every other day, it isn't so bad.  Let it go 
for a week, and the razor burn will keep you from wearing jeans for 
days.  Same time, next week.  I'll be looking forward to our 
next...game."

     I climbed into the car, and started rifleing through the rest of 
my clothes looking for the car keys.  Not only did I find them, but my 
wedding ring and my wallet also.  I started the car and rushed home, 
trying to dress on the way.  Wednesday nights were not going to be 
boring for a while.


Monday, May 13th

     My wife started aerobics class tonight; three times a week.  We 
see each other on weekends, in bed, and at dinner.  Weeknight 
television together is a thing of the past.  Our sex life seems to 
be suffering even more.  The events of last week are starting to fade, 
though I have been sure to shave my body as I was told.


Wednesday, May 15th
     
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