Message-ID: <13342eli$9807241429@qz.little-neck.ny.us>
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/13342.txt>
From: Crimson Dragon <dcrimson@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} New: Time Out Of Time - Epilogue (Mf+, bdsm, exh, nc) [EPI/130]
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii
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: <19980724035758.11290.rocketmail@send1a.yahoomail.com>
Alas, all good things must come to an end.
Well, at long last, we come to the ending of Time. I wasn't going to
write anything here, but then I reconsidered. Author's perogative.
I began to write Time Out Of Time as a lark about seven months ago. I
had never intended for the story to be more than ten chapters. Even
authors can be wrong from time to time. I originally set out to
produce something that appeared to be lacking around here. A BDSM
story with real people, especially women, who would be more than just
somewhere to put a penis. More than simply objects. I set out to
create characters that felt, thought, hurt and were most of all human
beings. I never had any idea that it would mean 130 chapters trying to
get it right. And I'm still not sure I managed it. But at least I
tried.
I sincerely hope that I've succeeded here, taking you all into this
fantasy world of control, humanity and learning that I inadvertently
created. If you are still reading this, then I probably have at least
marginally succeeded.
Most of all, I hope that everyone who is still with me, has learned
something, and most of all enjoyed the story along the way.
I want to thank everyone who has given me encouragement and comments
along the way. It is because of your generosity, taking the time to
write to me and letting me know that someone was out there faithfully
reading it, that I decided to finish this story and not let it hang
like so many others.
I'd also like to thank Munk, in particular. Things like this story
would never see the light of day without her undying support and
encouragement. Even if she doesn't understand me sometimes.
I've met a lot of interesting people along the way, and I thoroughly
enjoyed all my correspondences about this rather long and intense
story. I still welcome anyone who wishes to express any thoughts about
the story. My e-mail address, as always, is below and in the headers.
For those of you who are curious, I am intending to put my energies
into writing my short stories now. I'm not disappearing simply because
Time is finished. I realise that the short stories aren't the same
genre
as Time Out Of Time, but I hope that you might give them a try.
I've gotten a lot of enjoyment out of writing Time Out Of Time, and I
really hope that everyone has equally enjoyed reading it.
It's been a hell of a roller coaster ride, hasn't it?
Now, with a heavy heart, on to the final part.
- Crimson
---
This story is full of all sorts of perverse and unlikely things. It
includes all sorts of bizarre things, which happen to turn some people
on. Things like bondage, non-consentual sex, exhibitionism, and even
incest. Minors need not apply. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
Delete from incoming box. (Like you'll listen if you're a minor... but
at least you've been warned).
If this kind of writing causes you discomfort, if it bothers you or is
even likely to bother you, please don't read it. Consider yourself
warned. If you read it despite all these warnings and are offended,
what the heck are you doing? Give yourself a shake.
I guess I should point out that this story is fictional. I have never
figured out time travel and if I did, I suspect I wouldn't misuse the
privilege nor would I engage in non-consensual sex or incest under any
circumstances nor would I counsel anyone else to do so. These are bad
things. <Does this really need saying? Isn't this common sense? Hello?>
Any resemblance to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.
Also, let's be clear about this. Archiving of the story is OK. But
charging money for it (including charging for access to any archived
copies) isn't cool. Needless to say, giving me credit for the story is
not an option. This work is copyrighted by the author subject to the
above stated conditions.
This is no longer a work in progress. It has, for better of worse,
been completed. I hope everyone has enjoyed the show. Any comments,
good or bad, are welcome at dcrimson@yahoo.com.
If you are still with me, read on and please enjoy this final chapter.
- Crimson
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Epilogue - Time Out Of Time
----------------------------------------------------------------------
By Crimson Dragon (dcrimson@yahoo.com)
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The front page screamed out the headlines as I scanned it. I was
sitting like any normal person at the bus stop, reading the morning
paper.
It appeared that a former judge had been apprehended last evening
without a struggle at his house in the exclusive Beaches
neighbourhood. Judge Evan Mayer and his wife had been indicted on a
number of charges including first degree murder, keeping a common
bawdy house, indecent exposure, indecent assault, extortion, assault
and battery, sodomy and forcible confinement. If convicted, he'd
probably be confined to solitary. He certainly wouldn't be safe in
prison. The former judge had been apprehended due to an anonymous tip
and basic police work. There was a list of victims found on his summer
property in an unmarked shallow grave. Doreen Stills, Hannah Water,
Gladys Lifkin. And other names of women that hadn't deserved to die
horribly, frightened, alone and in pain at the hands of a monster. All
names that I had spoken quickly into the receiver of a pay phone a
week ago on the other side of town. The police were looking for the
caller, but didn't think that they would ever track him down. There
were no witnesses to the phone call, and no finger prints in the
booth. The article extended thanks to the caller, praising him for
social responsibility. How ironic.
There was a brief statement from the latest victim who was found
battered and nearly unconscious in a locked room of Mayer's mansion.
The girl was recovering in hospital from her ordeal and was expected
to testify at the Judge's trial. Sheila McBain personally thanked the
anonymous caller for her rescue from the depths of hell. I smiled at
the graduation picture that the paper had run of Sheila. She was
stunning in the picture, probably a lot more at ease than she was now.
She was probably lying in a hospital bed somewhere, police protected,
with bruises like nobody should ever endure. She had been at that
house for an extra week before the police finally moved. She would
recover. Of that I was sure. She had a strength that not many on this
planet could equal.
The article ended with an appeal for an end to violence against women.
I closed my eyes, picturing Sheila's bruised body beneath my lids.
I was unafraid of the black spiders for the first time in a while. It
had been an irrational fear. The black spiders had disappeared since
I'd returned to the main timeline a week ago. But still, I dreaded
them.
I heard the screech of the brakes of the bus as it pulled up to the
stop. I wearily climbed to my feet, fishing a token from my front
pocket. I dropped it into the coin box with a jingle.
I sat down near the middle of the bus and stared idly up at the
advertisements. With a shock, I saw Christi. Her pretty hands held a
chocolate bar, an Oh Henry. I could hardly read the sign, my whole
body was shaking so hard.
I forced my eyes from the ceiling and glanced around the bus. A
beautiful woman, perhaps twenty-five sat across from me quietly
reading a book and jerking as the bus hastily stopped for the next
passenger. Her hair was red and flowing. She reminded me a little of
Elizabeth. Sensing my eyes on her, she lifted them from the book and
smiled at me. I smiled back and looked away.
I was tempted to stop time. I almost invoked the formulae. Just for a
moment. I could have her, if I really wanted to. But I still needed to
rest. I knew that. Those black spiders weren't pleasant. It shouldn't
take long to recover my temporal energy, not according to my
calculations, but I wasn't sure a week would suffice. I resisted the
temptation.
I let my mind wander a little, remembering the girls, the timeline,
the freedoms. I wanted to go back. Perhaps I would someday.
I kept seeing the girls everywhere I went. A flash of blonde and a
petite build and I saw Amy in a crowded mall. But Amy was probably
back where ever she was from, long gone from the hotel room where I'd
taken her. A flash of red and a long trim form, Elizabeth would smile
from a cashier booth or from across a bus aisle. Jane would pass by on
a crowded sidewalk, I'd turn to say hello, but she would be gone
replaced by some teen bouncing happily along oblivious to my notice.
And Christi, she appeared more than the others. A tall blonde striding
down a set of stairs, beautifully clothed. I could see right through
her clothing, and yet I couldn't. At the last moment, I'd see her face
and realize that the woman wasn't Christi after all.
I had seen them, but I hadn't. Sheila, in truth, was the only girl I
really knew what she was doing. And the advertisement, up there,
featuring the girl who had begged me to find her on the real timeline.
The girl I'd only discovered was a model in the last few hours of the
timeline.
I swallowed heavily, and prayed that the bus ride wouldn't be very
long.
A familiar quiet laugh turned my head. A flash of brunette near the
back of the bus. I held my breath, shaking my head. The girls were
gone. I would never acknowledge them, even if I did see them for real.
I couldn't. And I wouldn't. Even if it was her this time, it was
immaterial, no matter how much my heart ached.
She turned, Jane's face flashing across my visual line of sight. This
time, it was real, not a product of an overactive and hopeful
imagination. Her face - none of the fake Janes had had Jane's face.
She was sitting alone, reading quietly near the back of the bus. She
was reading something funny, her smile easy and light on her lips. I
closed my eyes and when I'd reopened them she had returned to facing
away from me. But it had been Jane's face whereas all the others were
not. I was sure of it. This wasn't just a passing resemblance.
I tensed and let my breath out slowly. I had to force myself to stay
in my place. Not get up and sit near her, ask her if she remembered
anything, remembered any of the slave talk she was so good at,
remembered anything she had done, anything she had loved.
She turned back to her book, oblivious to my knowledge of her.
Oblivious to me noticing her. She was used to being noticed.
The bus pulled into a stop. I had no idea where I was any longer.
I forced my eyes away from Jane and glanced back at the red-head
across from me. She gave me a dirty look, had seen me staring at Jane.
I flushed.
A familiar scent washed over me. Every girl has her own wonderful
scent and the sense of smell is perhaps the strongest for evoking
memories. I looked up from the red-head just quickly enough to see the
long legs pass by me, walking easily in low comfortable shoes. I knew
it was her before I saw the blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, the
tall voluptuous body in jeans and a light sweater. I breathed in her
scent, not believing the twists of fate that happen.
The blonde walked by me without a flash of recognition. No reason for
her to recognize me. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the thoughts
began immediately. Both of those girls wanted to remember. They wanted
to meet me on the real timeline. Here we were, by some unfathomable
twist of destiny.
What could I say?
"Hello, Christi ... Jane. You don't know me, but you made wonderful
sex slaves ..."
If I wasn't locked up immediately, I would get a good slap. Probably
two. And perhaps I'd get the joy of being locked up *and* slapped. A
good slap from the women that until so recently feared my hand as much
as they loved it. I couldn't. There was no way.
"Excuse me? Mind if I sit down?" the blonde girl's musical voice
inquired near the back of the bus. It was still as beautiful as I
remembered it. I looked up again as though her voice was directed at
me which it wasn't.
The petite brunette girl looked up from her book, nodding easily. The
blonde settled down beside the girl I thought was Jane, crossing her
legs demurely. My heart ached at the sight of the girls together. I
could still remember the soft touch of their skin against mine before
I let them go.
My stop came and went. It was of no concern to me. I watched them as
surreptitiously as I could.
The last stop was announced. A transfer point. The girls both rose to
their feet, smiling to one another. Same stop friends. As they walked
by me, the blonde girl flashed one of her easy smiles to me. I smiled
back, my heart hammering in my chest.
"Hey, isn't that you?" the brunette pointed at the advertisement I'd
noticed earlier.
"Yeah, but don't hold it against me. I don't even like Oh Henry's,"
the blonde smiled back at the smaller girl as they moved past, washing
me with the mixture of their scents. The scents that I remembered so
very clearly.
"I'm Jane," the brunette extended her small hand to the taller blonde.
"Christi." the blonde flashed her radiant smile at Jane, taking her
hand in greeting as they stepped off the bus.
_________________________________________________________
DO YOU YAHOO!?
Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com
--
+----------------' 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>