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From: ladd@cs.unc.edu (Brian C. Ladd)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: MNA: Layers (mf bd mc) 01/01
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Date: 21 Mar 1996 08:32:17 -0500
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Mindnumbing Archive Repost
=============================================================================
<V-CHIP RATING=ADULT>
The following is erotic in nature. If you are under the legal age of
consent in your local jurisdiction, stop reading now. If you are
easily offended, please stop reading now.
<SOAPBOX>
If you are offended by the government telling you what you can and
cannot view on the Internet and other electronic media, protest!
If you're an American, contact your Congress critters and let them
know you vote and find the CDA offensive. Do it now, today. This
posting would _NOT_ be possible under a fully-enforced CDA. Who
do you trust to choose what is decent and indecent for you?
Don't use the excuse that you don't know how to contact them: Go
to <A HREF="http://ast1.spa.umn.edu/juan/congress.html">Contacting
the 104th Cogress</A> maintained by Juan Cabanela. Phone, fax,
address, it is all there. Contact them early and often. Let them
know you are registered to vote (Getting the hint here? If you're
not registered to vote --- get registered!) and question their
vote to restrict your access to information on-line.
Check out <A HREF="http://www.eff.org/blueribbon.html>The Blue
Ribbon Page</A> for more information on what you can do to protect
free speech on-line. Remember the power is in your hand to simply
vote the bums out.
</SOAPBOX>
The curator of the MNA most likely did NOT write the story which follows.
Authors, when known, are acknowledged in the body of the file. Assemble the
various parts of related messages, removing everything outside the [BEGIN]
[END] markers and you'll have the "complete" story. See the MNA Index posted
to alt.sex.stories.d for chapter counts and synopses. Note that the MNA
posting counts and authors' chapter counts are completely unrelated.
If you have similar materials, please repost them, too.
Comments, encouragement, and additional material for the archive gratefully
received; flames, repost requests, and e-mail requests rapidly dispatched to
the void. There is no public archive of these stories that I know of; see
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If you're an author in the MNA and you do not want your story reposted:
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reposting list. If you're an author of an Unknown story and you want to
take credit for it, contact me as well, please.
[BEGIN]
From: an88791@anon.penet.fi (Stroker Ace)
Layers
Story by: Stroke Ace
Comments welcomed
Copyright
This story may be distributed electronically
provided it is complete, unaltered and with this
statement intact. The author maintains all rights to
this story. Use on file servers is expressly
forbidden. (c) 1995, Stroker Ace
Introduction
First of all, I am not a writer. I am an auto-body
specialist, one day I will have my own shop. I do not know
the first thing about writing and don't care what is
politically correct or not. But if you want a 8 layer clear
coat done as smooth as Diane's bottom, then I'm your man.
You know those beautifully deep candy coats? The ones
where you can actually look into the paint. Well, that is
done by stripping the body bare. Then rebuilding it,
molding every curve to please your eye. You can improve on
it, but you must have something good to work with first.
When every panel and face is smooth, it is built up by ever
so carefully putting layer after layer of clear coat over a
perfectly prepared body.
Each layer lovingly hand rubbed to perfection. When
you are done, it is your creation, more dear than anything
new at the showroom. But it's no good to just keep it in
the garage. You have to run it, feel it push you back in
your seat, hear the tires scream, watch the needle touch the
red, hear the engine howl. In short push it to the limit.
Then you know what you have.
That's the way I feel about Diane.
1. Diane
Diane is my woman. I love her, more than anything in
this world, and would do anything for her. Anything at all.
She however, has to do some things for me. I make her prove
her love for me. I push her to see what she can take, where
the breaking point is.
But it wasn't always this way......
2. The Park
It started in the spring. I had to beg Diane to go
jogging with me on that Sunday afternoon. It was a hot day
and we had the trail to ourselves. She was still in a bad
mood about going jogging on such a scorching day. Soon she
had fallen behind me, briefly disappearing as the trail
twisted in and out of the big trees.
I reached the exercise clearing at the half way mark
and busied myself on the sit-up bench while waiting for her
to catch up. Soon I heard the light steps of a woman on
gravel, followed by a shapely brunette. She was startled to
see someone but quickly regained her composure. Ignoring
me, she went directly to the overhead bars. A little smaller than
I like, she was still very attractive, dressed in jogging shorts and a T-
shirt tied at the waist. A sports bra was visible under her
wet shirt.
She sprung easily to the bar two feet above her.
Captivated, I watched her sway from bar to bar, not an easy
task for a woman. She did not appeal to be have any great
strength in her arms, but catlike she swayed her body to
reach the next bar. Then using her rhythm she effortlessly
swung to the next.
I called out to her. Thinking that she did not hear, I
called again. She dropped to the ground and with her back
to me, jogged away. There was no need for her to be bitchy.
I stood to say something, I don't know what, perhaps to call
her a name, when a runner came into the clearing.
"The gentleman is speaking to you," he said quietly
while running in place.
The girl stopped in her tracks, still facing away.
"Excuse her, she has forgotten her manners," then to the
girl, "do you have anything to say to the gentleman?"
The girl turned and caught my eye for a moment before
looking down, "Please excuse me. I did not intend to be
rude." She glanced toward the man as if looking for
approval.
"Tony lets go. I am tired of this!" It was my
girlfriend Diane. She brushed past the other girl to stood
in front of me. "Lets go, the mall is going to be closing
soon," she said, pulling me away.
"I can see, that it is a bad day for manners," the man
said.
"Oh. Ahhh, excuse me, I mean her. Excuse us, I had
promised Diane that we would go shopping together.....
You know how women are," I tried to joke with him. "Does she
speak for you?" He was still jogging in place. I noticed
the gold Rolex, in stark contrast to the old exercise
clothes. He was perhaps 35, maybe 12 or more years older
that the girl. There was something in his voice, a quiet
assurance.
"No. I mean I speak for us." I stopped and jerked
Diane back into my arms. I held her lovingly across her
stomach, my body pressed against the firm curve of her
backside.
"Good. Perhaps we could sit and talk for a minute, I
could use a rest," the stranger laughed. With that he sat
on the park bench, waving to the brunette to sit at his
side.
"Just a few minutes, Diane, then we will go the mall."
I sat again on the sit-up bench sliding to one end of the
bench to give Diane room, but she stormed off.
"I am going," she called over her shoulder.
The man stood, "Perhaps this is not a good time. I
apologize if I have caused any trouble. My name is Paul,
Paul D'Aquin and this is my, ahh, ...companion." The girl
smiled at this. Without makeup, and her hair pulled back
into a pony tail, she looked plain, with a beauty that had
to be imagined.
I stood, feeling dumb, and mumbled a greeting to the
couple. To the girl still sitting on the bench I said
"Pardon me, I did not get your name."
"You must give me a chance to make it right," Paul
said, quickly stepping between us. "Please honor me by
joining us for dinner. Your young lady, if I am correct,
likes to attend formal affairs, theater, dinner. Am I
right?"
"Why, yes. Yes she does."
"And, If you will permit me, she is sometimes upset
that you don't go out enough? No. You don't have to
explain. You work hard, you are just starting out and money
is tight. It is perfectly all right."
"What? How do you know?"
"Oh, forgive me, I don't wish to intrude into you
private affairs. You see, I am a student of human nature, I
read the little clues, the specs of paint on the
fingernails, for example, her manicure." He pulled out a
plain business card and in flowing script wrote his name and
address. "I understand that you are visiting the mall this
afternoon. Present this at Elaine's and select an evening
gown for your beautiful lady. Don't worry, price is no
object, they will put it on my account. Get something
expensive. I will have a suit delivered to Elaine's. You
can have it fitted there, my treat. A 42 long, should fit
nicely. Then we will meet for dinner at Yesterday's at 8 PM.
Have you ever been there, it is a truly fine restaurant."
I was eager to catch up with Diane. I took the card
and with a hasty good-bye ran to catch my lover.
3. Yesterday's
I caught up with Diane at the car. Fortunately, I had
the keys or I would have had to walk home. I told her of the
dinner and Elaine's before she could get too mad. She
pouted all the way home but her curiosity slowly overcame
her anger. We changed and hurried to find Elaine's
boutique.
Elaine's turned out to be a very exclusive dress shop
across from the mall. There was no way that I could
afford to buy Diane anything from this store. We walked by
the store several times before curiosity got the best of us.
The saleswoman made a beeline towards us. I showed Paul's
card her expecting her to just laugh. Instead she greeted us
warmly, saying she had been told to expect us. A tailor was
waiting for me in the back she told me, as she whisked Diane
towards the evening gowns.
The tailor quickly fitted me and handed me over to a
manicurist and hair stylist while he went to make the
alterations. It was 7:30, long after the other stores had
closed when we left by a back door. Diane was beaming. She
was gorgeous, her hair and makeup completely done over. She
wore a lavender strapless gown, that stayed up in defiance
of mother nature. The saleswoman explained that her heels
were call d'Orsay. It had the thinnest heel that I had ever
seen.
We took my partially restored `66 GTO over to
the restaurant, I insisted on parking it myself.
The maitre d' showed us to Paul's booth. It was
overlooking the bay, the lights from the other shore
glittering across the water. He was a gracious
host. He greeted us and introduced us to his
companion, the jogger. She had used to the time
wisely, the plain face completely redone. She was
elegant, with a beautiful white dress with gold
accents. Paul introduced her as Pussy, "a term of
endearment." I took her hand, a whiff of sultry
perfume reached me. Dinner was delicious, Paul
helped us order from the French side of the menu,
while somehow putting us both at ease. He engaged
us in conversations on restaurants, and sailing (his
passion). When he found that I was an auto painter
he appeared genuinely interested in the proper way
to apply metal flake. It was natural to open up to him.
We told him of our lives and even how we met. Pussy,
too tried to be enticing. If anything she appeared to be
trying perhaps a little too hard, sometimes laughing a
fraction of a second too long at one of Diane's
little jokes.
By desert, the conversation had drifted to his
travels again. Paul called the waiter over and spoke
to him in French. He told us that he had arranged to
have desert on the deck overlooking the boats. In a
minute other tables were cleared from the deck
leaving a spacious table for four, all alone,
overlooking the water.
I asked him how he had made his obvious wealth.
Like with all the other questions that I had asked,
he answered sincerely. He explained that he had
studied psychology at the University. Like many
students, he was broke. During his senior year he
needed to raise money to pay the tuition. He was
already swamped with student loans. He decided to
apply some of his expensive training. He found an
elderly woman that wanted companionship and
reassurance of her sexuality. She gladly paid the
tuition in exchange for his attentions. We double
over in laughter as he explained that it is not easy
for a 23 year old male to make love to a heavy 75
year old horny woman. He knew that you could not do
that too often, you burn-out. He needed to make it
count. So he found an old woman and courted her. He
insisted on marriage. They did, but she got more and
more youthful and active with his attentions. To a 24
year old, it appeared that she may never die. But she
did, 4 years later.
As her husband he had already reinvested her savings,
increasing the fortune. He also made sure that the required
amount was left to her children, so the will could not be
contested in court. At 29 Paul was a millionaire
bachelor.
He spent a couple of years enjoying the new
freedom. His fortune continued to increase. He did
the bars and clubs, had his share of women, but his
wealth became a trap. He could never trust the women
he met. He knew they would take him for his fortune
at the first opportunity. Just as bad he never dared
to play any of the bedroom games that he liked, for
fear that they would use it against him. He needed
something more. It was late, the restaurant empty.
Paul suggested that we join him for drinks at his
place. His place turned out to be a beach house 20
minutes away. The house was simple but elegantly
done. Each piece of furniture lending to an
atmosphere of casual elegance. At his suggestion
Pussy took Diane for a tour of the home while we
talked.
I joined Paul in his comfortable living room as
he fixed drinks from a well-stocked bar. Paul
continued his narrative, he saw his next opportunity
a few years ago. The whole world was taking about
the civil war in Bosnia. Where others saw only death
and destruction, Paul saw opportunity. He flew into
Sarajevo long before that city was under siege. From
there he went out in the countryside and just talked
with the people. Most spoke French. It took almost 5
months but he found just what he was looking for.
He had found a family or what was left of one.
The father had been killed in battle, the oldest son
was on the front lines, he had not been heard from in
weeks. The mother and grand father were taking care
of the two children still living at home. The eldest
daughter had married and had lived in Vojske, a small
town to the East. When Vojske was overrun by Serbs,
survivors reported that she had been gang raped in
the street, her child shot. She was led away, a belt
around the neck attaching her to a rope from the back
of an old transport. The guards in back, laughing
and taunting at the curving string of naked women,
young and old alike, stumbling slowly behind with
hands tied in back. It was common knowledge that they
were being taken to a Serb rape and torture camp for
"ethnic cleansing". The mother was scared for her two
remaining children, a 6 yr. old boy and teenaged
daughter. They had joined the thousands of other
refugees walking the roads in an endless line of
sorrow. Paul befriended the family and offered to
give them a new start in France. He offered to buy
their son out of his army contract. He even offered
to take the 17 yr. old daughter with him to America.
His price? Nothing. The mother was delighted at
saving her family and providing a great opportunity
for her daughter with a rich American. The
Grandfather, old and infirm said nothing. He had
fought in the underground against the hated Nazis in
`39 and had no allusions about mankind. Still it was
the best offer they could hope for. Paul insisted
that they not bother the children with details.
There was one catch. They had to pass a
complete physical to get exit papers. He explained
that to go to America, the girl would also have to
see a gynecologist. Much to everyone's relief, the
girl passed her extensive physical and blood test.
In private, the doctor assured Paul that his "niece"
was most assuredly a virgin.
At the airport the mother asked the young girl
to wait in a little room. In the outer room, Paul
slowly counted out the money to move the family to
France and gave them the forged entry papers. Over
the mother's shoulder he could see the young girl
watching the money change hands through the window.
The realization of being sold by her mother was
enough to keep her "compliant" during the long trip
to her new home and life.
4. Changes
We could see the girls, glamorous in the warm
light of the patio, through the window that
completely made up one side of the wall. The girls
stood, laughing and talking by the low wall
overlooking the beach before sitting by the pool.
Paul continued, explaining that the first year was
difficult for both of them.
They had to take a long circuitous route to
smuggle her into the country. They flew to Greece
with forged papers, then she was smuggled by ship to
Sicily. From there she was taken on a six week
voyage to Mexico. "You will excuse me if there are
some details that I still cannot talk about. It was
expensive but the beauty of it is that the girl does
not exist. There are no records. I had put all my
energies, as well as a small fortune, into finding
the right girl and getting her into the country. I
didn't have a clue on what to do with her once I
succeeded."
"At first I kept her chained in the play room.
My perfect little slave. Come, I will show you."
Captivated, I followed Paul down the hall through two
doors to a large almost bare room. Aside from a few
hooks in the ceiling and walls, the room was
typical of the others in the house. Large windows
dominated two of the walls. Through an open door I
could see a bathroom, the counter full with the
distinctive shapes of women's makeup and perfumes.
"She spent the entire first few months here,"
Paul advised me. " She was partially drugged when
she first arrived, but it soon wore off. I would
come in here to play with her or just admire her as
she hung in the center." Paul stood, under a hook and
held his arms up, hands spread even with his
shoulders. "I was her Master. She lived to please
me. I would whip her if it pleased me, or give her
pleasure if I choose. She ate or went to the
bathroom only when permitted. Once I kept her awake
for 75 hours straight, bound all the time, just for
the fun of it. She went weeks with out wearing
clothes. The sex was great. I had her every
conceivable way, at my whim."
He pulled a wooden chair from a corner while I
sat on the edge of the small bed. The bed was neatly
made but leather restraints permanently anchored to
the four corners exposed its true purpose.
He leaned forward, "Every way except one. I
didn't take her pussy. That's right, I kept her a
virgin. That one thing so bewitched me that I named
her for it, Pussy. That is the name I gave her, and
therefore her only name."
I was startled by a knock on the door. It was
Pussy leaning in the doorway to ask if she could show
some of her clothes to Diane. Paul nodded his consent
and Pussy skipped down the hall like the little girl
that she is. Paul leaned forward in his chair, and
confidentially continued,
"It didn't turn out the way I had expected. She was a fighter.
She fought and struggled like a tiger for weeks. Then one
evening I came to play with her and she was broken. Her
sprit was gone. She would absently surrender to anything
asked of her. I tried the most outrageous things and she
did everyone of them with out even raising and
eyebrow, not even a whimper. She had stopped wearing
makeup or perfume three days before. At first she
was completely fascinated with all the make up
available. Young girls could not get that where she
had grown up. I ordered her to eat and she did. I
ordered her to wear lipstick and she did, but you
can't order a girl to wear lipstick or makeup. Even
if she is a captive. A girl must want to look good
or it will show."
The man was lost in his thoughts. He was
talking out loud, but I got the feeling that I could
have left the room and he would continue the tale.
He was trying to tell me something.
"What would you ask of her", I just had to hear.
Mr. Paul D'Aquin, paused deep in thought,
considering what was suitable to confess after
confessing everything. He found something, either so
innocuous or so outrageous that he could speak of it.
In a low voice he started, unsure of where to
begin. As he went on, perhaps reassured by my non-
judgmental silence, he spoke louder. He told of
fantasy that occurred to him, but now he had the
means to fill it. It was her third day at the house.
He started by depriving her of her morning meal. A
small girl under enormous stress she ate little,
mostly fruits and salads. Paul would fed her and
give her time to use the bathroom in the morning and
evenings. It must have been difficult for her to
miss a meal.
Paul continued to use her mouth or ass when he
felt like it. Paul confided how thrilling it was to return
from his stock broker to find her exactly as he left her,
tied and gagged on the bed or against a wall, her thigh
muscles fluttering against the strain. That afternoon he
again deprived her of food or drink.
The following morning she was again deprived of
a meal. For two more days she went without food or
drink. The girl was obviously weakening. That was
what he was waiting for. He tied her sitting against
the wall. Without explanation one arm was left free,
a strap dangling free from a leather cuff. He
taunted her with a fresh salad. I can only imagine
what it must have been like to be starved of food and
water, while straining in your bonds for three days,
then to be enticed with food. The little drops of
cool moisture on the lettuce and crystal bowl must
have been pure agony for the famished girl to look
at. Paul had her masturbate him with her free hand,
shooting his sperm over the food, which he then fed
to his starving captive.
That is when I knew that he was telling me the
truth, it was in his eyes and it scared me, truly
scared me. "Why are you telling me this?", I asked.
He knew that I meant everything.
"You asked me too. Oh, you are serious", he
added. "I hope that I can be honest with you. I saw
something special in you and your lovely Diane. Let
me continue. You will see."
Yes, I was concerned. I even considered
leaving. But in the end my curiosity won out. Maybe
I felt indebted to the mysterious Paul D'Aquin after
all he bought the fine suit and dress that we wore and
we drank his vintage wine. I told myself that if he proposed
a group sex thing, I would leave. That's not for me
or Diane.
Paul stood looking out the window. I could hear
Diane giggling from a distant room. I had to
interrupt Paul to get him to speak louder. He
continued to talk into the window, only slightly
louder this time.
"It took a month and she was broken. Completely
broken. She had lost the will to fight, even to
protect herself, she had lost the will to live. She
wouldn't eat, even if fed. He eyes grew dim. She
would not wear make up, or even shave her legs, her
skin was ghostly her hair dull and believe it or
not," he turned to me for emphasis, "her hair down
there, you know, the pussy hairs, they became limp,
flat, no curls." He turned again to look out on the
beach, quite for a while as if he was contemplating
on why that should be. "You know I could tell her to
do anything, and she would do it with out hesitation
or fear. Anything. She just did not care if she
lived or died. Oh, it was fun for a little while see
her do the most outrageous things but not for long."
"So you gave her, her freedom," I interjected.
"No. What I did was to think about it. For
days I considered what to do. I knew she would
commit suicide if she could, so I left her tied to
this bed while I studied my old college text books on
psychology, I consulted with the leading
psychologists. I would only have one more chance, I
had to get it right. You know psychology is much
like chess, for every input into the human mind, the
patient counters with a move of his own. The
psychologist must be prepared for every possible counter
move, with another counter move of his own."
He sat on the corner of the bed, invigorated as
if he had just now solved the problem. "I did the
only thing I could. I did the opposite." He was
talking fast now. "I developed an exercise and
education routine. Every minute of her day was
organized. It took some experimentation to get the
times right but I finally decided on waking her at 5
am sharp. A half hour for her toilet and complete
make up and to make the bed. She was to be ready for
inspection at 5:30."
"I made a big show of it to let her know that I
took it seriously. I would unlock the door exactly
at 5:30. I expected her to be standing nude in the
center of the room. The room and bath was to be
clean and neat. She was to have her hair brushed and
all bruises or marks were not to be covered with
powder. I checked her mouth, to make sure she had
flossed. I, of course checked between her legs to
make sure that there were no traces of my semen from
the night before. Her period had stopped, now doubt
from the stress, but I still had her take a birth
control pill every day. Her nails were to be done in
clear lacquer. Lipstick had to exactly match to the
color of her vagina every morning."
"At first she resisted, but I was relentless. I
don't believe in demerits, the best punishment is
done immediately. Any infraction was treated the
same, three lashes with a whip. Immediately, as
hard as I could, anywhere I felt like on her exposed
flesh. She would never be hit for my own amusement.
She learned that she could trust me. After a month,
she started to respond. At last I could trust her
not to harm herself. I had her fix breakfast every morning.
Still nude, she would busy herself in the kitchen,
while in an adjacent room, I planed the days agenda.
At first I told her what to cook, but latter after
she took cooking classes, it became her choice. It
gave her a way to express herself. Then there was
some free time to do whatever I felt like that
morning. I would take her scuba diving or back here
for fun and games."
"I enrolled her in English classes, cooking
classes. She spends two hours a day exercising at the
gym. I chart her weight and progress. In the
afternoon she takes fashion, and health classes, for
I want her to look good and her body to be hard."
"It took a several weeks for her to fully
recover," he said. She slowly came to accept her new
reality as a sex slave. "Now I enjoy playing with
her both at home or in public. For fun, I ordered
contacts for her with the wrong prescription.
Everything she looked at was out of focus. Sometimes
after a bruising session I would make her wear the
contacts to the beach. I have her disrobe to her
bikini and walk on the pier showing her marks. The
guys on the pier would just love it. Of course she
was not allowed to speak to anyone. It was after she
`was reborn' that I took her virginity. Pussy's
pussy", he laughed at his little joke.
Paul leaned back and called for Pussy. "I am
coming," she immediately replied. To me he said,
"Quickly, before your beautiful lady arrives, do you
want her to be your woman. I mean, really your
woman. Not a woman that just happens to live with
you. If you do, I can help you train her, help with
money, whatever it takes." Pussy entered the room.
I knew Diane would be here soon. Paul told her to
take off her clothes andshe did. No fuss. She glanced
at me for a second, and immediately started to unbutton.
"I won't interfere with her, just help you."
"Hey, what are you guy's doing in there?".
Diane was coming down the hall.
"What is it going to be?"
"Tony, you cheapskate, why don't you buy me a
place like this", Diane was just around the corner.
Pussy was to my side, stepping out of her underwear,
looking for approval from her man.
"She has a job, friends, family..."
"What? Tony, speak up!"
"It doesn't matter. I will take care of all
that." "OK. Yes, do it", I heard myself speak.
That was a long and hard, fifteen months ago. I
went the whole time without seeing or even speaking
to Diane. I never knew how much I loved her till
then. At times, I thought Paul had killed her.
Nightmares filled my few hours of sleep with images
of Diane bound, tortured, crying my name. Paul
assured me that she was safe and still undergoing
training. His promises grew from "only a couple
of weeks" to a month, then another and another.
I would rush over to his beach house after work,
always to hear the same explanation. "She is OK, be
patient, it is just taking longer than I thought to
change her `reality'." I was not permitted to see
her for fear that she would regress, he would
explain.
My visits every afternoon were a way to reaffirm
my trust in Paul, a man that had told me everything
that I knew about him. Still, I trusted him, largely
from the sincere way he had arranged for Diane's
disappearance. He paid for tickets to Europe, had
photographs doctored, innocent having a wonderful time
letters, were forged. No one expected a thing. Only
Paul, the ever obedient Pussy and I, knew.
Three months into the training, to reassure me,
he lent Pussy to me for a weekend. His instructions
were to "treat her as if she was your own." After
such a long time without sex it was a great relief to
have a woman to play with. But Pussy knew to whom
she belonged. Try as I might she would not tell me
where Diane was being kept, for it was not at the
beach house. Maybe she just didn't know.
5. Diane
Summer slipped into winter. I cursed myself for
blindly trusting this stranger. What else could I do
but wait. When Paul sensed that I was at my limit,
he would offer me the services of Pussy for
relaxation. I decided to restore the GTO. That
winter and spring I stripped it down to the bare
metal and ever so carefully layered on cleaner, prep
coats, sealers, adhesion promoters base color coats.
I lovingly hand rubbed every layer for days. Finally
it was ready for 8 layers of hand rubbed clear coat.
While I made the body over, a friend put in a glove
leather interior. I sent the engine to a NASCAR team
in South Carolina for engine work. That summer was
spent fitting it all back together.
By the time school opened, it was ready. All
traces of the original was gone. Its replacement had
the same size and shape but was totally new. It
looked new, felt new, ran harder.
Diane was waiting for me that Labor day weekend.
She stood in Paul's beach house that I had come to
know so well, as she stood across the room. A black
cocktail dress accented what it only barely covered.
She was beaming, skin radiant, eyes sparkling. Paul
dotted around like a butterfly, immensely proud of
his creation. Even Pussy smiled. Without moving her
head Diane kept constant track of both men in the
room, I could not tell if she even saw that Pussy was
there. She stood there, relaxed, back straight, the
only sign of nervousness was one shinny black pump
rocking slightly on its heel.
"Come here", it sounded much harsher than I
wanted, but an order was a relief to Diane. She knew
what she was to do. Her smile brightened, she may
have said something. She flowed across the room, a
champagne glass could have balanced on her head.
Stopping inches away from me, she obviously
suppressed an impulse to kiss me. She murmured
"Please excuse me. I did not intend to be rude," and
took a step back.
I scooped her to me. My Diane melted in my
arms, her body trembling itself into mine.
Paul gave me some last minute advice, "Do not
talk about her training, that is behind her now. She
is yours completely, her only purpose is to please
you". And as we went out the door, "Don`t mistreat
her. She lives for you".
-Stroker Ace-
Comments Welcome
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[END]
Brian C. Ladd, Curator, Mindnumbing Archive
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