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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Found in Amber
by PleaseCain (pleasecain@aol.com)
***
We're very convinced that the virtual community is the
next realm of human interaction. Cases of people falling
in love in cyberspace are now commonplace. Why, then,
can't society embrace this tool as one of liberation and
experimentation in sexuality? (Fdom/M, mc, mast)
***
The watchman pulled the latch with trepidation. One hand
gripped the cold pull-lever, the other his gun. The door
clicked and creaked heavily open. There was darkness
within.
He peeked behind him. He would have some time before he
had to get back, as he had skipped most of his rounds to
get straight here. The coast was clear. He flicked on
his flashlight and peeked inside, then left the door
slightly ajar. The room was cold.
There it was, in the middle of the room. He gave the
room the once-over with the beam, and his breath poured
out in billows of steam. A few gizmos, a few blinking
lights, but it looked safe. He flicked on one bank of
lights, and holstered his gun.
A tarp draped over the large, rectangular block. Being
over seven feet tall, its appearance was imposing,
suddenly illuminated just a few feet away. He couldn't
fathom why they would keep the thing carefully wrapped
and refrigerated now, after it had weathered eons of
harsh treatment by the elements on its own.
He drew nearer. On inspection, he found with relief that
the specimen was not that carefully wrapped. He placed
his hat on some shelving. Then, he bent and grasped the
heavy cloth with both hands, and snapped the tarp
sharply upwards. The covering was surprisingly heavy.
Not only did the tarp fail to clear the top, but the
watchman felt the painful, familiar pinch of his ailing
back.
Cursing, he stamped his feet in the freezer, psyching
himself up. He seized the tarp again and pulled at it,
grunting ferociously. He stopped after making little
headway. Determined that his curiosity would not be
denied, he ran to the opposite side, shorter and
dangling from the top. He stood on his tiptoes, and with
all his might threw the end over. Breathless, he fell
back and sat. Staring up through the clouds of his
exhalations, he beheld her.
She was crouched in that same position that he had seen
in the newspaper photos, except now that he stood
beneath her she was so much more imposing. Actually, she
wasn't crouched down so much as curled aggressively
forward, as if jumping down to pounce upon her prey. Her
long hair was suspended up behind her. Her knees were
bent and splayed apart. Her rigid torso leaned forward
above her hips, and her arms raised menacingly before
her and above her head, hands and fingers clawed out and
hooked. Frozen at the moment of kill--long, sleek and
angry.
Strictly speaking, her face wasn't beautiful, but it was
sexy in its attitude and frame of mind. It was
unmistakable what had been on her mind. Her lips were
full, and ominously raised in a sultry, arrogant snarl.
Blue eyes glared large and hard down at him.
The frozen position was awkward and tense, demanding a
coda, a next and final moment. She sought a murderous
rest she would never feel. He recalled discovering a
praying mantis as a boy, a wiry, evil-looking creature
unlike anything he had seen before. It sat large and
dangerously still forever before him, like it could
explode at any moment. He had that same feeling now, so
long forgotten. But this time he had already resolved,
he would draw near and touch.
She was covered from head to toe in a glorious, tight
leather, slick and tight beneath the heavy translucent
amber. The leather seamlessly conformed to her muscular
thighs and the curve of her hips. The supple stomach and
her breasts, conical and jutting proudly out, were
outlined perfectly. He could distinctly see the
indentations beneath her biceps, smoothing to her
armpits, and strong calves sloping dramatically into the
tops of pointed stiletto boots.
He unzipped his slacks, and walked slowly around the
slab, surveying her body from all angles. The sleek cat-
suit revealed more about the body by its wrinkles than
it did in the areas where it was stretched tight. The
long creases that ran down the front of the suit between
her meaty breasts, which had been frozen at the moment
of weightlessness, and inflated against the inside of
the suit. Those folds behind her bent knees,
illuminating in relief the powerful muscles of her
shapely legs, the vertical lines of strong calves and
hamstrings, that could crush a man's neck.
And that complex of folds and creases in the cleft
between her legs, reaching from the rounded bottom of
perfectly toned buttocks into that mysterious area,
where bumps and pinches and a definite protruding bulge
promised at what lay beneath. He had never had a chance
to really stare at a woman's genitals enough to
comprehend them.
Certainly Trudy would never allow him to, nor would he
ever ask, or want to. He had only extracted what he
needed from them, the hole somewhere within. The rest
was pure awkwardness. They sure didn't look like those
neat diagrams in books, where everything was very
distinct and labeled with a name and an arrow. In real
life, there were no separate colors and shapes. It just
melted together in a mishmash of skin, too intricate and
embarrassing to be of interest. Just so the glorious
hole could be found.
But this woman, he wanted to see this one. They were so
intricate and strange that he would never know them. He
could stare at hers forever, just inches but eons away,
trying to touch it with his mind. He exhaled and grunted
deeply, grinding his hips forward.
Ah, but he knew she would never let him gawk at her this
long were she alive. She was suspended above the ground,
and due to her posture, it was impossible to tell how
tall she was, but he could see she was a tall lady.
Maybe 5-9, 5-10. Not a short, stubby kielbasa woman. No,
she was tall, lean, powerful, unforgiving. She wouldn't
let him roll atop of her and let him do his business in
her on the dark bed before sleep.
She would not allow him to lasciviously stare at her
womanhood while he rubbed on his dick. She would spit
angry words on him while he played with himself. She
would cuff the side of his head while he turned his gaze
down in humiliation.
"Don't look down now! Go on, look at my beautiful body,"
she taunted, and his groin wrenched at the sound of her
catty growl. "Look at ME!"
His head trembled as his gaze lifted slowly from her
pointed toe up her shin and knee, along the mighty
thighs, to her pussy. "Look at me while you finish your
dirty business, you little shit! Now!"
At her forceful command, his shaking hands once more
sprung to life, doing her bidding, pulling on his
swollen penis with urgency and fear. She growled to the
rhythm of his strokes, louder and faster, to intimidate
him, until he felt her hot breath and saliva beating on
his crown.
"No. No," he fearfully wailed. She was hissing and
cackling obscenely under her breath. In her guttural
animal gurgling he could a barely intelligible mantra of
threats and curses and hatred. Her pussy was so near, he
needed to see it, to throw himself on it, to please her.
Please, please, if it could only be. His face, chest,
thighs and penis ground desperately against the block,
and finally, he grunted, and shouted, and light erupted
all around him.
"Gierzyck, what the fuck are you doing!?"
*
The soundstage bulbs blare heat and light down upon the
platform, glistening on the edges of the translucent
obelisk below.
An irritable voice barks orders over the public address
system. "Jesus! Pull those lights downstage! You're
burning my monitors up."
"Can we get this damned thing over with?" yells the
kinky-haired talent standing beside the pale yellow
block. "This whole scene really blows. Right, Georgio?"
"Yes, babe," again from the loudspeaker. "Let's look
alive. Are we going on to the effects shot?"
"Check, G!" calls an engineer.
"Come on!" The talent snaps her dark plastic eye-frames
on.
"Audio!" An aggressive hip-hop beat begins to pound. The
roomful of young dancers springs to life. The music
cuts, interrupted briefly. "We're patching in from L.A.
Everybody's watching the red clock, got it? Watch it!"
The music resumes, with a voice-over. "Five, four,
three, two, one, we're active!"
The talent barks into her mike, "Yeah, Pauly, we're here
at Club Dom on the Lower East Side. Are we partying our
asses off, people?"
The dull red lights turned to blue, and the dancing
crowd screams above the music. "Whoo!"
"Yeah, and we have to be very good tonight, as you know,
because tonight we are entertaining The Lady." The
talent walks to her left on the platform, until she is
standing next to the tall translucent block containing
the suspended form of a savage woman bedecked in a
catsuit. A manic strobe flashes through the block from
behind her.
The talent coyly raps the slab with a riding crop.
"That's right, history's very own mistress, and we've
got her right here. She's making her list, checking it
twice, so you'd better be good, heh-heh... What's your
name?"
"Lisa," the blond red-leather dancer yells through the
music.
"Well, Lisa, have you been a good girl this year?"
"No way!" she screams, leaning close to hear.
"What do you think of our mistress of ceremonies, Lisa?"
"Oh, I think she's very liberating and inspiring to me
as a woman. To think that back then in prehistoric
times, women were choosing their own roles as
individuals."
"Oh, really? And what are you going to do then to
appease the goddess," she taps the amber expectantly,
"and to help her ring in the new year?"
The blond drops to her knees and presses her face to the
clear stone, at the spot closest to the toe of the
catwoman's stiletto boot, and licks as if at a bowl of
milk. The cameraman zooms in.
"Whoa, what is this? The things they show on TV these
days, huh! Lisa? Lisa? Well, you just have a good old
time, girl, and we'll just go to Bill down on the floor.
Bill! Bill, are you there?"
"We're here, baby, we're here. Your homeboy's here on
the dance floor, where things are pretty hot and slick,
I'm saying. As you can see, all the right kinda wildlife
is out and playing tonight. It's going to be a bad, bad
New Year. See?"
The lights pulse yellow-over-red to the beat, and the
cameras pan around the dungeon. The cameraman is jostled
by bumping and grinding leathermen, whip-women, chained
people, ladies dancing in bras and hotpants.
"What's your New Years resolution, little boy?"
The dancer wears black Dockers, a black leather cap and
two nipple clamps. "Whoo!" he answers.
"OK," the male talent replies facetiously, and moves to
the man's partner, a no-nonsense brunette with tasteful
make-up and a leather collar set with sparkling gems.
"And what's your New Years resolution?"
She waves toward the platform, her eyelids heavy. "If I
could be like her."
"Oh yeah, I know what you mean. By the way, it looks
like you're line dancing."
"Huh?" she draws closer.
"I say, it looks a lot like you are line dancing."
She dances away.
The male talent laughs. "Tell you what, let's go to our
sizzling cyber-corner, where hundreds of people
nationwide are joining our party, doing a little of the
cerebral tango, shall we say. Oh yeah!"
The dancers part before the approaching camera,
revealing carrels scattered about the far end of the
dance floor, each with a flashing computer terminal, and
one or several people hunched before them.
"Yes, these people are practicing cyber- bondage with
real, hot-blooded kinksters all across the country on
one of America's biggest online services, which shall
remain nameless!" The host leans down to a skinny gent.
"How's it going?"
"OK," he states in a monotone.
"You two better hurry," the host shouts. "Midnight's
coming!"
"Yeah, OK." He sits motionless but for his hands, which
fluidly clack keys.
"Right." The host rolls his eyes for the camera and
moves to the next table. "Here's the organizer of Cyber-
And-Gomorrah '95, Dr. Che Liebowitz, professor of
psychology at New York University. Doctor, how's things
going?"
"Bill, we're very pleased with the participation and
enthusiasm here. We're very convinced that the virtual
community is the next realm of human interaction. Cases
of people falling in love in cyberspace are now
commonplace. Why, then, can't society embrace this tool
as one of liberation and experimentation in sexuality?
"We're saying, there's nothing wrong here. It frees us
from the constraints of our bodies and our day-to-day
responsibilities, into the realm pure ideas. Hence, this
vivacious, exciting woman I perceive on my screen right
now, is probably in fact a fat, boring housewife in
Iowa, for all one knows."
Bill leans to read from the screen and pats the doctor
on the back. "I see! Safe sex, right?"
"Right. For instance, right now, I've got this woman..."
The host yanks the mike away. "Ho! Watch that! We gonna
have New York's finest throwing down on us." He thinks a
moment. "Man, tell her to..." He whispers in the
doctor's ear. They both chortle.
"I don't think she'll go for it," the doctor replies as
he types. The host peers to the screen.
They both laugh after a moment. "I told you! I told
you!" bellows the host. They slap a high five. "I gotta
be going, but I'll be back! I'll be back here." The host
walks away.
Bill's voice is now heard loudly over the sound system,
the hip-hop now in the background. "We got business,
crew. Listen up. The moment has arrived. It's time to
ring in the New Year. Give it up for our ladies of the
night." The people look up to the platform and cheer. A
spotlight shines on the hostess standing beside the
block of amber.
"Ready to count in the New Year, devils? Fine, together:
ten, nine, eight..."
At the stroke of twelve, a huge bank of strobe lights
fire off from behind the amber block, lights aimed at
the slab from different angles. The catwoman suspended
within appears to dance, as lusty bodies crowd and
writhe, making love to the obelisk.
*
"Come, my pet, awake. Rouse thyself. I have your
treats." A thin man of effeminate features and
sickeningly pale skin, clad in black, called in a reedy
voice into the huge open-air observation tank below. The
tank comprised most of the cavernous room, and consisted
of a circular ten foot wall, paneled within by white
easy-wash vinyl.
The solid white walls of the arena were interrupted only
by a huge ground-level plexiglass observation window,
and a small hole of two-to-three feet in diameter
opposite the observation window. The hole was used for
access in and out of the open-air terrarium, and the
gaunt man was particularly proud of it, as this was his
idea. As he predicted, his subject could no longer
escape through the hole.
The huge tank contained only a few objects. A jungle
mat, a beanbag chair, rubber play-balls of various sizes
and colors, building blocks and a wide-screen TV.
The tank was also ringed at its top by black steel
scaffolding, which allowed onlookers to walk around and
observe from any angle. The waiflike black figure stood
upon the scaffolding, as he reached into a greasy brown
grocery bag.
"Up, my friend. It's time to eat!" He pulled his hand
from the bag, and tossed packages wrapped in white paper
to the floor of the tank. He grabbed another handful and
tossed them. Some remained wrapped until they hit the
ground. Others fell from their wrapping, and hit the
floor as scattered buns and ketchup-laden patties and
pickles. "Come on, it's the fun time!"
On the far side below, a makeshift wall of building
blocks tumbled down, and an animal- like grumbling
emanated from beyond. When the next volley of burgers
splatted upon the floor, a large creature charged out
from behind the rubble of blocks, across the tank toward
the debris.
The creature charged huffing to the culinary litter
scattered about the tank floor, scooping up and
devouring the scraps as it moved along. The brute was
obese, his body clad only in a large diaper. Food bits
sprayed to the ground as it hunched and ravaged its
food.
The subject wore meaty sideburns down its cheeks, and a
long, silvered pompadour, which it repeatedly tossed
away from its face as it fed. As it ate the smaller
bits, the brute scooped and gathered larger burger
chunks in its cradled arm. Still chewing, it stood,
still holding its armful of booty.
It crammed a whole burger into its mouth, then shook a
fist up at its captor. "Ah'monna get you, Michael." It
choked, and then stuffed another patty in, with some
effort.
The observer giggled like a child from the scaffold. "Be
happy, my friend," he reassured in his thin voice, "I
have a surprise for you. We have a new friend to play
with."
The wraithlike man-boy snapped into motion and nimbly
danced down the stairs. He reappeared at ground-level,
at the plexiglass viewing window, and knocked on it. He
called the brute over with his finger. The diapered hulk
moved closer, then looked perplexed as it took in the
sight.
"Say hello to our new friend." The gaunt man stroked
lovingly at the yellow encasing surrounding the leather-
clad catwoman. "I don't have a name for her yet. Can you
think of a name for her? She's very pretty, isn't she?"
The amber block had fresh cuts on four of its sides--
above the woman's head, below her feet, and at both of
her sides--as large sections of the slab had been sawn
away. Parts of the woman were now only millimeters
beneath the surface.
"Soon she will be free," the thin man said dreamily,
"and then, the fun we will have..."
"Do you like her?" the thin man asked. The brute only
stared and chewed from the other side of the window.
"Well, Mr. Merrick likes her," he continued, and turned
to address the human skeleton hanging from a nearby
pole. "You like her, don't you, Mr. Merrick? Yes, Mr.
Merrick likes her. Yes he does."
"Yes, soon she will be free." He flipped some switches
on the side of an oblong coffin-like machine, which
began to hum and whir, and fog rose out, illuminated
from within. "And then we can all play together, here in
our secret world." He climbed over the side and into the
open chamber of the machine. He sat up inside of it,
with the fog rising all around him. "I just have to
think of her name," and he laid down into the haze to
sleep.
END
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 68