Layers

"SUCK ME, EAT ME, SUCK ME,", she crys she moan, bucks, hump, and suddenly she is creaming all over my face. rubbing her cunt juice all over my face. Then she looks down at my hard 9.5" long , hard cock and take her hand and rub pre-cum all over the head...... and now a word from our sponsor... If like me, you have been burnt-out on micro-detailed descriptions of various objects penetrating assorted orifices with clinical narration on the quantity and quality of lubrication, like the one above, then you may be interested in reading: LAYERS a love story by: Stroker Ace M/F D/s NC Notice: Adult subject matter. Definitely not politically correct and proud of it. Layers A love story by: Stroke Ace Comments welcomed stroker_a@hotmail.com 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) 1998, 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 abuse her, tying her up for hours, raping 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 and she 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. I 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- stroker_a@hotmail.com 2418 1.11/512345