<!--ADULTSONLY-->
<meta http-equiv="pics-label" content='(pics-1.1 "http://www.icra.org/ratingsv02.html" l gen true for "http://asstr.org" r (cz 1 la 1 lb 1 lc 1 na 1 nb 1 nc 1 nd 1 ne 1 nf 1 ng 1 nh 1 ni 1 oa 1 ob 1 oc 1 of 1 og 1 oh 1 va 1 vb 1 vc 1 vd 1 ve 1 vf 1 vg 1 vh 1 vi 1 vj 1 vk 1) "http://www.rsac.org/ratingsv01.html" l gen true for "http://asstr.org" r (n 4 s 4 v 4 l 4))' />
<SCRIPT LANGUAGE=JavaScript SRC=/scripts/common.js></script>
<SCRIPT LANGUAGE=JavaScript SRC=/scripts/scroller2.js></script>
<SCRIPT Language="Javascript">
<!--
runScroller();
//-->
</SCRIPT>
<pre>

--------------
A New One

When he opened the door, she was there, looking very stern.

"Hello..." he started to say, till a curt "Shut up"
silenced him.

"Follow me", she said, turning away.

He looked after her for a moment then called "Wait", 
to ask her to give him a moment to finish some things 
and shut down and lock up.  But when she turned quickly
to give him a withering look then quickly started walking
again he quickly closed the door and ran after her.

"I'm sorry..." he began.

And she spun on him, seizing him by the hair and bringing
him to his knees. "What is it that you don't understand 
about "Shut Up' ?" she asked.

The hurt look on his face was apology enough, and she
started walking away again, gesturing for him to rise 
and follow.  He was getting quite worried, she was
never like this, she was usually so pleasant even 
when being cruel.

As he followed her out the building and down to the street
she stopped outside his door and told him to turn around,
and tooking some rope from her bag and began very deliberately
cinching his elbows, and then binding his hands behind his back.
Whatever has gotten into her, he wondered.  She never bound him
in public.  He'd been taken on walks with his hands in the cut-out
pockets of his pants and cuffed to his thighs, but never such a
public display as this.  She was taking *such* a long time to 
finishing tying his wrists.  And now, what... he didn't even know
that she owned a nosehook.  This was certainly a degrading way
to be led to her car, which, certainly not by accident, she'd 
parked unusually far up the street.  Such strange looks he got
as he followed her being led by the nose.

When she got to her car she opened the trunk and gestured
at him to get in, he started to say something and she slapped
his face, something she'd never done, and after the shock of it
he wanted to cry but when she shoved him he got into the trunk,
worrying terribly whatever could be wrong.  As she closed the 
trunk without a word, he wondered what he had done that so 
offended her.

She drove for a long time as he lay uncomfortably in the
crowded trunk and with his mind crowded with fears.  Whatever
he had done he would have to make it up to her.  He couldn't
imagine what it was he had done, but whatever he had done to
make her so severe with him would have to be fixed, whatever
it was.  Whether he had done anything wrong didn't matter
nearly so much as that he couldn't bear this severity, and
nothing mattered more than that he not lose her.

Finally the car stopped, and he waited for the trunk to open.
And waited.  At last it opened, and she gestured for him to
sit up and hang his legs out of the trunk, after which she took 
some rope and tied a cinch between his knees, then gagged him.
Then she pulled him to his feet and pushed him towards the
woods, and he hobbled in that direction wondering what was
going on.

Turning back to look when he heard her car door slam, and
seeing her coming her behind him with a pistol in her hand
wasn't reassuring.

She must be worried about snakes or other animals, he told
himself.  She'd couldn't possibly be that angry with him,
and no matter how angry she got she wouldn't resort to this.
As they reach the edge of the forest she stopped him and
blindfolded him, as he tried desperately to "puppy-dog"
her in this last opportunity, but he saw no signs of her 
softening.  But the way she took his elbow as she led him 
through the woods was much gentler than her handling of him 
so far on this trip, from which he took some relief.

It was a long walk through the woods, and as his feet stuck
on underbrush he was glad she hadn't let him wear his hobbles.
Finally she grasped his elbow tighter to stop him, and then let 
go, leaving him standing there wondering what was up.  He couldn't
hear her moving, and she couldn't have moved through the brush 
without him hearing her.  But maybe there was a clearing ahead.
But she wouldn't just leave him here like this.

No, there she was, behind him, taking off his blindfold.
To reveal, in front of him, deep in the woods, out of view
of anything, a hole dug in a very small clearing, about
six feet long and 3 feet wide and three feet deep.  Jesus
Christ, he thought, what is happening.

"Get in your grave", she said.  

He looked at her, stunned, and she just repeated the command,
then gave him a shove, and he hopped down into the freshly
dug earth, and looked up at her.

"If I told you you had to leave me, could you bear that ?"
she asked.

He shook his head "no".

"Well, I've decided that I don't want to continue our
relationship the way it's been going. I don't want you
as a submissive any longer.  I've decided to end it and 
to start my life over."

He nearly collapsed then and there at this shocking
statement, his heart almost bursting in his chest
and his vision dimming.

"Kneel", she said, and then slapped the back of his head
and said "Now".  

He knelt.

She took the gag from his mouth, saying "don't speak"
as she did so.

She moved her foot to the edge of the grave.  Whenever
she feared she might have gone too far she offered him
her foot to kiss to say that he was OK with what she'd
done.  With what small portion of his brain wasn't a 
chaotic jumble of confused thoughts and shocked emotions
he noted this, and some small voice within the din wondered
what she could be thinking, how she could possibly imagine
that he was OK with this.

He didn't move, and she didn't move her foot away, or say
a word, as the emotions swirled through him, but one soon
came to the forefront.  He couldn't go on if she left him.
He didn't want to go on without her.  He couldn't endure
the thought that she didn't want him anymore.  If she was
starting her life over, his was over, and this was a better
way to end it than dying of a broken heart.  So he bent his
head and kissed her foot.

"Lay down", she ordered, and he complied.

And she stood over him in his grave and aimed the pistol,
and fired two quick shots and saw him jerk, then picked up
the shovel she'd used to dig the grave yesterday, and took
a shovelful of dirt and spread it over him.

And then she said, "Get up, slave".

"For ghod's sake, you'd think you never heard a gun before.
It's a good thing I decided to aim over your head rather than
alongside it, the way you jerked when you heard the gunshots.

"I'm starting my life over, and with you as my property rather
than my partner.  Your life as you knew it is over.  Get up 
out of there, here let me help you.  Start walking slave.
My new home is on the other side of these woods, and the first
thing I'm installing there is you.  You're not going back to
your apartment ever again.  I'll collect which of my late
submissive's things I want to keep for myself.  Maybe I'll
bring the rest here for a bonfire.  Or maybe I'll distribute
them to our friends at his memorial service, the one where
they get to say goodbye to his mummified form.  My life here
is going to be a new start.  New home, new furnishings, new slave.
I think I'll be very happy.  And that is what my late submissive 
always wanted most."

END

--------------------------

If some background is on any interest:

I've not been writing "real" stories with any kind of narrative 
for some time  This one started just with an image, a woman
guiding a bound and blindfolded man by his elbow; aside from
it developing that he was being walked through rougher terrain
(which made him more dependent on her guidance) no real story
existed, and it would have been rather unsatisfying just writing
up that image.  

Then as it happens a friend wrote to me about a scenario in
which she and her friends abducted a man who was bound and 
blindfolded and led by a hand on each elbow (and if he offered
or was perceived to offer any resistance they'd pull down his
pants and paddle him on the spot; BTW, in a nice touch he
wasn't being led anywhere, they were walking him in a circle
but letting him think they were taking him someplace for fun 
and games which he wouldn't necessarily like (though since
in the van before they started walking him, they'd been holding
his legs apart and playing with his cock and balls, it might
not have been so bad (of course, CBT sometimes isn't so
much fun))).

Anyway, after that "oh wow, deja vu all over again, man"
event, I decided that I needed to write up the image, but it
had to have some sort of storyline.  And when trying to find
a storyline for why a bound and blindfolded man was being
walked through heavy woods by a woman, well, that's the 
narrative that developed.


It might have been a more honest story if she'd actually 
killed him, but I found that too depressing (especially 
since I was sending it back in recompense for a very happy
scenario (well, I think being held prisoner by many cruel 
women who laugh happily a lot as they play with one is 
a happy scenario),  so I reused an old idea, the symbolic 
death to indicate that the person was starting a new life 
(in the ending to an unfinished story (which means no one 
ever saw the ending) I made a woman stand on her own gravestone 
(all engraved, name/DOB/DOD) in front of her open grave and had 
a noose put around her neck and then a firing squad took aim
(ah, yes, you could say this was overkill) as she stood 
there shakily (she was, of course, bound hand and foot and 
in high heels) and after a nice long wait, they shot her and
knocked her off her gravestone so she hung choking for a
short time before the rope was cut, dropping her into her
grave, and dirt sprinkled over her; then she was pulled from
the grave, somewhat the worse for the choking and the bruising
from six blank rounds but still alive and functional, and then
they filled in her grave (I don't think they left flowers, but 
they will the next time I use this idea) and took WBB? (I can't
recall what her number was, she was White Buxom Blonde # something)
back to the Dear Farm).

While the ending may not have been aesthetically honest, 
I can at least use the argument (in the making lemonade
from lemons way) that he would have made a really big fuss 
about giving up his life to join her in her new life as her 
slave, but after what he just experienced, if he doesn't kill 
*her*, he'll recognize that he is in fact ready to give up his 
life to be with her in hers, so he won't make an issue of it.

If I were to continue the story - and I fear it would
lose impact if I did - the next and final scene probably 
would be her taking him to the house, cleaning him up
and comforting him, then untying him.  Knowing as she does
so that this is a big moment.  Maybe she'll unload her
pistol and reload it with live rounds and leave in on
the table in front of him as she walks across the room 
into a corner and kneels and explains things to him.  If 
he does feel wronged the gun is there by his hand and she's
there with no escape[1].  If not, he can come over and kneel 
with her and put his head down in submission.


[1] Also a recycled idea, from a "Strange Man" story.
    Gotta start coming up with some new ideas sometime.


