|
Ficta, part 2 of 5
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
(Ficta, part 2 of 5)
At the end of the driveway, there were three of her
friends. They hailed her, and looked surprised to find her
there, but she did not get a chance to speak with them for the
cab pulled up, and she wished to dally no longer.
* * * * * * * *
She did not know why she returned, but she indeed found
herself at his house again. Some part of her, a part which
staunchly would not talk to her conscious mind, guided her limbs
to convey her here again. Some vague and nebulous, unnamed
emotion roiled in her mind: a desire? a wish? a certainty? Again
the door was open, and again she entered.
She saw the living room, the kitchen, the dining room, the
pantry, the book shelves were his works rested. This time she
passed them by, and went further into the house. She left the
darker, wood paneled rooms, and came to a chamber where the walls
were painted the faintest shade of blue, and the floor was
carpeted in thick off-white pile, and gauzy white drapes hung
along the windows. Nothing like furniture was in this room, but
there were two manacles set into the floor, several feet apart,
and two manacles hung on rods from the ceiling, above the ones on
the floor. Nothing else disturbed the emptiness, the stillness,
of the room.
She examined the manacles; they were cleverly designed.
They all lay open, each one a half ring, hinged to its other
half, which in turn was fastened to a ceiling rod, or to the
floor by a shorter rod. In the second half-circle lay a lever,
such that if on should put one's limb into the embrace of the
connected half, the other freely hinged part, would be snapped
up, and over, and around one's limb, to lock into the closed
position. And moved by what she knew not, she did this.
First she removed her sandals, and stepping out of them,
she walked to a place between the manacles. She spread her legs,
and set one ankle against the inner arc of a manacle, and as she
pressed *snap!* the other half closed about the end of her
slender leg. She then reached up, and pressed the wrist of the
same side into the hanging mechanism, and it too closed with a
satisfying //click//. She reached her other leg towards the
respective bond; only with much straining was she able to reach
far enough to set her other ankle in. But now, the last manacle
hung on it's rod above and beyond her reach. She pulled towards
it, but the spread of her feet kept her from attaining the last
ring. Then, there were hands on her waist, from behind, lifting
her up, lifting her strongly, so that the steel at her feet
pulled her legs unrelentingly to earth. And with that, she set
her wrist into the manacle, and it clicked home. She hung there,
most of her weight borne by her arms, her feet barely touching
the floor, imprisoned.
He walked around her, to stand before her. His gaze took
her in, and she looked back at him.
He wore nothing but billowing draw-sting pants. Though his
hair was gray, right down to the wisps on his chest, his muscles
were still defined, and he had lifted her with apparently little
effort. She could not guess his age; she knew those books had
been published a long time ago. Now his weathered face bore a
pleased smile, and shone with warmth. His eyes were a very clear
blue.
She was young; just a woman, but definitely a woman, having
left adolescence behind for good. Her dark hair hung in a sea of
waves about her pale neck, her shoulders hidden in all but curve
by her blouse of deep electric blue. Her cheekbones were faintly
defined, and her jaw like the line of a heron's wing bounded her
oval face. Her arms, too, where like wings, stretched out and
taught, or like the arms of an angel raised in supplication or
adoration of heaven. Her ankles were slender and delicately
curved; a long white starched skirt hung from her slender waist.
Her eyes were black like night.
Her eyes rested on his face, as with a tug he loosed the
drawstring of his pants, and they felt to the floor; his gaze did
not leave her face. She heard a crinkling, and rubbing sound. He
lifted her white skirt, and with a pair of scissors he
materialized from where she knew not, he snipped her plain white
underwear from her body. He stepped up to her, his body touching
her. He reached around her and gripped her thighs from behind,
and lifted her again, stepping forward as he did, and setting her
onto him, her cunt driven down onto his member by her own weight.
Breath escaped her lungs like an unarticulated sigh.
Now she gazed over his shoulder, but sight was lost to her
as all her attention was drawn to her nerves, inside and out. In
some distant part of her mind the thought flared ///A condom! How
good, and kind, and caring he is of me! How fine he is!/// Then
there was no more effort left for words in her mind, as he began
to stroke into her. She could not effectively move with his
rhythm, for she had no manoeuverability to balance, but he
steadied her with his hand on her thigh, and his strong steady
pushing into her accounted for all the motion that was needed. It
reminded her of oars, pushing against the sea.
When he came, she knew it by the tightening of his muscles,
but he was silent save the single hard expulsion of breath. His
worn cheek lay against her own smooth face for some moments
longer, then he withdrew from her body, and stepped back. Her
skirt fell about her legs again. He spoke.
``I set a suggestion into your mind, a vision, before you
left here. To this you could have two responses. You could flee
from here in fear, forever shy of this place and of me, never to
trespass again. Or you would return. The suggestion was this:
were you ever to enter this house again, you would become mine
forever. The choice between these two would lie in your own
nature.''
She said nothing, and her face showed little, but he knew
his words spoke into the heart of her and she understood and
followed everything he said.
``What is your name?''
``I do not remember, Master,'' she answered truthfully,
``But I know I am your slave.''
|
|
