Esha -
The Haunting of Crowley Manor
Chapter
4 - The Imposter
by Soul
in Shadow (soul.in.shadow@gmail.com)
Barbara
awoke to the sensation of long fingers brushing through her hair. She stirred,
blinking heavily. As her vision swam into focus, she saw Magda sitting beside
her. She started, "Magda? What...what happened? What time is it?"
"It's
late afternoon."
Barbara's
eyes widened in shocked disbelief, but to the side of the room, she could see
the waning sunlight peeking through the thick, drawn curtains. The sun would be
setting soon. Barbara was simply beside herself. Two days in a row, she had
somehow totally slept through most of the day. She stared forlornly at the
motes of dust dancing languidly in the orange shafts of light. The coming of
twilight, something she usually anticipated eagerly, now only served to fill
her with dread. The night would fall soon, and the thought of the slowly
encroaching darkness made her throat knot. Her sudden nocturnal switch was
deeply upsetting; she couldn't understand what was wrong with her, and with
that lack of understanding came an alarming lack of control. Her nerves were
shot, her mind filled with a sea of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the
sense of hopelessness and powerlessness threatened to stifle her in despair,
but at the same time, it had stirred something awake deep inside her. Even now,
she felt a twinge of perverse anticipation. The fleeting after-images of last
nights dreams haunted her, but try as she might, she could not bring them
into focus. All she knew was that they'd left her in a lingering glow that was
disturbingly alluring.
Magda
observed Barbara's distress with barely concealed satisfaction. Outwardly, the
older woman smiled sadly, "You had quite a fright, dear. Your car broke
down on your way out, and you stumbled back through those awful moors, in the
middle of the night at that!" She rested a hand over the sheets covering
Barbara's knee. "Your nerves go the better of you. But you're all right
now. How do you feel?"
The
beautiful blonde made to answer, but stopped short. A sudden blush colored her
cheeks, and she quickly averted her eyes. "F-fine. I'm fine," she
said, just a little too quickly. Magda smiled knowingly, and gave Barbara's
thigh a glancing caress as she retracted her hand. She noted gleefully how
Barbara barely suppressed a shiver.
"Fine,
indeed," she thought with a chuckle. "As horny as a cat in heat, more
like! One night of nice, steamy dreams has left that pretty little pussy of
yours positively dripping..."
But to
Barbara, Magda simply said, "I have left you a towel, a robe, and a change
of clothes. It's not your size, unfortunately...but I imagine very few things
are." She glanced at Barbara's barely-covered chest for emphasis.
Barbara
flashed her a look, but the angry retort died on her tongue as soon as her
emerald eyes caught Magda's storm-gray gaze. Their almost magnetic pull sparked
another spell of sudden, uncharacteristic uncertainty in Barbara. Her stomach
fluttering much too pleasantly, she merely muttered a quiet,
"Thanks."
Magda
rose from the bed, and straightened her dress. "The bathroom is down the
hall. Crowley Manor is old, so no shower, I'm afraid. But I think you'll find
the accommodations more than acceptable. If you'd like, I can have a meal
prepared for you while you bathe."
Barbara
hesitated, but eventually nodded. "I am rather hungry. Thank you, I'd
appreciate that."
Wordlessly,
the woman in black flowed out of the room, leaving Barbara alone in the
gathering dim. Despite her anxiety, or maybe because of it, Barbara found it
difficult to rouse the will to get out of bed. The sheets were luxuriously cool
against her too-hot skin, and the thick canopy provided a sense of closeness
and comfort. It might be irrational, but Barbara felt safe there. This was a
space she could claim, a space she could control. The shapely blonde lay back
and stretched out beneath the cool sheets. She worked to dispel the lingering
grogginess of sleep, to gather her thoughts. She was famished, and a bath
sounded too good to pass up, but once those things were out of the way she
absolutely had to arrange for a cab. She'd make Magda show her to a phone.
She was
afraid of what another night in this weird place would do to the remainder of her
senses.
-----------------
Half an
hour later, Barbara emerged from the steaming bath feeling decidedly
rejuvenated. The bathroom had been right where Magda said it would be, and the
ornate antique tub already full of blessedly hot water. An elaborate selection
of crystal decanters on a low table nearby provided a multitude of soaps and
scented oils. Barbara had sampled them all, settling on something that smelled
delightfully of sandalwood and lilac. It was such a simple luxury, but Barbara
was grateful for the momentary respite from the relentless gloom of the
mansion. The sconces on the walls were laden with beeswax candles, lending the
air a thick, sweet scent. Padding herself dry with a wide, plush towel, Barbara
reveled in the upswing of her mood.
It was
amazing what hot water could do, she mused. Opening another decanter and
testing its contents, she poured a generous pool of oil onto her palm. She
propped her leg onto the vanity stool, and began working the sweet-smelling
fragrance into her skin. A self-satisfied smile had crept onto her face, the
first, it seemed, in days. There were few things Barbara enjoyed more than a
little pampering, and the sensation of the smooth liquid warming her skin was
an indulgence she was more than happy to luxuriate in. She felt clean, warm,
and the fragrance of the oil was so lovely. She finished her legs, running her
hands over her firm stomach and over the generous swell of her breasts to rid
them of the excess. The sensation of her slick hands sliding over her tits made
her mewl appreciatively.
Without
meaning to, she let her hands roll over them a second time, just a little
harder. Her nipples protested enticingly as they grazed against her hot palms.
"Mmmm,
get a hold of yourself Barbara," she whispered, even as she squeezed her
own breasts almost reflexively. Between the heat from the bath and the warming
sensation of the oil, her body was positively glowing. With a reluctant sigh
she let go of her heavy tits, and forced herself to focus on the task at hand.
Don't forget where you are, she chided herself, this isn't the place to get
carried away...
"Later,"
she promised, "just wait till you get home. You'll have the whole
apartment to yourself." She knew just what she wanted, too; she'd open up all
the blinds, kill all the lights, so that the only illumination would be from
the city itself. She'd take her time, take it slow. What she wanted right now
was a long, loud masturbation session with her trusty vibrator, splayed on her
bed, with all the city watching her as she came over and over again.
She
could feel her sex swelling in eager anticipation. Barbara shuddered. Ever
since waking up, she'd been a hot, horny mess, and things were only getting
worse. She shouldn't be getting herself so worked up, but her body clearly had
other ideas. She went about pulling on the dress Magda had left her in
something of a daze, her thoughts constantly taking turn after torrid turn.
There was no underwear to be found, but that might have been a blessing; the thought
of anything pressing against her pussy right now was almost more than she could
take.
Just
find a phone. Call a cab. Maybe even give the driver a little show, if you
can't wait. Stay focused, Barbara. This will all be behind you before you know it.
She
finished cinching the front of her dress closed, and stepped into the matching
heels, all in a kind of rote, automatic rhythm. Her first good look at what she
was actually wearing came a moment or two later, as she passed the grand oval
mirror standing by the doorway--and the sight made her gasp.
The
dress was scandalously sheer; layer upon layer of thin, gauzy fabric clung to
her every curve, as light as cobwebs. The flickering candlelight cut through it
to show off her perfect silhouette, the flowing material serving only to barely
obscure all the fine details in cloudy white. Her shoulders were bare, and the
garment was clearly meant for a woman lacking her considerable...assets. Her
breasts were barely contained by the straining top. The long garment hugged her
hips and thighs and chased down her legs. A slit cut dangerously high into the
front left side, showing off a long expanse of Barbara's creamy thigh.
It was
like something out of a gothic lingerie catalogue, more nightie than dress.
Barbara
envisioned Magda selecting this particular garment for her, imagined the lurid
twinkle in the older woman's eyes, and blushed furiously. That fucking dyke
probably creamed herself just imagining Barbara in it, and now she was supposed
to have dinner with this woman?
But, if
she was so mad...why was her stomach fluttering so? Why was her heart pounding?
Barbara
turned slightly in the mirror. In profile the dress was almost worse; you could
see the curvature of her tits right through it. She struggled with herself;
should she protest, complain? There were clothes in the dresser back in her
room, she was sure she'd be able to cobble something wearable together.
Whatever it was, it would almost certainly be more modest than the almost-nothing
she was wearing now.
But...why?
What did it matter at this point? It's not like the woman hadn't seen her naked
already...and if she changed, Magda would know that the outfit had made her
uncomfortable. Maybe that was her entire point, to embarrass Barbara, and make
her blink.
She
refused to let that woman think she'd won.
An
indignant flame lit in Barbara's belly. If that bitch was trying to make her
flinch, well, she clearly didn't know who she was dealing with. Maybe it was
time for Barbara to put her twisted hostess on the defensive for once.
Feeling
more confident and brazen than she'd felt in days, Barbara gave herself one
last appraising look in the mirror, and then she was off, walking quickly.
She
needed to confront Magda before she lost her nerve.
--------------------------------
She
found Magda waiting for her in the dining room, a long, ornate chamber
dominated centrally by a sturdy table of dark wood. High backed chairs flanked
either side of it, meticulously positioned, though it seemed to Barbara that
they hadn't been moved in many years. The walls of the chamber were adorned
with tall, painted portraits, ostensibly of members of the Crowley family long
dead. It was before one of these paintings that Magda stood, her back to
Barbara, seemingly lost in thought. She did not turn at the sound of Barbara's
arrival.
The
buxom blonde took the liberty of quietly clearing her throat.
At
that, Magda did turn. As soon as her eyes fell upon Barbara, she let out a
pronounced gasp, her eyes widening. Barbara watched as her mouth worked
soundlessly for a long moment, the sight of her figure in the dress stunning
her silent. She felt a definite twinge of something then, like a swell of
pride, at the effect she was having on the older woman. Finally, Magda was able
to speak, her voice thick.
"Oh...my..."
she murmured appreciatively, her gray eyes roving over her hungrily,
"Barbara dear, you look simply ravishing."
All the
angry retorts and snappy comebacks she'd prepared during her walk to the dining
room evaporated at the guileless tone of her praise. Barbara blushed a deep
red, and all she could manage was a quick, "Thank you."
She
really can't keep her eyes off me, Barbara thought with not a little relish.
She stepped around the table and began slinking across the room, her hips
swaying. She tossed her wild mane with practiced nonchalance, knowing full well
how the motion emphasized her sender neck, and sent her breasts quivering
enticingly. Indeed, Magda's eyes were glued to her every sensual step, and the
attention ignited a warm glow in Barbara's chest.
"What
the hell are you doing?" a voice in her mind hissed in alarm, "Why
are you flirting with this woman?"
But...no...that's
not what she was doing...was it? She was just showing off, trying to put Magda
off-balance, leveraging her sexuality the same way she did when she needed to
disarm someone as Esha. Except it didn't feel quite the same; she was enjoying
the way Magda was staring at her so openly. The attention was...nice. So what
if it was a little flirty? If it helped grease the wheels, so to speak...
"Don't
let your guard down," the furtive voice clamored, "Something is
wrong. You haven't felt right since you woke up. Be careful. Don't trust
her!"
But by
then she had reached Magda, and the older woman had reached out to take her
hands in her own, squeezing them in greeting. "I'm so glad you liked the
dress, Barbara. It suits you. A woman as beautiful as you should always wear
beautiful things."
She let
Barbara's hands slip from her fingers. Slowly, the older woman began to circle
around her, her eyes taking in every sultry detail. She spoke as she walked,
"But you look even more stunning than I dreamt you would. So pretty. So
delicate. Mmm...you look good enough to eat..." Her fingertips traced up
Barbara's arm, touched glancingly across her back, always keeping in touch with
the lovely blonde as she slowly flowed around her. Her voice was low,
compelling. So easy to listen to. The nagging sense of worry that had been
eating at Barbara's mind was soon dulled into distant noise. She could feel
Magda's eyes on her back, her ass, the generous slopes of her breasts.
The
sensation was making her skin tingle expectantly.
Finally
Magda was in front of her again, and as she brushed a stray lock of hair away
from Barbara's face, the blushing blonde realized she was breathing heavily,
feeling a little lightheaded. If Magda noticed, she gave no sign. "You'll
forgive me if I don't join you for dinner, my dear, but I've already eaten.
Come, sit. You must be hungry."
She led
Barbara to the table, and set her before a plate of bone china laden with
fruit, cheese, and small cuts of meat. A crystal wine glass sat before her, and
with flourish, her hostess poured her a generous helping from an old, worn
bottle. The ruby liquid swirled darkly in the glittering glass.
"Some
of our best vintage," she crowed proudly, re-corking the bottle and
settling into the chair beside Barbara, at the head of the table. "The Crowley
family owns many old vineyards. This bottle, if I'm not mistaken, is older than
Delta City itself." She flashed Barbara a grin, and gestured to her food.
"Please, don't mind me. Eat."
Barbara
eyed the food. It looked perfectly normal, delicious even. Gingerly, she
selected a slice of hard cheese, and slipped it past her lips. The sharp flavor
exploded on her tongue, aged, smoked, delectable. Barbara swallowed audibly,
only then realizing just how hungry she really was, and began eating with gusto.
Magda smiled, "That's a good girl," she cooed, "You must keep up
your strength..."
Silently
she rose from her seat, and returned to stand in front of the tall painting
she'd been examining when Barbara had arrived. "Perhaps you'd like a
little introduction to our family," Magda said, gesturing to the paintings
on the walls. "The portraits you see are of the heads of every Crowley
generation going back over four hundred years," she said proudly,
"Beginning with my distant Grandmother, Desdemona Crowley, all the
way..." she turned slowly, gesturing at the sequential portraits until she
arrived at the one closest to them, where she stopped, "...to me."
Barbara
followed her motion, looking at each portrait in turn, when suddenly it dawned
on her. "Wait. All these pictures are of...women!"
Magda
beamed, nodding, "Precisely, my dear. Our traditions are strong, and our
women even stronger! Indeed, it was partly our faithful adherence to our
traditions that forced us to leave our ancestral home. Our neighbors, and
particularly the Church, did not...approve, of our ways."
Barbara
swallowed a mouthful of food, taking in each face. To a one, each picture
captured its subject with exacting finesse. Barbara was no stranger to art, and
these all bespoke of the hand of a great talent. The mark of a great portrait
artist could always be found in how they realized their subject's eyes, and in
every one, Barbara saw them rendered with liquid clarity. Twelve sets of eyes
stared back at her, so realistic to be almost disturbing.
Every
woman depicted was absolutely beautiful.
Even
the portrait of Magda showed her as a more youthful woman, perhaps in her
thirties. Her hair was jet black, and showed no hint of the gray that streaked
through it now. But despite the passage of time, Barbara could still see the
same storm gray eyes, regal features, and that now-familiar curl of a smile of
the Magda she knew.
But as
Barbara looked from one picture to the another, something seemed strange, off.
For an unbroken family line, all the women seemed remarkably distinct from one
another. The woman who preceded Magda was blonde, but the picture just before
hers showed a woman with brilliant red hair.
Weird.
Beside
Magda's portrait, the wall was conspicuously empty. Barbara didn't need any
elaboration there, the implication was sadly obvious; Magda had no heir. The
Crowley name was likely to die with her.
Looking
at each of the women, Barbara responded, "So the Church disapproved, did
it? What, did they accuse you all of being witches or something?"
Magda
didn't answer right away, instead letting the question hang in the air for a
long, pregnant moment. She regarded Barbara with a wry flicker of a smile,
"Would it shock you if I said...yes?"
The
glass stopped halfway to Barbara's lips. She looked incredulously at her
hostess, her eyebrows rising. "Wait. You can't be serious...?"
Magda's
face was an unreadable mask, but her eyes flickered eagerly. "Is it so
hard to believe? You can't tell me the thought has never crossed your mind,
Barbara?" She chuckled. "Magda, the crazy old bat. Magda, the wicked
witch. I know what is said behind my back, my dear."
She
took a step towards Barbara's seat. "And what about you? Do you think I'm
a witch?"
The
sudden change in her tone set off alarm bells in Barbara's head. She
straightened in her chair, her plate forgotten. "Witches don't
exist," she answered, eyeing Magda warily.
"Well,
certainly not the kind that fly around on broomsticks, at any rate," she
agreed, flashing Barbara a cool grin. Her gray eyes honed in on Barbara's, and
the flustered thief suddenly found her gaze sinking into their stormy depths.
She uselessly tried to mouth a response, but her throat was suddenly bone dry,
despite the wine. Magda continued, her voice lilting, "So many ridiculous
stories; deals with the devil, pots of swirling potions, wicked plans to devour
innocent young girls..."
She
chuckled. "well, that last one might just be a poor recounting of certain
details, but I digress..."
The
dark woman slid behind Barbara's high-backed chair, her slender fingers tracing
lightly over the blonde's exposed shoulders. Barbara stiffened nervously, but
did not flinch away from her spidery touch. With an intense familiarity, they
began to gently knead at her tight muscles, and in mere seconds, Barbara let
out a long, heady breath.
"What
are you...talking about..." the suddenly dazed Barbara said. The warmth
spreading from her shoulders was simply heavenly, and it was all she could do
to keep her head from lolling back against Magda's dress as she stood behind
her. For her part, Magda relished the sensation of Barbara's smooth skin
beneath her pale fingers almost as much as she thrilled to see the busty beauty
all but melting before her.
Soon,
she chided herself, even as her white teeth sank impatiently into her lower
lip.
"Don't
worry a moment more about it, Barbara dear," she crooned, "It's
getting late, and you have a phone call to make."
"Phone...call..."
Barbara repeated, blinking heavily. The gentle rolling of Magda's fingers
against her neck was so easy to lean in to, to get lost in. It was hard to
focus on what the woman was saying.
"Yes.
You'll find the phone in the study, down the hall to your left. I've left
directions you can relay to the driver, so the poor soul doesn't get lost on
the way."
Barbara
nodded slowly. "Directions..."
"When
you are done," Magda's thick voice droned, "try not to dally in any
of the rooms on your way back. Crowley House is old, and some of the corners
are...restless. You'll be safest in your own bedroom. In your soft bed."
She hooked a finger beneath Barbara's delicate jaw, and gently eased her head
back so that she could look down into her glazed, green eyes. "Do you
understand, Barbara?"
"I...yes..."
"Good."
She brushed the back of her finger lingeringly over Barbara's cheek. "I
have a few things I must attend to, but I will return to you soon. Rest
well."
Silent
as a shadow, Magda slipped away. By the time Barbara's eyes managed to swim
back into focus, she was gone. The dazed blonde blinked in confusion, a hand
absently rising to press against her flushed cheek. The last few moments were a
total blur. When did Magda leave? What had they been talking about? A few words
and phrases bubbled up through the unrelenting fog that seemed to be drowning
her thoughts: phone, directions, hallway...but precious little else.
Shakily
she pushed herself to her feet. Her body felt warm and heavy, and she eyed her
empty wine glass ruefully. God that stuff must have hit her pretty hard. Still,
while the alcohol might have left her a little disoriented, the heady glow
itself was hardly unpleasant. She was almost tingling, in fact.
"Look
at you, getting buzzed from one glass of wine. God, since when have you been
such a lightweight?"
Still
trying to shake off lingering fingers of drowsiness, Barbara left the dining
hall to try and find the study. But as she walked through the long chamber, she
couldn't ignore the sense that twelve sets of liquid, painted eyes hungrily followed her every step.
She
walked just a little faster.
----------------
"What
the hell do you mean, 'a day or so'?!"
Barbara
was seething. She clutched the phone receiver in a white-knuckle grip, her hand
shaking in frustration. Four cab companies, three of whom had outright turned
her down, and the latest only offering the vaguest promises of a pickup in the
near future. Every one of them had balked when she described the directions to
get to the mansion and its remote location. One person had hung up as soon as
she'd mentioned the word 'Crowley'.
This
was unbelievable. This was Delta City, not some fucking Third World shithole,
yet here she was. Stranded. It was beyond frustrating.
The
voice on the other end of the phone was offering some lame apology and asking
for a number she could be reached at. She rattled off the number Magda had
scrawled on the page, feeling dejected. The operator promised they'd arrange
something soon, and that they'd call.
Don't
call us, we'll call you, she thought sullenly.
She
hung up. The silence in the study was oppressive. For a minute, all she could
do was stand there, staring at the old phone with a defeated scowl. Her chest
felt tight, and for a moment, the sheer weight of the hopelessness hanging over
her almost brought her to tears. She'd never felt so isolated in her life. She
might as well have been on a deserted island somewhere, and she was only a few
hours outside the city!
"It's
like I've stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone," she muttered darkly.
Her car was wrecked, no paid service would come get her, and now her only
recourse would be to ask Magda if she had any means of getting back to the
city. She must, right? No one just lives out in the middle of nowhere without a
car...
The
thought of asking Magda for a favor was embarrassing, but strangely, it didn't
fill Barbara with the sense of mortified dread she expected it would. Rather,
the prospect of having someone she could vent to felt...calming. The woman
might be a little eccentric, but she'd been nothing but hospitable since
Barbara had arrived on her doorstep. Sure, might be a bit of a lech, but...
Barbara
looked down at her scantily-covered figure. Could she really blame her? Living
out here, by herself...it was no wonder she was a little aggressive. Loneliness
did strange things to people. Hell, she'd only been out here for two days, and
the weird atmosphere was getting to her too.
Barbara
turned, and with a heavy sigh leaned wearily against the dark cherry desk. She
closed her eyes, and concentrated on getting her agitated pulse under control.
Should she try calling a friend? That was a laugh--Barbara Cummings didn't have
friends. Just acquaintances and dalliances. No ties, no hangers-on, just the
way she liked it. only now, her lone-wolf attitude meant she really was on her
own, and for the first time in a very long while, Barbara felt out of her
depth.
God,
she could use a drink. Or a fuck. Preferably both.
Just as
she was finally getting herself composed, an odd sound broke the silence of the
study, startling her. What the hell was that? It almost sounded like...a moan?
No, that was impossible; it had to be her overactive imagination again. She
stood stock still, listening until her ears burned, waiting.
After
long moments of silence, Barbara was convinced she had simply made it up...and
then she heard it again.
A
muffled moan, and nearby. Barbara's hair suddenly stood on end. Where was it
coming from? She circled the study, listening intently, but the noise did not
repeat, and nothing in the room suggested anything unusual. It had to be coming
from somewhere else.
Barbara
picked up the small oil lamp Magda had left for her and stepped back into the
hallway. Another long moment of silence passed, then suddenly she heard it
again--louder this time. She scanned the hallway and spied a door, hidden in an
alcove she had passed along the way. Could that be it? Uncertainty, but also
the familiar thrill of excitement, had her pulse racing even worse than before.
She crept up to the door, instinctively looking up and down the hall and
finding it utterly empty, and pressed her ear against the heavy wood.
A
moment later, she heard it again. Distinctly. Someone was in there.
"Ignore
it," the rational part of her mind implored her. "This is weird,
Barbara. This whole house is weird. Ignore it and get back to your room."
But...where
was the fun in that? The lingering anger and frustration from the phone call
had primed her for just this kind of bizarre exploration. She needed to burn
off some adrenaline, to just do something besides sitting around waiting for
the damn cab to come.
Taking
a breath, Barbara tested the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, swung it open.
The
room that lay beyond was totally dark, and the pool of light from her lantern
only projected so far. She could make out some large, obscure shapes, but
nothing at all recognizable. She'd have to come in further. Holding up her
lantern to try and project more light around the room, she took a few cautious
steps into the impenetrable dim, straining to see, straining to hear the
strange noise again.
Behind
her, the door to the hallway began to slowly and silently swing shut.
Barbara
noticed the shrinking rectangle of illumination from the doorway too late; as
she turned in surprise, the door clicked shut, leaving her standing in the
small pool of light from her handheld oil lamp. Barbara, heart hammering,
strode back to the door and tried the handle.
To her
utter shock, the handle would not turn.
"What
the hell," she cursed, twisting harder, but the handle refused to budge.
She was locked in.
"MMmmmnh...!"
Barbara
spun around at the sound of the muffled moan, suddenly louder and closer than
before. Her pulse was racing, fear gnawed at her insides. She thrust her
lantern arm forward, trying to illuminate whatever it was that was making the
noise. "W-who's there?!" she demanded, "Show yourself,
or--ah!"
She
gasped in shock as the flame of her lamp suddenly burnt itself out, instantly
drowning her in total darkness.
Barbara
froze, terror slowly wrapping icy fingers around her throat. She fought back
the surge of irrational panic that threatened to send her screaming back
against the door, fought to control her suddenly rapid breaths. Devoid of
sight, her ears burned as they tried to compensate for her sensory loss, but
all she could hear was thunderous beating of her own racing heart.
Then,
slowly, something in the room seemed to change. As if some unseen lights were
being raised, the room around her was slowly being illuminated...but what
Barbara saw made absolutely no sense. Coming from seemingly everywhere but
nowhere at once, the room was suffused by a glow of the deepest ruby color, so that
everything in it seemed to be a dizzying shade of black or red. Antique
furniture littered the room, but every one seemed to have some kind of sinister
bent to them. Along the walls were attached tall wooden frames dangling with
empty manacles. There were no windows, and around the room, censures of
polished brass dangled from long chains, issuing coils of white smoke that
filled the room with the heady sweet smell of incense.
But
Barbara was only peripherally aware of all these details; her attention was
dominated by the great wooden rack in the center of the room, and the lithe,
naked woman writhing against it.
"C-carrie?"
Barbara whispered in disbelief, her throat clenching, "This...this isn't
possible..."
Her
eyes told her otherwise though. The young co-ed was splayed across the wooden
cross-beams, her arms and legs spread to the four corners and tethered there
with long scarves of dark silk. Another scarf was wrapped in a blindfold around
the girl's head, while a thinner cloth was tied around her mouth in a gag.
Besides the silk scarves, the poor girl was totally naked, and as she twisted
ineffectually in her bonds, her ample, naked breasts quivered hypnotically in
the dim red light.
The
restraints were the least of Carrie's problems though; between the girl's
trembling thighs, a thick, pale dildo curved up from the rack to bury itself in
her grasping pussy. As Barbara stared in disbelief, Carrie suddenly stiffened,
and issued a sweet, muffled moan through her silken gag. Her hips rocked against
the unyielding phallus impaling her in wild, uncontrollable spasms, and her
arms and legs strained in their bonds. Abruptly, the frenetic strength drained
from her limbs, and she collapsed limply in the rack, her body weight sinking
even more of the dildo's wicked length into her sodden depths. From the copious
amounts of fluid coating her inner thighs, and the thick, dripping sheen on the
pale dildo, it was clear that poor Carrie had been driven to orgasm several
times before this already.
Barbara's
mind reeled. How was this possible? Was she going crazy? What was Carrie doing
here? How could this be happening? Amidst the cacophony of thoughts raging in
her head, a small voice begged her to turn around, to try and find another way
out, but Barbara couldn't heed it; she needed to know what was going on, and
there was only one way to do that.
She
stepped up to the wooden sex rack to stand in front of Carrie, trying hard to
ignore the undeniably erotic draw of the whole fantastic, unbelievable scene.
Despite herself, Barbara couldn't help but stare at the girl's sensual
struggle, and to her chagrin felt her own pussy starting to warm up. Her own
penchant for bondage made her appreciate the wicked deviousness of Carrie's
bindings, how she had just enough slack to fuck herself on the thick phallus
between her legs, but not nearly enough to escape its predations.
Whoever
did this certainly knew what they were doing.
Despite
her blindfold, Carrie seemed to notice that someone was standing close by, and
had frozen stock still in her bondage, chest gasping in rapid, uncertain
breaths. Barbara had to concentrate to steady her own tremulous hands before
she could reach around the startled girl's head to undo the knot of her
blindfold. The bound brunette's eyes blinked hard several times before they
settled on Barbara, opening wide in disbelief. She stammered something
incomprehensible behind her gag as Barbara went to undo that knot as well,
gasping in a desperate gulp of air as soon as the strip of cloth was removed.
"M-mistress!
You're here--but, how...!" she whined, her eyes suddenly welling with
tears, "Oh thank god! I thought I was all alone, please help me,
please...!"
At
once, she started thrashing in her bonds, suddenly desperate to be free of
them, frantically begging Barbara to untie her.
"Carrie,
Carrie, sshh," Barbara struggled to calm the suddenly agitated woman,
grasping her face to steady her and forcing her to meet her own gaze. "I'm
going to get you out of this, but you have to calm down. Can you do that for
me? Calm. Down."
Her
breathing was still a ragged pant, but Carrie managed to still her struggles,
her limbs trembling. She nodded slowly, though her eyes still danced with an
almost wild panic, as if she was terrified Barbara would suddenly disappear to
leave her alone in the wicked rack. Once she was certain Carrie had calmed
down, Barbara quickly looked up and down the rack, assessing its function and
mechanism, and locating the knots that held Carrie's arms and legs against the
wooden frame. She untied these with deft skill, the simple knots no match for
her own experience with restraints. Last, she reached between Carrie's legs and
found the mechanical catch that held the dildo in place. Releasing it let the
device swing freely, and Barbara was slowly able to slide it out of Carrie's
grasping sex. The poor brunette choked back a cry as its formidable length
finally slipped all the way out of her, and she collapsed forward into
Barbara's waiting arms, shaking.
Barbara
eased her to the ground, smoothing her sweat-soaked hair back, offering soft
whispers of reassurance. "It's ok now, it's going to be all right. Carrie,
what happened? How did you get here? Who...did this to you?"
For a
moment Carrie could not answer, she was sobbing so hard that her words were
simply a jumbled mess. Barbara held her close, cradling her head in the crook
of her shoulder, completely bewildered and increasingly angry at the same time.
Did Magda do this? Who else could it have been? And how did she learn about
Carrie? The poor girl was hardly even a footnote, barely a notch on Barbara's
belt of conquests; in fact, Barbara's feeling for her stemmed more from a sense
of ownership and responsibility than any kind of genuine affection. Carrie was
hers, and anyone who fucked with her fucked with Barbara. She desperately
wanted answers, but she couldn't push. She had to wait. She held and rocked the
distraught girl until her sobs finally began to slow down.
Her
voice thick with tears, Carrie at last managed an answer, "I don't know
what happened. Last night I was coming home from class, had just reached the
door to my apartment, when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and
saw this lady standing there, all by herself. I didn't know who she was, but
she seemed to know me. She started walking towards me..."
Barbara
stopped her, "Carrie, this woman, what did she look like? Was she
older?"
She
wiped at her tear-streaked face with the heel of her hand, but shook her head.
"N-no...well, older than me anyway. She had really bright red hair. I'd
never seen anything like it before."
Red
hair? It wasn't Magda? Now Barbara was even more confused, but before she could
say anything else, Carrie continued her story.
"She
caught up to me, and we were both standing by my door. I mean, it was weird,
sure, but she was another girl, you know? I wasn't worried or anything...then
she pulled out this stone..."
Barbara's
head whirled, "Stone? What stone?"
As
Carrie recounted her story, her speech had gotten slower and slower, and now
her eyes seemed to be distant, unfocused. Her voice had an almost sing-song
lilt to it that made Barbara shiver. "Pretty stone...red, so so red...she
wanted to show it to me, she said...it kept flashing...flashing...so hard to
look away..."
Suddenly
she sagged in Barbara's arms, a weak moan whimpering from her lips. "I
don't know what happened next. I fell asleep. So tired. I woke up here, with
her, tied to that...thing. I was naked, helpless...and when she started
touching me, I couldn't make her stop..."
Her
voice dropped to a bare whisper. "And...then...I didn't want her
to..."
Barbara's
eyes rose helplessly to the towering wooden frame dominating the room, and felt
heat suddenly rise in her cheeks. Despite herself, listening to Carrie's story
was starting to affect her very badly; she was suddenly hyper aware of the
girl's warm body pressing up against her, the rhythmic pulse of her breath
against her neck, and the heady, overwhelming scent of sex filling the air. She
was getting insanely turned on, even as the details of Carrie's story filled
her with sinking dread. The stone she described, it was just like the one she
had brought to Magda...just like the one...that...
"Uuugh,"
Barbara moaned, tilting on her knees as a swell of sudden lethargy and
drowsiness threatened to send her toppling to the ground. She seized onto
Carrie, clinging to her desperately so as not to fall down. She screwed her
heavy eyes shut, trying to blink away the fog that was sinking over her vision.
The nascent arousal she felt suddenly began to climb, uncontrollably, until her
nipples surged to aching stiffness and her clit swelled to attention. God, what
was happening? What was...
"Mistress?"
Carrie whispered, looking at Barbara's face with concern. "Mistress are
you all right?"
"I-I
don't know..." Barbara grimaced, sweat beading on her forehead. Her vision
swam, and her heart was pounding. "I need to get up, we need to
l-leave..."
She
struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on Carrie to keep her balance. Even that
simple act was almost too much for her; her limbs felt like they were made of
lead, and all at once the strength had almost totally drained from them. Her
only saving grace was that she was actually on her feet; if she were to fall,
Barbara seriously doubted she'd be able to get herself back up again. It was
all made worse by the liquid heat steadily growing in her over-sensitized sex,
making it hard to concentrate, to think. Sweat beaded on Barbara's furrowed brow.
She wanted to take a step, but her knees were trembling terribly.
It was
then she noticed Carrie's hand had wandered down her back to cup and stroke the
sensual curve of her ass through the gossamer dress. Her other arm, ostensibly
wrapped around Barbara's ribs to help steady her, had slid upwards to nudge
against the under swell of her tits, until the heaving mounds threatened to
spill past their too-tight restraints and into glorious, naked view. Barbara
squirmed, "C-carrie, wait a minute, what are you--"
"I-I'm
sorry," she said, nuzzling against Barbara's neck, "It's
just...you're so beautiful...and I'm still so...hot..." Discarding any
measure of pretense, the naked brunette sank her fingers possessively into
Barbara's firm ass, moaning appreciatively. She turned her face into Barbara's
neck, fastening her soft lips and wet tongue against the struggling blonde's
feverish flesh. The pleasure lanced through Barbara, making her gasp.
"Carrie!"
she started, trying vainly to twist away from the girl's suddenly aggressive
advances, "Stop, you have to stop--oh!"
Barbara
stared in hazy confusion as the insistent pressure from Carrie's arm finally
paid off, and her tits spilled over the top of the thin gauzy fabric. Her
nipples surged to attention, hard and aching, as Carrie trailed wet kisses past
her collarbone to reach the top slope of her breasts.
"Doesn't
it feel good, Mistress Barbara?" she whispered between kisses, "I'm
doing it...just like you showed me how..."
"I-I
don't...no...oh..." Barbara whimpered, even as the growing wetness between
her legs belied her denial. But then, something Carrie said suddenly cut
through her erotic haze. Her eyes snapped open in horrified clarity, and with a
mighty exertion of will, Barbara managed to force her hands between her and her
lovely assailant, and shoved hard.
Carrie
cried out in shock, her wide, brown eyes reflecting surprise and hurt,
"M-mistress, what's wrong? Did I upset you, please, I'm sorry, I--"
"Cut
the bullshit!" Barbara snapped, trying to steady her trembling limbs. She
glared at Carrie, "You called me 'Barbara'. Carrie doesn't know my name.
So if you aren't Carrie...just who the fuck are you?"
"Carrie's"
face darkened, lips pursing in a wicked smile. "Mmm, you're a clever one,
aren't you?" she sing-songed, straightening. She gazed admiringly up and
down Barbara's near nakedness, biting her lower lip hungrily. "And here I
thought you were just another dumb, blonde sextoy. Maybe you're worthy after
all."
"What
the hell are you talking about? Who are you?" Barbara demanded.
"Still...it's
probably best to be sure..." not-Carrie quipped casually, ignoring
Barbara's angry outburst, and pointed a slender, manicured hand at Barbara. She
spread her fingers ominously, then with a snap, shut them into a fist.
There
was a surge of movement out of the corner of Barbara's eye, but the dim, and
her treacherously leaden limbs, gave her no time to react. From the four
corners of the massive wooden X-frame, the suddenly animated silk scarves
exploded towards her, lashing at her with the speed of uncoiling serpents.
Barbara cried out in shock, but faster than she could blink, the scarves
wrapped around her wrists and ankles and gave a massive pull. Barbara was
yanked backwards, and slammed against the rack with such force that the air was
driven out of her lungs in a painful gasp. She crumpled, and would have slid
right to the ground but for the scarves now binding her arms against the wooden
beams. She hung limply in her restraints, coughing raggedly. Not-Carrie
sauntered forward until she was standing in front of her, tittering an airy
laugh.
"Now
this is a sight," she giggled, "There's nothing quite like a gorgeous
woman all tied up and helpless to get a girl in the mood." She gave a
casual wave of her hand, and the scarves pulled tight, drawing Barbara into a
rigid spread eagle in the devious frame.
"F-fuck...you...!"
Barbara spat, choking past the pain of feeling her limbs spread. She pulled at
the scarves, but the silk was unyielding. She had no leverage. Just like that,
she'd been totally overcome. Anger and shame raged inside her, the former
directed at the smirking imposter standing in front of her and the latter
solely at herself. A surge of hopelessness threatened to send tears spilling
from her burning eyes, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction. She
glared balefully at the naked brunette, even as her stomach turned with the
bitter pangs of defeat.
"Hmm...I
don't know if I'd use such harsh words if I were in your position,
darling," Not-Carrie smiled, slinking up to Barbara's prone form. Her
hands fell to Barbara's spread legs, and she began to graze along the bound
woman's thighs with long, wandering strokes. Barbara jerked as her skin erupted
in goose bumps beneath the pressure of her surprisingly sharp nails, but the
scarves around her ankles left her no slack. Not-Carrie inched closer, until
the peaks of her breasts nearly brushed against Barbara's own. Barbara
continued to glare furiously at her, but the tantalizing dance of those nails
was making her skin tingle, and a hot blush surged unbidden over her cheeks.
Her lovely captor observed all this with clear amusement, smiling into
Barbara's angry stare.
"So
stoic," she laughed, "We'll see how long that holds up."
"Bitch,"
Barbara snarled, "Get your filthy hands off me!"
Not-Carrie
stepped back, tilting her head. "Such language," she pouted, favoring
Barbara with a disapproving look, "I really had hoped to spare you a
little, but it seems you leave me little choice. I can't have my pets
disrespecting me, now can I?"
She
held up her hand, and showed Barbara the long strip of black silk dangling from
her fingers. She smiled all too pleasantly, and proceeded to raise the fabric
over Barbara's wide, startled eyes.
"What--no,
don't touch me--stop!" Barbara protested, trying to twist her head, but
Not-Carrie was both skilled and patient, and in a few moments had the blindfold
pulled over Barbara's eyes and knotted securely in place. Barbara was instantly
plunged into total, disorienting darkness, and her pulse ratcheted up
furiously. Not-Carrie suddenly grabbed hold of the cloth on either side of her
head, using it to quell her struggles and hold her still with surprising
strength.
"There
there honey," she soothed, "As much as I want to see the look in
those pretty green eyes of yours when you finally break, I think you'll find
this much more...exciting." Forcing her head back, the imposter began
trailing kisses from Barbara's exposed neck to her hot cheek, slowly inching
towards her full lips. Her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly as her
captor finally found her mouth, and pressed their lips together in a wet,
smothering kiss.
Barbara
couldn't twist away. She couldn't see anything. She could barely move. There
was only the soft, relentless pressure of those lips sliding against her own,
the brush of an inquisitive, probing tongue, and the awful, wild flutter that
thrilled through her belly despite her efforts to ignore it. Come on, open up,
that kiss seemed to whisper, open just a little...let me taste you...
Barbara
whimpered, but fought back the urge, and in a moment Not-Carrie pulled away
with a disappointed gasp. "Aw, you're no fun," she chided, sighing.
"why do you have to be so stubborn? Well, don't say I didn't give you a
fair chance. If you're not going to play nice..."
Suddenly,
Barbara felt another strip of fabric pressed tightly over her lips, and she
uttered a muffled protest as the gag was summarily wrapped behind her head and
tied off. She thrashed in place, blind, mute, and totally trapped. She fell
still, breathing heavily. Not-Carrie tittered.
"I
should warn you, I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing. You see,
everyone always starts out all strong and resolved. Pretty soon though..."
Suddenly, she slinked forward, easing her naked body hard against Barbara's
until she could brush her full lips against Barbara's ear. The blonde shuddered
uncontrollably at the intimate contact, barely suppressing a groan. Not-Carrie
whispered airily, "...'strong' and 'resolved' turns into 'wet' and
'willing'. Anger gives way to lust, to need. You can feel it already, can't
you? These big, soft breasts of yours are feeling all hot and heavy, and here,
between these sweet, silky thighs..."
She
raked her fingers against Barbara's spread legs for wicked emphasis. Barbara
drew in a sharp breath.
"...things
are starting to heat up, too. There's no reason to be ashamed. Being all tied
up, vulnerable...it does things to a girl. But you don't need me to tell you
that, do you, Barbara?"
As much
as she hated to admit it, the bitch was right. Barbara struggled against the
chords of silk, but she was held fast. There was no way out. Already, a feeling
of helplessness was descending upon her, a sense of futility. It was a feeling
she knew to be a potent weapon, having used it so often herself in the past.
Her world was utter blackness, every muffled sound she made echoed in her own
ears. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins. Deprived of her mobility,
her senses, her mind desperately tried to compensate by ratcheting up every
other sensation.
Her
captor, eyeing her beautiful, bound prisoner hungrily, knew exactly what she
was doing. "Now, let's see how strong you really are."
Her
threat hung ominously in the air, but after a long, expectant pause...nothing.
Not-Carrie had uttered not a single other word. Barbara couldn't tell where she
was standing anymore, whether she was across the room or right in front of her.
Barbara hung stiffly in her bindings, wanting desperately to struggle but
knowing it was futile. She would only wear herself out faster that way. She
needed to calm down, to stay focused. She couldn't hear anything but for her
own labored breathing.
Where
was her captor? Barbara's skin tingled uncontrollably, hyper-sensitive to
anything that might betray Not-Carrie's location. The anticipation was
maddening, but irrepressible.
Then,
Barbara felt something graze against her bare thigh, and she stiffened, her
heart leaping into her throat...but just as quickly, the feeling was gone, so
fleeting she was hardly sure she felt it at all. She squirmed, waiting...but no
follow up touch came.
What
the hell was she doing? She had to be there, somewhere, just watching her. Was
she circling her? Standing still? Where...AH!
Barbara
recoiled as much as the bonds would allow, as the sensation of something hot
and wet suddenly swiping against her rigid right nipple cut through her like a
knife. What was that? A tongue? It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving
an echo of sensation tingling in her breast. She fixated helplessly on the
sensation of saliva cooling on her throbbing nipple, twisting uselessly on the
rack. Once again, it was followed by a long pause...then something brushed over
the swell of her other breast, the briefest of contact. It might have been the
tips of fingernails, or the brush of a feather, Barbara couldn't tell, but
instantly goose bumps erupted all over her, and the skin of her breasts tingled
intensely.
She
groaned through her gag. Her skin was a riot of anticipation. From her arms to
her legs, she felt the smallest shift in the air, like a thousand invisible
fingers teasing against her. Once in a while, the blackness of her isolation
would be intruded by another touch, sometimes fleeting, sometimes not,
somewhere on her hypersensitive body. Something brushed against her neck, her
ears, her delicate collarbone. She felt something press into her hips and ass,
squeezing possessively. Something trailed, hot and wet, against her leg,
following the long slit in her dress to where it terminated above her hip.
She
squirmed helplessly, the sensations rampaging through her until she was nearly
a manic, panting mess. Soon she couldn't tell if the things she felt were real,
or if they were purely in her head. She couldn't see. She couldn't speak. She
couldn't move. There was only blackness, and the unseen touches of her wicked
captor. Her nipples throbbed, and despite her attempts to resist, her pussy was
getting wetter by the second. She felt (or did she imagine?) a subtle shift in
temperature about her hips, thought she could feel air against her naked pussy
lips. Had her dress been moved up to expose her? The fabric was so light, she couldn't
tell. She imagined herself spread in a wide X, her heavy breasts bare, the
dress bunched around her dress to reveal the smooth, swollen lips of her sex.
She imagined her captor circling her, eagerly taking in every inch of exposed
flesh, quietly contemplating her next torturous caress. Would it be her
breasts? Her legs? Or...!
Suddenly,
she felt it, that touch she had been fearing most of all. It was the lightest
of things to start, but to Barbara's over-taxed body it was like a current of
electricity. Fingertips were slowly tracing up and down her swollen labia,
taking the tell-tale wetness and spreading it all over her quivering sex. With
each stroke the fingers grew bolder, delved deeper into the folds of her pussy,
spreading her beneath their knowing touch. Barbara trembled, pulling uselessly
at her bonds, helpless to stop the wicked assault on her unprotected womanhood.
Insidious pleasure coursed through her body, battering her will. It was all
Barbara could do to keep from moaning into the gag, but she refused to give her
captor the satisfaction. Her breathing grew ragged as she fought to suppress
every unwanted gasp elicited by the steady manipulation of her weeping sex.
Barbara
was so focused on fighting back the pleasure from her pussy that she was
woefully unprepared for the next strike. Without warning, her stiff nipple and
surrounding tit flesh were suddenly engulfed in hot, liquid warmth, sucked into
her captor's open, eager mouth. The sensation caught her totally off guard, and
tore a strangled moan from her throat as firm, wet tongue strokes lapped
circles around her throbbing peak. Her pussy surged wetness helplessly onto the
rhythmically stroking fingers still nestled in her folds, and Barbara tossed
her head back and forth in desperate denial.
But
something had come undone in her resolve; that moan was like a breach in her
defenses, a fault in her will, and Barbara found it suddenly impossible to
fully control the sounds of pleasure wrung from her tortured lungs. Despite
herself, the moans and whimpers began to come more frequently as first one
breast then the other was subjected to the same vile attention. Each one echoed
behind her gag to form a litany of defeat that rang in her ears. You can't
fight it. You're too weak. She has you completely at her mercy, and it feels so
damn good. Give in, Barbara. Give in.
You
know you want to.
"Nnnnnh!
Nnnnnnnnnh!" she cried, the muffled 'no's' barely intelligible. She was
panting now, her hips twitching in pre-orgasmic spasms as the stroking fingers
began moving faster and faster. The suction around her nipple was so fierce it
nearly hurt, but the erotic ache resonated with the slick hum of her overworked
pussy, driving her relentlessly towards utter bliss. Then, as she finally reached
the precipice of her stamina, as that great chasm of pleasure prepared to
swallow her whole...everything stopped. The fingers abandoned her pussy. Her
nipple was freed from its torturous suction. Abruptly, the release that had
been barely a breath away halted utterly in its advance, and Barbara was left
quivering on its edge. She let out an agonized groan, twisting in her bondage;
all it would take was the pressure of her thighs squeezing together on her
clit, the barest of sensations...but in her restraints she was completely
denied.
She
actually sobbed into her gag, her frustration was so raw, before suddenly
realizing what she'd done. Shame burned hotly on her cheeks, and tears welled
in her eyes behind the silk blindfold. Her aching arms and legs gave way,
leaving her hanging limply on the rack to suffer her body's angry protests at
being denied. She struggled to catch her breath, but with only her nose clear
to breathe, she couldn't seem to get enough air. Her head swam, and her ears
pounded in time to the throbbing of her neglected clit.
When
her captor spoke, Barbara started in shock; her voice was so close, she had to
be standing almost directly in front of her.
"Not
yet, Barbara dear. I'm not letting you off the hook that easy."
Barbara
could hear the evil grin in her captor's voice, and realized she could make out
low sucking sounds. The woman was licking her wetness from her fingers,
relishing her conquest, for that's what it was; she had Barbara almost
completely subdued. A moment more and she would have come like a freight train,
and they both knew it. The realization made Barbara's heart sink, while at the
same time igniting an unnervingly seductive feeling of desire. There was
something almost liberating about being so helpless; there was no way she could
fight back, no way for her to resist...
"Yesss,"
a smoldering, honey-sweet voice oozed in her mind, "It's useless to
struggle. You are trapped, open, vulnerable. She controls your body. She
controls your pleasure. It's not your fault. Your body is made for pleasure.
Relax...just relax...enjoy..."
The
words seemed to swell up out of her own burning need, filling her thoughts,
coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The subversive, perverse
reasoning of it all was so compelling, yet alarm bells were going off through
the sex fog muddling her thoughts. No, this was wrong. She had to fight. That
voice was evil. She shouldn't be enjoying this.
...but
how could she help it?
As if
sensing the terrible internal struggle in her captive prey, the impostor
stepped forward, pressing herself enticingly against Barbara's trembling body.
Barbara groaned as she felt her heavy breasts squeeze against her captor's own
sizeable tits as the woman began planting firm, wet kisses into the soft of her
neck. Between lingering licks and wild sucking so intense she was surely
leaving marks, her captor whispered breathlessly into Barbara's ear.
"Your
body belongs to me," she said, "You're mine now. You're nothing but
my toy, my hot little sex slave."
'No,
I'm not, I'm...oh...oh god...I'm so hot...' Barbara thought miserably, moaning
her protests into the gag as the assault on her neck reignited her aching need.
Her captor moved to her face, showering her with kisses. Barbara was almost
grateful for the strip of cloth over her mouth; if she actually felt those
questing lips against her own, she didn't trust herself not to kiss back.
Soon,
the kisses began trailing downward. Lingering love bites left her breasts
tingling. A slow line of kisses down her flat belly made her squirm. She felt
firm hands caress her hips before grabbing her thighs possessively, and still
those devilish kisses kept moving lower. When Barbara felt the first puff of
hot breath against the dripping folds of her pussy, she groaned hopelessly.
'I'm
going to explode,' Barbara sobbed, 'She had me right on the edge with just her
fingers...if she uses her t-tongue...ooh...no...'
The
first kiss landed right on top of her erect clit, followed by a long, slow lick
over the full length of her swollen lips that made Barbara's toes curl. Her
hips rocked uncontrollably into the hot, hungry swipes caressing her dripping
sex, urging, practically begging for more, but her assailant always stayed in
perfect control. She masterfully lashed Barbara with her sinuous tongue,
teasing, taunting, driving her into a wild, moaning rut. Even faster than
before, the will-crushing orgasm built irresistibly, drawing closer and closer
with each struggling breath.
But
then, just as before, the pleasure suddenly stopped right before the crescendo.
That cunning tongue slipped away, abandoning her clit at the last possible
second, leaving Barbara straining in wretched agony as the pleasure built and
built...but never broke.
'No, oh
god please not again, I can't take it, I can't...!' Barbara cried in
frustration, nearly screaming into her gag. She thrashed madly in her bonds,
pulling until her wrists burned and her ankles ached, but there was no escape.
No relief. The tears flowed hotly through her tightly clenched eyes to soak
into the black silk blindfold. It was so awful, so horribly, deliciously awful.
She needed release. She needed to come!
"Mmm,
that was close," the voice tittered between her trembling thighs, "I
almost got carried away! You're absolutely delicious, Barbara. So hot, so
sweet. Oh, I could do this for hours..."
'You
bitch, oh you bitch,' Barbara sobbed miserably, her pussy absolutely throbbing.
"Don't
worry, darling. I know how badly you need it. I am not unkind. Here..."
Her
hands slid off Barbara's quivering thighs. The bound blonde could feel her
working on something between her legs, and a moment later,
something...big...brushed against her pussy.
Barbara
stiffened. Oh god. It could only be one thing...!
Her
captor stood, and then Barbara felt the chords around her wrists slacken. As
she sank down, the smooth, carved head of the dildo pressed fully against the
wet folds of her pussy. Barbara gasped, standing on her toes, her legs
stretched maximally to keep herself off the rigid phallus threatening to impale
her. As she teetered to keep her balance, the rounded knob of the ivory cock
rubbed between her glistening folds until her wetness began to run down its
long shaft.
Her
heart pounded. Every time her swollen clit grazed against the dildo's head,
jolts of pleasure raced through her straining legs. Her knees trembled. The
hard phallus pushed delightfully against her, setting of sparks of sensation
impossible to deny. Even as her mind recoiled in denial, her pussy had other
ideas; her labia spread eagerly against the intruding member, coating it in her
juices, helping it slide against her until the rounded tip found the entrance
of her pussy. Barbara was suddenly aware, painfully so, of how achingly empty
she felt. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy tingled with the aftermath of two denied
orgasms. Her legs were getting tired of trying to hold the awkward position,
and soon, despite her every effort, her cramping feet finally gave way. She
sank down, and the bulbous head of that marauding dildo slid wetly into her,
spreading her with its size.
'OOhh!
Oh, no...i-it won't fit...it's too...big...' Barbara gasped in reluctant
pleasure. Her mind conjured the memory of seeing the long, thick shaft sliding
out of Carrie's grasping pussy, and the thought of that monster poised beneath
her, waiting to impale her on its length, made her stomach flutter anxiously.
But as the initial shock of penetration wore off, as her pussy adjusted to the
head nestled in her opening, wicked, lustful thoughts began to dance in
Barbara's head. Thoughts of submission, of penetration, of sinking down the
length of that rigid organ until it filled her completely.
Then,
as if reading the torrid thoughts racing through her mind, she felt her
captor's tongue return to her sex. Barbara let out a long, muffled moan as it
dragged its full length over her engorged clitoris, causing her pussy to clench
eagerly around the dildo resting against her opening. Barbara's pussy was on fire,
and the cock pressing into her felt so seductive, so enticing. Oh god, she was
losing herself.
"Don't
fight it," the voice whispered hotly in her ear, "You're too turned
on to fight it. Let yourself go, darling. Sink into your desire. Let it fill
you. You're so wet. Give in. Yesss. Relax..."
The
words were mesmerizing. Each phrase seemed to turn in Barbara's addled mind,
constricting her will. She moaned as the strength drained from her legs, and
the first few inches of the dildo drove inside her. The movement wrenched a
muffled cry from her lungs, but somehow she managed to stop herself, her pussy
clenching around the thick shaft. Barbara was seeing stars. Just those few
inches had been enough to set her cunt on fire. She was suddenly terrified of what
the full length of that cock would do to her. She had to stop. She had...to...!
She
forced her tired legs to straighten, hoping to get enough leverage with the
chords around her arms to be able to pull up and off the glistening phallus
buried in her sex, but as she rose, as her pussy slid up that slick shaft,
something went wrong. The insidious motion of it inside her, the way it
caressed her as it retreated, it felt...good. Too good. With the head once
again poised at the entrance of her pussy, Barbara's legs were again at full
extension, on her toes. She just had to reach up, to grab hold of the chords by
her wrists, and she'd have enough to pull herself off.
Only...only
she couldn't do it...
Barbara
trembled, indecision wrenching her, as her desire for freedom was slowly but
surely supplanted by a more primitive need. Her pussy ached. The head of the
ivory cock held her fast. Try as she might, Barbara couldn't summon the will to
move those last few inches, and slowly, irresistibly, the strength began to
bleed from her aching muscles.
'N-no...no...oh...oh
god...!' Barbara moaned, as she slid back down the waiting shaft, Her legs were
like jelly, she could barely stop herself, and this time, the cock sank nearly
half its length into her before the pressure of her desperately squeezing pussy
stopped her descent. She shuddered as will-wracking pleasure danced up her
spine. The sensation of its initial penetration was bad enough, but this was
ten times worse. The cock inside her was so hard, so thick...it was making it
impossible to think of anything else.
Behind
her blindfold, Barbara's whole world was hopelessly fixated on the image of
that phallus driving into her eager sex. It was disorienting, dizzying. It felt
so damn good. She struggled to rise, and once again, the erotic friction of the
monster in her pussy took her breath away. She uttered a whimpering moan before
she sank back onto it, deeper this time, the unrelenting phallus draining her
strength, her will. She quivered around it, the echoes of her own moans
changing into a sinister, hypnotic rhythm.
'That's
it Barbara. Up and down. Deeper and deeper. You love it, don't you? You love
how it fills you, how it reaches inside you. Good girls deserve to be fucked.
Good girls need to be fucked. Yes. Yesss...'
"Y-yeesss...."
Barbara groaned, "Oh god yes...it's so big...it's so good!" Her hips
rose and fell over that devil cock as it wove its evil spell over her. In and
out, over and over, she fucked herself on the ivory phallus. Her body moved on
its own now, totally beyond her control. All thoughts of escape had fled,
driven out of her by the monstrous shaft impaling her helpless pussy. She
couldn't fight it any more. The pleasure was too much, her need too great. She
was a slave to that cock. A slave to its pleasures. All that mattered now was
her own desire, and quenching the fiery ache within.
'This
is your true self, Barbara,' that thick, honeyed voice whispered in her mind,
'Weak. Submissive. Desperate to be
taken, so eager to be controlled. I know what you want. I know what you
need...'
A face
swirled into focus out of the darkness behind her eyes. It was Carrie's face,
the face of the woman who had so utterly defeated her, her lips pulled into an
alluring, victorious smirk. But as the pleasure began to mount, as her
treacherous hips drove that dripping cock faster and faster inside her,
Carrie's face began to swirl, to change. Her short brown hair lengthened, swept
back, black streaked with white. Her young, almost elfin features shifted,
still beautiful, but softer now, and creased with age. The mischievous smile
gave way to a fuller set of lips curled imperiously into a bow. The deep brown
eyes faded into stormy, spiraling gray.
Barbara
moaned in recognition, even as her mind went mercifully blank as she drowned in
Magda's smoldering, penetrating stare. Her hips rocked even faster onto the
impaling cock, the pleasure climbing; so close now, so desperately close!
'No
woman can resist the pleasure I give,' the voice, Magda's voice, rang in her
receptive ears, 'You are a slave to pleasure. A slave to your desire. Sex
slave. My sex slave. Say it, Barbara. Say it...!'
The
strip of cloth was pulled from her lips, and at once Barbara let out a long,
submissive moan. "Y-yesss...pleasure...s-slave...your slave...oh,
yesss!"
'Come
for me now, Barbara. Come...slave!"
"Aah!
Oh God, OH GOD YES! YESS! OHHHH!" Barbara screamed, her pussy exploding
around the monstrous cock plundering her sodden depths. She writhed and twisted
on the rack, pulling uselessly at her bonds, as she convulsed in the biggest
orgasm of her life. The pleasure kept going and going, each uncontrollable
spasm churning the dildo inside her and setting her off again. Finally, totally
spent, she collapsed forward, her legs totally giving out. She hung from her
arms, impaled on the ivory phallus, as her body continued to shudder in
aftershocks of ecstasy.
Long
moments passed, and slowly, gradually, Barbara's ragged breathing began to
slow. She panted, trembling in her bonds. Then the voice again, inside her
head, all around her, whispering, 'Good girl. Such a sweet slave. But you
aren't done yet, are you? No. A slut like you is never satisfied with just
one...'
Then,
unbidden, Barbara felt her hips beginning to rock again. Dimly, she realized
that they were moving on their own, dancing to the strings of some other's
will. But soon, the erotic thrill of that conquering cock fucking inside her
again made all those thoughts just melt away. All that mattered was the
pleasure. She loved it. She needed it. She felt herself moving faster now, and
as the evil phallus once more began driving her helplessly toward another
orgasm, she heard her voice filling the red-lit sex chamber with sweet, eager
cries.
"More!
Oh please more! It's so good, it's making me--making me....Ohhh!"
"You'll
have more, Barbara," Magda promised her orgasming slave, a demon's grin
splitting her face, "Oh yes. Much more. And now...you will do it
again..."