Re: Casualty -- Obsessive Endeavors from The Chair

[ Show ]

Support VoyForums

[ Shrink ]

VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 20:21:41 06/02/02 Sun
Author: VoodooDolly
Subject: Re: Casualty
In reply to: VoodooDolly 's message, "Casualty" on 20:20:15 06/02/02 Sun

Part 1

Her arm strained, and she leaned to one side, conceding to the bucket�s weight. With a few more steps, she was able to put it down. Wrapping her apron around the knob she opened the door. Carefully rubbing the knob to ensure it was not smudged, she continued into the bedroom. Using her hip to hold the door, she made it inside with the heavy load. Though the room was dark, she was familiar enough with the residence to make her way to the fireplace. Setting down the burden on the dark blue tiles, she strode back across the room to the light switch. A yellow glow flooded the surrounding. Wistfully, she traced the artistic pattern of the wallpaper beneath the switch plate. Peacocks in deep shades of color danced across the walls, neither bright nor obtrusive. How beautiful, she mused, losing herself in thought.

Movement, a shift, and the sound of a throat being cleared brought her back to the present. It was defiantly a masculine sound. Startled, she looked to the direction from which it had come and gasped. Moving to her bucket, she spoke in a voice as rushed as her steps. �I am sorry sir. I was told you were in the den.�

He just smiled his one-sided smile, looking at her as if he expected more of an explanation. Almost impatient but she wasn�t sure. �The bed,� she murmured. His eyebrows rose at the words, but she didn�t catch the implication. �The bed still needs to be turned down and the fire lit. I was just here to make it ready.� She chastised herself silently, hating the confusion she felt whenever she was in his presence.

Stumbling back, she knocked over the bucket of coal. Fortunately, it scattered on the tile, not on the ornate rug. Kneeling noiselessly, she picked up the pieces; her shaking hands dropping a few here and there. Occasionally, she cast a glance back towards him. He just sat, looking out the window, a melancholy expression on his pale face, his thin lips turned down. His distraction put her a bit more at ease and she eventually placed the last of the coal in the silver bucket.

The match wouldn�t catch. Frustrated, the novelty of these old-style fireplaces was starting to wear on her. Enough times she�d heard; he felt the glow of a true fire made one feel authentic, gas heating held no charm, especially not in the bedroom. She thought about it and agreed. There was a kind of charm to it � when it cooperated.

Remembering the one and only time she�d ever been around him, she again grew uneasy. He was very strict about the employment situation, and she had had several interviews and extensive background checks. At last she�d made it to the final interview, conducted with Mr. Nottingham. Shivering, she reflected that if he couldn�t intimidate or lure one into admitting the truth, she don�t know who could. Without even noticing you just find yourself telling him whatever he wants to know. Later, Mr. Nottingham had taken her into the den, introducing her to Mr. Irons. He had looked her up and down, then said in a curt way �She�ll do.� With a wave of his hand, he had dismissed then both. He had seemed so hard then, and she had made it a point to avoid him whenever possible.

The flame finely ignited and soon the warmth would ease into the surroundings. With more composure, she broke the silence. �Do you want me to turn down the bed sir?�

There was no reply.

Hesitantly, she approached him. Now, he seemed almost distressed, not the same man she had met several weeks ago. His brow was creased as he gazed out the window, his gray eyes unfocused. Where his hands rested on the high-backed Victorian chair, his nails dug into the rich fabric.

With a small cough she tried again. �Sir?�

He glanced up, startled; obviously, he had forgotten that she was there. Still there was no reply.

�Are you all right, Mr. Irons?� she asked, worried. His eyes seemed glazed, fogged over even. Then his frown deepened, and she worried that she had angered him. Nervous, she rushed to explain herself. �You look a bit upset. I just thought that. . that. . � Stepping away, she made to leave, figuring it best to just go, and quickly. All she�d ever heard was this was one man- besides Mr. Nottingham, you did not want to annoy.

Words struck out at her though the space between them. �Finish your choirs,� he ordered. Then a bit softer, �Don�t leave just yet.�

�Yes sir.� Stressing her posture, she made her way to the large four-poster bed. It was enormous. Oak, engraved with discernable images. It was imposing, firm, yet also picturesque. Like so many other things in this house, it was a contradiction. As she pulled at the bedclothes, arranging them into place, she murmured, �I am sorry if I forgot my place. I was just concerned.� The voice coming out sounded strained, and childish.

�Why?� he asked, unexpectedly. �Why should my mood concern you?� The questions were tense, critical.

�You�ve never harmed me. I enjoy working here even though I admit; the environment can be peculiar at times. But you�re a good employer. I figure, as we are all human, we all need someone to listen once in a while.� Glancing over her shoulder he seem unmoved. The nervousness was edging back into her.

His eyes hard, burning into her and his mouth held a cruel smirk. �It�s so refreshing to know that my domestic staff comes with psychological counseling.� The sarcasm hung about the room. One could breath it in like steam. But then he shrugged, and relaxed, his gaze becoming mild. He continued the frown he wore coming through in his questions. �Have you even turned someone away? Denied them what they ask for? Hurt someone on purpose, just make then suffer?�

She hesitated, unsure of how to answer. �I think that, in one way or another, yes, almost everyone has.� Still not facing him and unable to turn around, she asked softly, �Are you referring to the woman who came by earlier?�

Harshly, he spoke, and it cut into her, wounded her. �What do you know of her?�

�Nothing! I just saw her when she left. She was crying.�

�Was she.� It wasn�t a question � in truth, it sounded very rigid. Remote.

�People should not expect others to solve all their problems. We should take care of things ourselves.� The silence encouraged her to continue. �Do you care about her? I thought that might be why you turned her down what ever she wanted. So that she could work it out for herself.� Cringing, she stopped her work, waiting.

�You are quite philosophical for a maid, � he snapped.

Never having been good at holding her tongue, she retorted, �And you are quite gloomy for someone who thinks he�s not affected by her.�

He gave a short laugh. �I never said I wasn�t� affected by her.� He sighed. �She wanted me to save her lover. I turned her out to the wolves. It may very well be her downfall.�

The bed was made and there was no more fidgeting to be done least she look completely incapable. Trying hard to think of something to say she turned and studied him. Yes, he was defiantly affected. She could hear the signs, and the cracks in his voice; see the pain on his face. Turning her view down, she nervously played with the hem of her apron.

She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering what it would be like to have this man worry for her. Unconsciously, she inhaled; the room was scented with flowers and old fires in the fireplace. Everything smelled untarnished and sweet.

She heard the creak of his chair and she opened her eyes in time to see him rise. She watched, uneasy, as he casually made his way to her. Instinctively, she started away, but he put out his arm to stop her. �You certainly are bold,� he looked her up and down, as he had at that first meeting, �for a servant.� He moved in closer, so that they were almost touching, but his aura was even more intimidating. Pressing back against the bed, she looked up at him, fearful. Their eyes locked.

In a low voice she spoke, and he leaned in closer, as if to hear her. �Is this a trait you find desirable in your staff or are you irritated by it?�

�Generally irritated. In your case I may find it enduring. As long as it remains under control.�

�I will make certain that it does, Mr. Irons.�

�Yes. Make certain that it does.�

She was still compressed up against the side of the bed. His closeness was suffocating. Turning, she tried again to get past him. He was handsome, and it was well known he took many lovers. But his intent was still up for interruption. He maybe was trying to scare her or maybe something more. Still, she felt very unsure, very uncomfortable. This wasn�t what she wanted, not now.

As if reading her mind, he smiled and tilted his head to one side. In a sweet yet firm voice, he spoke, �No, I don�t think you�ll be leaving just yet, my dear.� His eyes were on hers again, and despite her shock, he looked amused. He reached up then, cupping the fingers of one hand along her cheek. Gently, he hushed her protests.

Wrestling sternly against him, worry made her face stressed.

He responded in kind. With surprising strength, he grabbed her arm and twisted, turning her to face the bed. Pain shot through her as he pushed, forcing her to bend forward. As the pain grew stronger, she let out a small cry.

�Remember, not to much boldness, my sweet.� Even though his actions were fierce and violent, his tone was soft and seductive. Focused on his words she closed her eyes. �Don�t you want to make me happy? Then be a good girl. Do as you�re told.� Delicately, his hand trailed up the outside of her leg, bringing her dress with it, lifting the hem just above the knee. Finely he rested his touch on her waist. She could feel the pressure through her clothing.

Suddenly she was spun around to face him again, her brown eyes wide with alarm. With a look of contemplation, he released her arm. Keeping a hand on her waist, �You look very lovely- flushed and breathless.� For a moment longer he continued to consider her. His other hand was again on her face, stroking her cheek.

Not able to think clearly, she found herself relaxing under his tender caress. Turning towards his touches. Impulsively, her lips parted slightly as his thumb brushed them.

This seemed to please him, his stare softened. Then, tenderly, he leaned in to kiss the side of her face, her closed eyelids, and then her ear. The breath between them was warm, relaxing and thick. His hand rose to her hair, carding though it while his tongue lightly licked at her ear lobe, then trailed along her neck.

It was, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. His touch was gentle, even romantic, though someplace underneath there was a brutality. As if they were both scratching the surface of something more primal, more demanding. It felt as though all other thing had dissolved. Nothing else mattered in this moment. Nothing else could touch her. His kisses drifted across her face, his fingers played through her hair. His body was warm against her.

Bit by bit his grip in her hair tightened. The discomfort though, was small and uncomplicated. Just as he was about to meet her pouted, willing lips, he pulled away, abruptly. Disoriented, it took her a second to register the anger on his face.
�I must go. Ian has returned.� Lips pinched together, his look came back to her harshly for an instant, until he seemed to remember who she was. As he spoke, his hand slid smoothly from her hair, to her face, then down her neck to rest possessively on her shoulder. No breath came from her. �We will continue our conversation later.� Conversation fell from him like thick honey. �Return to me tomorrow evening. Ian will collect you.�

Growing faint, she then realized she hadn�t been breathing. She inhaled sharply. The sudden lift of her torso caused his hand to shift, his palm curving along her breast. It lasted just an instant, yet left a tingling in her, a yearning. Her legs felt like water, and she was aware that his weight against her was holding her up.

Bothered by the effect he had on her, she thought -If he moves, I will fall. -
Knowing her fear, he stepped back. Both of his hands once more at her waist, supporting her. He bent down a bit to stare into her eyes. His tone was stern, but he was again smiling. �Do you understand this?�

�Yes, sir.� It was barely a whisper.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

Casualty part two -- voodoodolly, 20:23:43 06/02/02 Sun