Casualty part three -- Obsessive Endeavors from The Chair

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Date Posted: 20:26:10 06/02/02 Sun
Author: VoodooDolly
Subject: Casualty part three
In reply to: VoodooDolly 's message, "Casualty" on 20:20:15 06/02/02 Sun

Part 3

She stirred, fighting to stay in the dream. The realization of silence, the absence of his voice, drew her to the tip of conciseness. An aroma of flowers invaded her. Coursing up sharply through her nostrils, down her throat, filling her up with the sensation of desire. Lazily, her hand drifted over her breasts, her stomach, coming to rest on her inner thigh. As she bent her knee, the sheet dropped away. Arching back, a greedy moan slip between her lips as she licked them. The smell of the room, the strange comfort of it, enchanted her, making her burn and shift. Her senses were heightened, so that even the faintest touch caused tension, want, the inability to do anything but continue the sensations.

But before she could fully submerge herself in the need, the alarm blasted in her ear, pulling her into unwanted awareness.

She sat up, ending the strange memory-like dream. It took an effort, but she forced herself to look around, to remember who and what she was. To put herself back into her place. Depressed, she rose and made her way to her bathroom. As she passed by, she noticed the vase sitting on the cherry wood dresser. Sunlight coming through the window caught in the crystal and created a prism of color that fell along her hand as she reached out to delicately touch it. The surface was cool and refined.

One single orchid stood in the elegant container, its petals graduating from white to purple with such subtlety as to suggest an unbroken, continuous tension, an indefinable yearning. Displaying an almost gloomy parallel to her current situation. Sadly, she touched one of the petals, surprised to find that it did not give way. Drawing back, she was startled by the small drop of moisture she found in the center of the thin membrane, like an unexpected raindrop.

With tepid determination, she went through her day. Futile as it was, she tried to keep her mind solidly on her tasks � scud bushes, silver polish, all the usual annoying duties. She was not asked to take in his breakfast, and despite herself, she was disappointed.

The rest of the staff didn�t make her feel any better; they treated her with a sort of disdain, conversations ceasing as she approached, hostile looks thrown at her as she passed. She was given the worst chores and tasks.

At least Mr. Nottingham wasn�t around, staring at her with his dark, judgmental eyes.

When evening finally arrived, it was a relief. For a while, until she felt the mixture of emotions that was becoming commonplace: anxiety and anticipation.

Both emotions grew even stronger when she entered her bedroom to find a gift on her bed.

Casually, she fingered it; it was wrapped in red satin. Smelling charming and new. She pulled back the outer covering to examine the contents, but found herself holding it away, as though it would attack. It was black silk, embroidered with a dark red floral display. It was simple, the pattern classic and eloquent, a fashion that held enough sophistication no matter the time it was always stylish. Holding it up to her body, she turned to the view in the mirror. Despite herself, she smiled.

The note that accompany it simply read, �I would be pleased if you would join me this evening, in the my room, at nine.�

The dress fell an inch from the carpet. Carefully, she made her way along the hallway, each step measured for balance and effect. The low-heeled shoes that had come as part of the gift felt like slippers, easy and inviting.

Arriving, she carefully knocked on the door. At his invitation, she summoned as much grace as possible and glided through the door. Her movements were quiet � it had never been in her nature to announce herself noisily. Even her voice made the sound of butterfly wings, and though her words were at times sharp, or uncensored they flew out in uninhibited liquidity.

�Are you nervous?� he asked, making is way across the room to greet her.

She smiled back at him and answered, �It seems that you enjoy making me so.� She returned his appraising gaze, taking in the colors of his suit � slate gray and burgundy.

�It does bring a lovely color to your cheeks,� he reached out a hand to her, � and a delicate tremble to your lips.�

She didn�t accept his hand, fighting against confusion and frustration. �It�s not that don�t appreciate the gown, sir, or the attention. I just don�t think that this is appropriate. To be precise, I find it. . � She lost the words, and found herself looking about, hoping that they would pop up from some dark shadow. Unfortunately, the shadows remained void of any help.

His voice was flat when he spoke, and he was closer to her. �You are uncertain of this situation, and the direction it might take. You think that I�m just playing dress-up with you, and when I�m finished, I�ll throw you out like a well used doll.�

She nodded once, not looking at him.

�Don�t be mistaken, my dear,� he continued. �I do intend to make good use of you. If I didn�t, I would not have wasted so much time. But I won�t discard you. I take a great deal of pride in my possessions, and I take excellent care of them. To be quite honest, I find you charming and I want your company.�

The speech had made her head spin. Some rational fought against it, but the part that drove her needs relished in it. Feeling over came good sense, with a tainted longing. Confused that just the words he used, the tone in his voice, unlocked some new aspect of desire.

This time when he offered her his hand, she took it, as much to steady herself as to please him.

He escorted her to the table, which was in the antechamber of the house�s largest bedroom � the bedroom she knew to be his favorite. The antechamber was smaller than the bedroom itself but it easily held the table and its two chairs.

He seated her before moving to his own chair, giving her a moment to appreciate the beauty of the display before her. The table was covered in a delicate lace tablecloth, and there was a single white candle in the center standing elegantly next to a small vase of pussy willows. A silver tray contained a collection of cheeses, fruits, and breads, looking like the model for some Renaissance artist.

�Please,� he smiled, �eat, drink, and talk with me. Let us enjoy this time together.�

She blushed. �I�m sure you could find far better conversationalists and conquests elsewhere.�

He tilted his head to one side, studying her. �I don�t believe so. My time, my dear, is worth a great deal. Do not think for a moment that I ever waste it on things that do not interest me.�

She frowned. �So you consider me to be a possession?�

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. �Is that so bad? Does it disturb you?�

�Yes,� she answered unsure of how truthful the answer was.

�Yes, I suspect that it does.� He did smile then. �But from the redness of your cheeks, the quickness of your breathing, I would also think that the idea excites you.� He leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. �I know you, my dear. You have many layers, a true depth of spirit. I can show you a whole world of things about yourself, whole new passions and desires. Things that will astound you, and things you will deny. As you are denying this now.�

She stiffened, feeling a flare of anger. �I should go.�

His smile vanished. �I�m afraid, at this point, that�s not an option.�

She stared at him, hearing the threat in his words. For an instant, she felt the impulse to run, to escape him, but she got control of herself even as her eyes searched the room. She swallowed, reaching for anything to distract him. �How did you get that scar on you hand?� she blurted.

He took a deep breath, but answered her. �Once upon a time, I took possession of a powerful implement. We...interacted briefly, and it left me with something to remember it by.� His voice was smooth, melodious, as if he were reading a bedtime story to a child.

Like the night he had read to her.

�The Witchblade,� she commented with a nod.

He frowned, and she saw anger in his eyes.

�Oh,� she rushed to explain, �I�ve heard the others talk about it � discreetly of course. But I move about the house quite a bit, and I hear and see things. The Witchblade consumes this place; it�s everywhere you look. It�s impossible to keep it secret.� She gazed into his eyes, watching the anger dissipate to certain indifference.

Eventually, he blinked. �Yes,� he agreed, finally reaching for the bottle of wine and pouring it into the two glasses. �I suspect that it is.� He handed her a glass, then lifted his in a toast. �To our time together,� he said.

She lightly touched her glass to his, then sipped from it, her eyes never leaving his face. �Excellent!� she said after she had swallowed. �What wine is this?�

The question served its purpose; for the next little while, he told her of the vineyard in France where the wine was produced, then, at her prodding, he explained the process of wine-making. As they talked, they ate, and she noticed him smiling at odd moments, staring at her as she ate, leaning forward to better hear her when she spoke. The conversation flowed more easily, moving from the wine and food to other topics, usually at his instigation. She got the feeling that he was testing her, trying to find out what she did and didn�t know about things, but he was never rude or condescending, nor was he reluctant to answer her questions. The overall effect was to put her at ease, making her forget the fear and concern she had had when they started.

When the candle had burned to a nub, they both stopped, surprised. He checked his pocket watch, unaccustomed to losing track of this much time. With a shake of his head, he stood and stepped to her, extending his hand to help her rise. As he pulled her chair away, he leaned in close against her and whispered in her ear, �Definitely not a waste of time.�

Then he squeezed her hand and led her across the antechamber toward the larger room � the bedroom.

She stopped at the threshold, suddenly shy.

With one finger, he traced a languid path over her eyebrow, down her jaw, to under her chin. Then, he tilted her face to his. �No,� he murmured, his lips so close to hers, �no refusals.� Then, so lightly that she wasn�t sure it actually happened, he brushed her lips with his. �No regrets.�

Still holding her hand, he coaxed her through the doorway and toward the bed. �Would you go through every night, forever wondering what might have been? Wondering what you missed?� He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it as lightly as he had kissed her lips. �Chastising yourself for not being brave enough to let go?� He pulled her into his arms, his eyes staring unblinkingly into hers. �Hating yourself for ignoring your love for me?�

He kissed her then. It was hard and deep, in the manner of one who could not posses her enough. As if he wished to own her very soul though that kiss.

With skill he slid the straps of her dress off of her shoulders. It fell to the ground, collecting around her in sincere whisper. Without taking his lips from hers, he continued to disrobe her, showing a skill and intimacy with the female body that bespoke numerous encounters

Some insignificant force moved her hand in futile protest. He chuckled light heartedly, �Yes, your struggles make me only desire you more.�

With that, he lifted her, in one motion, and set her on the bed. With out concern, he discarded his jacket and shirt. Placing them on a near by chair. Stationed over her, his eyes touched her. Taking his hands, he started to run them over her body, causing a rush of heat to spread thought out her. It consumed her every pour, making her feel delicate, melting her resistance.

Eventually, she felt the need to reciprocate the attention � it seemed only fair. But as she went to touch him, her hands moist with nervous perspiration, he pushed them aside, shaking his head. �Be still,� he commanded.

Defenseless in the feeling, the want to slip her fingers over him, she disobeyed.

He stepped back. He studied her for a moment, shook his head, and moved to the nearby walk-in closet.

Panting and afraid, she lay, as still as she could. Attempting to merge into the covers of the bed. She closed her eyes, retreating into the denial of thought; this is just a dream.

Easily, he pulled her to the center of the bed, lifting her arms over her head. She felt the warm texture of leather close around her wrists, the quick movement of it being fastened, then the click of a clasp or lock. It was then that she opened her eyes, only to find herself staring up at a silver ring above her head, with cord attached to it that led to leather manacles around her own wrists.

The panic was immediate, a response she couldn�t control. She twisted, trying to free herself, trying to get away.

Attempting to ignore the sudden passion that erupted in her, as the reality of her predicament settled in.

Gradually, as her struggle proved to be in vain and she tired, she found him standing to one side of the bed, studying her. A faint smile hovered on his lips.

Then, boldly, he leaned down and stroked her inner thigh. �Are you afraid?� he asked, his voice husky.

She thought about it, realizing that, for some reason, she wasn�t as afraid as she had been. As she probably should be. Instead, the tone of his voice, the feel of his hand, caused an instinctive reaction; she raised her hips, trying to prolong the contact.

He laughed now, a light sound. �Perhaps a little, yes? But that fear excites you.� He stroked along her inner thigh again, moving almost to the junction of her legs, then, as she once more arched, he pulled his hand away.

�We could stop now. I am not a brute, my dear, I do not wish to take you against your will. Do you wish to leave?� He stepped to the head of the bed and reached as if to undo the cuffs.

But she made a small noise, not so much in agreement or disagreement, but wanting him to wait. Wanting to have a few seconds to get her head clear, to think.

�If you are not enjoying this,� he started, �then you can go � �

�No. Please.� The voice was unfamiliar, raspy, and it took her a second to realize that it was her own. It embarrassed her, the way he made her ask, a sense of humiliation. She felt like a moth, pinned in a collection, displayed on a shelf. The pin lodged though her middle composed of his eyes and voice.

Still half dressed, he made his way around the bed giving her time to truly think about what she had just done, had just said. Giving her time to fully comprehend how much she wanted his touch, how deeply she needed for him to continue what he had started

�Eager, my dear? That�s very good.� He reached out with one finger and trailed it from the indentation on her neck, between her breasts and around each one � never actually touching them, but creating far more erotic tension with the possibility that he might.

Gradually, he continued lower, running heedlessly over one hipbone, then across the flat expanse of her abdomen, to the other hipbone. He traced wide circles between them, every so slowly edging lower and lower, until he was just touching the fine line of hair over her pubic bone.

Then he moved lower, until, still with just the one finger, he touched the center of her desire.

She couldn�t breathe, couldn�t think, could only lay shivering under the pressure of his hand, the desperation of her need. Each time she grew accustomed to the intensity of the sensation, he changed it just a little, until she was on the brink. She would arched her back and raise her hips in a vain effort to force more contact, to end this sweet, devastating torture.

Then, he just perceptibly, he changed his tempo, increasing it ever so slightly. Just enough.

She gasped, the change sending spike of pleasure through her like electricity, pushing her right to the brink.

�You enjoy being bound and helpless, don�t you?� he whispered against her ear. An unusual sort of humor showed in his eyes.

Then, adding just a bit more pressure, he timed his words with the stroke. �So did you mother.� With that, he entered her, one smooth motion that pushed her to climax, even as his words shocked her mind to numbness.

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Replies:

Re: Casualty part three -- Miculawitch1, 17:18:05 06/05/02 Wed