Belialwolf
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Joined: 8/17/2004
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Just the first chapter of a little story I wrote,
Enjoy,
Belialwolf
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Sonata – (noun)
A musical composition between two instruments: usually consisting of four independent movements varying in key, mood, and tempo.
Movement – the first
It was sterile and lifeless, the text that lay there on the screen of her computer. Of all the myriad things she wanted to be staring at right now, one of her reports for work was not in the top ten, top twenty, or top two thousand. There it sat, a collection of words all packed together like passengers vying for space on an overcrowded bus, a black and white manifesto to banality and the soul sucking drudgery of her job. Betty sighed as her mind wandered away from her report for what had to be the tenth time in as many minutes. Glancing across a gray sea of cubicles she checked the clock on the wall, unfortunately it had the same time as the clock on her desk, the clock on her computer and the clock on her wrist. In some small part of her imagination, she had hoped that maybe all of those other clocks had been set wrong and it actually was 5pm instead of just past noon.
It was another boring day at work, the kind you just couldn’t escape from no matter how hard you tried. It was one of those days where all the details that you can normally tune out were turned up to ‘11’. The cadence of keystrokes coming from the adjacent cubicles sounded like a heavy metal drum solo that just wouldn’t quit. The phones seemed to be ringing off the hook in a chorus of beeps, blips, and the occasional cell phone version of ‘God Bless America’. It was the kind of incessant din that could drive someone insane if they listened to it for too long. She stared out the window but that didn’t help much. It was too bright outside, the sky was this blue and white miasma mixed in such a way that simply defied the dogmatic 64-crayon crayola color scheme of things. It was ugly and luminescent at the same time, a nebulous canvas, abstract art framed in the copper brown of a brightly glowing window. She stared so long that when she looked back at her computer screen she was visited by green and white angels that danced across her vision in the shape of little abstract art boxes. Just when the thought of bringing explosives into her office was staring to seem like an oddly appropriate idea, one more little noise added itself to the din.
‘Ding! You have mail!’
Betty really hated that sound. It was an absolutely Pavlovian kind of hatred too. Every time that little sound went off on her computer, it meant some new report had ensconced itself in the inbox of her e-mail account, waiting to be read. Muttering at the thought of even more work to do she opened up her mail program to read the bad news, promising herself that after she looked at this new e-mail she would pick out the kind of explosive she was bringing in to work tomorrow.
Glancing at the header, she immediately realized that it wasn’t from work, in fact she didn’t recognize the e-mail address that it came from at all. Fully expecting some missive about losing weight or gaining money she opened the new mail. There was no subject, so she jumped to the body of the mail and started to read. The very first sentence caught her attention rather handily.
“I wrote you a story. I hope you enjoy it.”
She hadn’t asked anyone to write her a story so she figured that someone mistyped an e-mail address and sent this mail to her by accident. Betty smiled a little at her good fortune, having received this small diversion from those damned reports. Clicking down the body of the mail she started to read the story…
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From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Story
Date: Tue, 14 Apr 2002 08:33:32 -0800
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The Chair
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By Belial
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It was one of life’s little ironies that the chair she sat in was so comfortable. It was a plush affair, the kind of seat that just swallows you whole, enveloping you in velvet and warmth like sitting on a cloud. It was ironic because of all the possible things that the torrid night ahead of her promised, comfort was possibly the last thing on that list. She tried to find amusement in the irony of it, trying to think of something, anything but her current predicament. However, try as she might, her thoughts wandered back to the inevitability of her fate.
She wondered how she looked sitting there: her legs crossed properly, her business skirt tucked over her knees, her hands folded in her lap, the picture of refinement and good manners. She then wondered how she –really- looked sitting there: her antsy legs not wanting to stay still, her business skirt seemingly having a mind of its own as it tried to sneak its way up her thighs, her trembling hands folded over in her lap to keep them still, the picture of a woman unnerved by anticipation.
It was the blindfold that did it, soft and silken against her face, a warm caress that stole her vision and hobbled her senses, turning each and every one of them against her. The silence of the room was thunderous, so quiet that she could actually hear herself breathe. The smell of scented candles lingered in the air, tickling her nose with hints of sandalwood and jasmine as far as she could guess. She couldn’t taste anything except how dry her mouth was, as if she was minutes away from giving a presentation in front of her boss. All of those senses were harping on her mind, but it was what she physically felt that was undoing her in such short order. The note said for her not to wear any undergarments, and from the moment she walked out the door of her apartment she could feel every last touch of her silk blouse against her breasts, every last brush of her skirt against her naked derriere. No nylons, no nothing, only her bare ass and the expensive brushed cotton skirt that she prayed wasn’t stained from the trickle of heat that throbbed between her crossed legs. Every time her fidgety legs slid against each other she was reminded of her situation. Part of her felt like it was a deliciously naughty game that she was playing, while the other more reserved part of her felt like she was dressed like an expensive whore. Before she could ruminate on her embarrassment and titillation any longer the silence around her broke abruptly, tightening her nerves a thousand fold.
The echo of footsteps filled the air, far away at first but unmistakable. The heavy thud of boot heels on a hardwood floor was an unrelenting sound, like distant thunder rolling towards her, a storm slowly coming to pass. Closer and closer it came to her, louder and louder the thunder rolled, into the room where she sat and right up to her chair. She could feel a presence in front of her like some hovering wraith that lingered just past the darkness of her blinded vision. The sound of a man’s voice nearly made her jump out of her skin, “Stand up…” a deep and quiet voice bid her. Not ‘Hello’ or ‘Nice to meet you’ but ‘Stand up’. Grateful at the chance to stretch her legs and get out of that ‘comfy’ chair, she did as he said, conscious of her posture and trying to stand up just a little straighter than usual. Once she stood up she could hear him slowly walk behind her then back around in front of her again. The sound of those heavy boot heels echoing around her made her very self-conscious all of a sudden. She could almost feel his eyes examining her, scrutinizing her every curve and line as he circled like a wolf around its prey. Those footfalls stopped directly behind her, his quiet and calm voice purring against the backs of her ears, “Did you do as I asked?” She had to swallow once before answering him, her dry mouth making her voice sound small and squeaky, “Yes… I did.”
A half chuckle was her only warning as she felt a fistful of her hair grabbed sharply, a strong hand tipping her head backwards, it taking all of her control to simply keep her knees from buckling out from underneath of her. She was grabbed forcibly like someone would grab a rag doll, his voice growling quietly in a most bestial way, “yes what?” he asked her as if she had forgotten something terribly important.
“Y…yes sir?” She managed to squeak out, praying that she got his question right. “Better…” the noticeably darker voice growled. With that fistful of hair she was caught like an animal in a bear trap, nowhere to go and seemingly at his mercy…or lack thereof. “Now spread your legs…I want to see if you followed my instructions to the letter.” Those words ran a small chill up her spine, causing her to hesitate with uncertainty. That proved to be a mistake as she paid for her dalliance. The muffled smack of his hand against the thin cotton skirt covering her ass did absolutely no justice to the sting on her bottom that felt like white lightning. She yelped loudly, trying to jump away from the sudden pain but she did not get very far, only fighting against the grip on her hair and quickly losing with a whimper. Chastised, she shuffled her feet apart little by little only to be coaxed further by his growling tone. “Wider,” he barked and with every inch she could feel her skirt hiking up her legs as they parted into a lewd ‘V’. If she had felt a little like a whore before for not wearing any panties, that feeling was intensified a million times over now. “Stay still…” he said ominously, and given the throbbing handprint on her ass, she felt particularly inclined to listen to him.
She gasped upon feeling the touch of his hand against her bare inner thigh, reaching up and under the hemline of her skirt. She thought he was just going to lift her skirt up and take a look, but it seemed she wasn’t getting away that easily. A firm hand slid upwards along the soft skin of her quivering thigh, and like the hand tangled in her hair it took possession of what it grasped. She was blushing fiercely at this point; the heat across her face only matched by the heat that burned between her now spread legs. As that hand climbed upwards, it pulled her skirt along, letting the cool air touch her right before the warmth of his exploring fingertips did. She held her breath as his hand slid higher and higher, feeling like a powder keg with a slowly burning fuse. When his fingertips touched the honeyed slickness of her petals she couldn’t stop the shuddering gasp from slipping past her parted lips… a sound that only made her blush harder because of guttural chuckle it produced from the man that touched her.
“My…my…my…dripping wet already?” the man asked in a bemused tone, the fluttering touch of his fingers making the butterflies in her stomach do loops. She could barely stand it, the thought of this man touching her and feeling how wet she was when she hadn’t even seen his face, a near stranger having his way with her. It didn’t help matters that her reactions only seemed to amuse him, like she was as plaything for his entertainment. However, the worst thing by far was the way his actions made her feel like she was sinking in quicksand, as if his hand holding onto her hair was the only thing keeping her from falling right through the floor. Suddenly a stray thought mortified her… if she was as wet as she thought, what if she had stained his chair right through her dress? It took her a moment to remember how to breathe and get herself under control. She was so busy praying that she didn’t stain his chair that she didn’t even realize that he had stopped fondling her between her legs. The soft ache of her sex rattled her pleading with the almighty, leaving her with the ghost of unfulfilled pleasure.
She couldn’t even dwell on that ache for long, for his quiet voice spoke to her again… “I believe that it is time to begin…” he said, and she could swear she heard the sound of a knife leaving its sheath…punctuating his words with the metallic chime of cold steel.
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RING!!RING!!
Betty nearly jumped clean out of her chair at the sound of her own phone, so distracted by the story she was reading she had tuned the world out entirely. Placing her hand to her chest and feeling her heart hammering she picked up the phone, quietly cursing under her breath at the coworker who had some questions about her reports.
end of Chapter 1
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< Message edited by Belialwolf -- 11/23/2004 5:57:40 PM >
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Story - Sonata (chapter 1) - 
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