Floorboards become tattered carpet beneath my fine denier, hosiery-clad feet as I ascend the stairs. Turning left on the half-landing, away from her bedroom I step into a room I've only glimpsed through the open doorway. Nothing secret here; she calls it 'The Music Room', its walls lined with vinyl and CDs. A stereo unit, two-seater sofa and a coffee table the only other furnishings. I peruse the endless spines absorbing the sense of her as I seek revelations amongst her possessions.
At random I pull a record free from its home. It proclaims itself as 'Kaleidiscope', the artwork brash and artsy. The vinyl shimmers enticingly in my hand when sliding it from the inner sleeve. I press buttons until it spins on the record player and dumps the needle onto its edge with a thump before retreating to the comfort of the sofa. Crackles and hissing pursue me as I curl my feet beneath and glance down the tracklist awaiting the first notes.
The words before my eyes captivate me. Singular and simple yet...
Each of them calling to the experiences of the last two weeks. Was it just two weeks? Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago. Certainly, it was a different life than I had deserted the moment I had stepped across her threshold and offered myself up as a needy fly, desperate to become entangled in her web.
As the music swirls around me, I submerge into captivated memory.
Happy House
My head is spinning.
Varnished floorboards lead off into a half-glimpsed interior, all architraves, and stucco as I stand trembling, an ingenue captured in a pool of her own stickiness.
Appraising eyes sparkle hazel, mischievous, and mirthful traverse my flesh turning the fever between my thighs into a sweltering swamp. Sweat beads on my upper lip as primal juices seep between my puffed secreted lips.
Extended fingers decorated with perfect half-moon nails reach out and leisurely stroke their way down my cheek, scalding the flesh beneath their touch. Lips move. Noise becomes words.
"Welcome to my Happy House"
Tenant
It was as if I was a tenant in my own flesh. Allowed visiting rights but lacking any control or responsibility.
Even now, sipping tea as the early evening light slanted through the windows producing shades and halos in equal measure, my tenanted flesh displaying its independence in a shameful display of engorged nipples, heaving breasts, and barely captured breaths.
Near hyperventilating before her gaze. Spell captured as her eyelashes flicker and the pointed, pink perfection of her tongue dances across white ranked teeth. Entranced, the swirl of her chatter cradles and caresses until just one word remains.
"Tenant"
Trophy
She might as well have put a leash on the delicate links of the silver choker that hugs my neck. Leashed me and lead me as a trophy to be displayed before the simpering curiosity of her 'friends'.
Face flaming as I am passed amongst the assorted throng to be manhandled, ogled and drooled over whilst whispered words are shared behind covered mouths. The shameful memory of my earlier arraying and present appearance all-consuming.
I'd been sent back thrice. A moue of disapproval greeting my efforts until eventually a figure-hugging dress; all breasts and hip-high side-slit was deemed appropriate trophy-wear.
Hybrid
Your 'hybrid cunt' that's what she'd called it just before her stiffened fingers had slapped its soggy fleshiness. A genetic mutant of X and Y genes that had been enjoyed and pleasured by cocks and cunts and mouths and silicon.
'No more,' she'd said. It was her cunt now. Owned and possessed. Hers and hers alone to pleasure and abuse as she ran the powder brush teasingly up its vulva and flicked across its swollen clit, eliciting moans and dribbling pleasure that clogged the fine bristles.
I'd deserved the spanking for that. And I tried really hard not to cum.
Clockface
The second hand was circling for the umpteenth time. I'd lost track of how many revolutions it had completed now. Lost track of everything now.
Upright on a hard-backed chair, body drenched in sweat, feeling rivulets trickling down my breasts and stomach to pool in the glorious, spasming wetness of my sex.
My vibe filled sex. My plug-filled arse. My gagged and drooling mouth. My flesh twisting and writhing as the humming intensity consumed me. Each vibration exploding through spoilt, undeserving me. Desperate not to cum as instructed.
As she watched and the second-hand trickle onward.
Lunar Camel
Pressed up against the headboard, the rigid slats rubbing my back raw with every buck of my untethered hips. Arms stretched in crucifix as the rope abrades my wrists. Fixed as she had desired.
She whose face had disappeared between my widespread thighs, whose mouth is feasting, whose tongue slathers anus to clit coating my gleaming flesh in another layer of liquid desire.