Psychological tension Stories

Mr. Voss, why? You could have simply shaken my hand and shown me my desk with a pleasant, “Welcome.” Instead of… You know what you did. You’re too old to have acted that way. Didn’t you see how much I hated you that first week? I should have poked your eyeballs out with my letter opener or stapled your lids together? Then maybe… What I’m trying to say is your eyes didn’t simply gaze or linger a moment too long when we fir...

I don’t have much of a view from my desk. Just the face of another building, the kind with wide balconies that jut out from expensive-looking walls of floor-to-ceiling glass. It’s the kind of place that invites viewing, but I’d never seen anything worth looking at. Until this morning. She stepped out onto one of the balconies with a watering can in hand and her robe tied at the waist, the knot loose enough that it slipped...

You’d think, from the outside, that I had it all. A picturesque house in the countryside, the obligatory Labrador lazing by the fire and a husband who still kissed me on the forehead each night. Our house gets photographed by strangers in Tom’s trunks; it has honeysuckle wrapped around the porch, a pan tile roof and the front door is painted in a shade of green with an overly pretentious name. Driftwood Fog, I think, or s...

I kneel on the bedroom floor, blindfolded and silent. I brought this upon myself, but I’m not sure how. My arms are bound in front of me with a silk scarf, the insides of my wrists are pinned together, which makes my hands useless for anything. My body is exposed, naked except for the heels he chose and the panties I wasn’t allowed to remove. The rug beneath my knees provides some comfort, but I’ve been here long enough t...