Up In Flames
or
Trapped in the Closet
or
Trapped in the Closet
Di was trapped in the closet; literally. The door was locked, and the only thing she could do was scream out of sheer fear of what lay behind her in the tunnel. She could hear it sliding toward her, calling her name, 'Di....Di...I'm going to get you!' and then the sound of soft moist skin smacking the floor of the tunnel, echoing in her ears.
“Rihana! Let me out!” Di screamed, her dark brown skin glistening with sweat, and her braids whipping her cheeks as she banged furiously against the door. Her eyes were so wide they looked as if they'd fall out of her head.
The sound again, 'schmack schmack schmack,' it was closer this time. Di reached in her jean pocket and pulled out a flashlight, and shined it in the tunnel. She could see a shadow, she quickly turned the light off, and lifted her sneakered foot. She kicked at the door, but it wouldn't budge.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK!” She screamed. She kicked again and again as the whispers of the shadow came closer and closer. “RIHANA! RIHANA! OPEN THE DOOR!”
The sound of smacking skin and whispers grew insistent and louder with each passing moment. Di turned around and faced what approached her. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there. If only she could find the light switch, she'd find the key that was somewhere in there, but she couldn't even locate the control to turn on the light.
She saw the form of what pursued her leaving the tunnel, it was a mass...a dark, oddly shaped mass and it spoke.
“Di...we were having so much fun....in the dark....”
“I don't wanna play anymore!” She screamed in terror. She turned to the door, and screamed for Rihana.
“They have her Di...you've no need to scream in terror.” The voice was slick, seductive, and portrayed the dark being that was its possessor. “Unless...it is in...” Di screamed as she felt a hand grip her side, she lurched forward and fell on the door. The hand squeezed her side, and she curled into a giggling ball.
“Christ! Haaahahaaaa!!!” She shouted.
“There is no Christ my darling...only sensation....” Another hand walked up her ribs, and danced along them like a titillating tap dancer. The beast crawled forward, and Di could feel more hands carressing her body and poking and prodding, digging in where necessary, and causing raucous laughter to fill the room.
Di's mouth was twisted into a tortured grimace, her large white teeth bared for the world to see, her pinkish tongue, lolling out of her mouth, her eyes shut tightly as if she could banish the creature from her existence if she could not see it, try as she might; the thunderous bucking and bangs ofh er shoes and her fists as they hit the floor; her explosive, profanity filled laughter; her reddening cheeks, streaming with tears, it was Hell for Di; she knew it was Hell, and she had beenfoolish to try to escape the punishment allotted. She was damned just like Kiki, Breona, Yanet and Emily
She begged, she screamed, she thrashed, and cackled like a witch that was high on laughing gas. She bucked, and rolled on the floor, begging the creature to stop stroking her, stop torturing her, making deals that she and the beast both knew would never be fulfilled. She prayed in her mind to God, pleading for release from this insane grip of terrible laughing torment. Pleading with her lord to retrieve her from this unholy beast's malicious intents; but it would not be done, for the beast which held the teenager knew that God was out on business.
And as soon as Di had given up hope, it stopped. It all ceased to be. The digging in her ribs, the stroking along her rear and thighs, the poking in her underarms, and the skittering along her bare soles. It all stopped. There was silence, the tunnel was gone, the beast was gone, and the light had turned on. She saw the clothes around her, hanging on their hooks that went around the room in an arc. The lamp above her was still, the light, a constant for the moment.
“Thank God,” she gasped as she pulled on her socks and stood up. She buttoned her jeans and dusted the ragged cuffs off. She searched for the key, she saw its glint under some of the clothes that hung by the back of the closet. She stooped low and reached under to get the key. As she got up, she looked around again, and was thankful to see nothing weird going on. Maybe it wasn't Hell. Maybe it was just a dream. And she'd wake out of it soon. She turned to the door, and put the key in, twisted it, and found it wouldn't turn.
“Huh?” She tried it again, the same result. “No...” She turned around and listened for any smacking sounds. There was none. The tunnel hadn't reappeared, so the door must have been stuck. Then the rustling sound broke the silence. To her right, a suit coat reached out and smacked her buttock.
“Oh my God!” she shrieked as she jumped to her left and fell into some of the clothes. “What the hell is going on?” She turned s she felt her arm being bound. She looked to find the tie rack was wrapping its ties about her forearms. She shouted in portest as the ties pulled her arms straight up.
“Stop! Stop it now!” She shouted, “Stop, I don't want to play this fucking game anymore!” She squealed as she felt her sides being brushed by the clothes that were coming to life. Two coat sleeves reached around and amazingly tore open her t-shirt, revealing her black brassierre, and her beautifully well kept midsection.
She felt herself being lifted high into the air, and she saw under her, the shirts and necklaces were approaching her feet. The beaded necklaces wrapped tightly about her ankles, she couldn't move either foot even a centimeter. The shirts and coats rose all around her, and they attacked her vulnerable skin, stroking and whacking and slapping and probing her tummy, armpits, her denim clad buns and thighs, and her calves. But the gloves, They focused solely on the huge plump socked soles of her feet. And it was this that made her scream in agony.
“NOOOOOOO!!!” She wailed as the fingers dug into her soles. “STOP IT PLEAASE!!!” She borke down into laughter and swung her legs and twisted her upperbody to its limit. She cried, tears dropped to the floor as he wails and her laughter commingled in a haunting melody of vocal desperation. She kicked her bound feet furiously, up and down, left and right, but no matter which way she moved them, the fingers were there, tearing her dirty socks apart to get ot her soft, horribly ticklish bare feet.
She didn't know it, but the soles of her socks were shredding, and her soles were slowly being exposed. But as soon as the socks were gone, Di realized, because her feet felt like they were being attacked by ants. Tickly little feet crawling all over her tender, extra wrinkly soles, sending nuclear explosions of tickle signals up her nerves and into her brain. There were no more tears, and Di's voice was growing hoarse. She was quite exhausted, but it meant nothing to the articles of clothing that stimulated her to no end.
Then the coats and shirts stopped tickling her. They dropped to the floor in masses of leather and polyester finery. The gloves drew away from her feet. And for a moment, Di was about to sigh in relief. But her peace was cut drastically short by the gloves as they rose to her tummy, her ribs, and her underarms. They didn't touch her yet. They just hung there. Di watched them, wondering what they'd do. Would they leave her alone, release her? Or do something more terrible than what had already befallen her? Her answer was almost immediate, the gloves came together and cracked knuckles, and then wiggled their fingers. Di screamed as their fingers made landfall and her nerves went up in flames.
