SoundSiren
TMF Master
- Joined
- Nov 3, 2009
- Messages
- 834
- Points
- 0
That day was any other day.
Wake up.
Feed the cat.
Oatmeal and raspberries.
Local morning news, if you can call it news.
Shower.
Brush Teeth.
Dress.
Work.
Home.
Wine.
Read.
Bed.
EDIT...
Work...and then
"Come on, just for like an hour. We've got some new material I want you to hear. I need your opinion please. Just ONE HOUR. Promise."
I'm such a good girlfriend. "This better be good."
Your voice teasing, "Oh believe me, it's some of our best yet."
If I hadn't been here before I'd say it looks like I am pulling into the local Meth Lab. Perfect place to kill someone if you were into that kind of thing. What else this place was before music started crashing through its walls is a mystery, but I have my guesses. This part of downtown houses the most number of strip joints per capita. Gotta have a place to bring the hookers that hang out outside those clubs for the walking hard ons walkin out in need of release.
Cut to:
Justin smiling at me like this is going to be SO much FUCKING fun.
Cut to:
Me walking down the alley and wondering where the hell everyone is. He said 9. It's 9:12pm and they are never late. Me, it's an art form.
It's Wednesday night so it's dead dead dead at the Pit. No soul strumming a note and as far as I can tell I'm alone with the ghosts of overdosed strippers. Walking back between the hallway of doors, the door at the end on the right is open and I must have missed his truck somewhere.
Lights on. Nobody's home. This. Isn't. Right. Turning to go out and find his truck...
...four eyes stroking me up.
"Jesus, what the hell are you guys doing? Very funny." I laugh out and catch my heart from exiting my body.
Nothing. Just a grin.
BLACK
Best I could tell, rough polyester below me. Gotta be the couch.
Plastic tight on my wrists. Tips of fingers stroke the binding.
Microphone cord?
Guitar cord?
Who the fuck knows.
Something flat. Textured. Holds my knees perfectly together just above the bend. Ankles are the same scenario.
I self inventory to see what moves. What's secured. In this process I realize I'm not just tied t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r, but tied DOWN. Somehow they've got my arms reached out down the length of the couch like a good morning stretch. I can only guess my restraints have become one with the feet of the couch. Tied off at each round wooden leg post.
Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUCK me.
Something is breathing...
Right. Over. My stomach.
Hot air pools across my exposed skin from my shirt riding up in this constructed pose. I can't ask, "What now assholes?!?!" "What's the grand master plan?" Can't watch. Just feel. React. Feel. React. Feel.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
*Poundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpound*
Nerve endings explode and my brain instantly processes the request of the fingers grazing my sides. Willing my body into uncontrolled spasms. I would scream hell on planet fucking earth but my lips only manage to push "PFFFT!" out of the edges where the tape meets my cheeks. Boys, can't even think to buy a proper gag, just some duct tape they probably had lying around. Lovely.
At this moment, this is where I try to regain some bit of self-control, which is simply laughable. For the first time in my adult life I may have to admit to myself, "Darlin' you have ZERO power and there's not a damn thing you can do." But seriously, fuck that shit. That's what my thought really is at this moment in the game. Fuck it. I can beat 'em. Meditate myself immobile calm. "I am Jack's inner voice of solitude."
...and then my shoes are off...
All self talk, self motivation, self anything evaporates like helium escaping a pierced balloon. All puffed up, but there's nothin' cept air on the inside.
Realization hits me full force and a Mac truck running downhill replaces my heart. Now lock stock awake I can't even wiggle a toe. An onslaught has hit both bare to God soles full force and I'm losing grip on what, when, where.
Fingernails.
MMmmmPhhhttttt!
Running down side instep.
PFffffffttTTTTT! Oh. Dear. God!
Heel round to tips of toes. Two hands each foot.
Can't. Feel. Enough.
Then it just stopped.
At this point I haven't heard a whisper from either of my dear twats. Once I was down they've played the silence is golden game. Before I found myself tied up and twisted I made them work their asses off to get me here. Two strong fully capable twentysomething's against wee little me and it took them a good twenty minutes to immobilize me. Would’ve been longer if I hadn't hit my head on that amp.
I had a fierce headache from that encounter the next day. Lucky for them it wasn't a concussion otherwise I would of have had their balls. Nails taking skin was the most I was able to inflict before going down. Good enough. Maybe I left a scar or two behind. They're souvenir for that day. I may have even damaged a drum or two.
All I know is it looked like cymbals had exploded with mic stands and electric cords when I left the band room that day.
Before I was permitted to exit they made sure I had no fight left in me. After five minutes of total silence I hear a "click, click". So I'm not abandoned. Good? Bad? I was about to find out. One warm calloused finger starts to stroke down my collar bone to my chest plate and hits the top of my snap buttoned blouse. A nice short tug right down the line and "pop"..."pop"..."pop" I'm all undone.
Small circular motions paint my ribcage and I'm thinking I could rip the legs off this couch. Circles change to irregular squeezes. A little here. A bit there. More, more, more, MOOOOORE until my skin starts beading droplets at my chest and crown of my head.
Furnace radiating inside me.
A brief interruption in this round of whatTHEFUCKisgoingon is just long enough for me to register thoughts to the processing unit that’s malfunctioning on HOLY FUCK between my ears.
All that’s coming is why WHY WHY WHY?
Later, on a day these moments are far from the forefront of thought I’ll have that OH, thaaaaaaaat’s why answer rush to my ears and I’ll be here all over again. For now though I’m here with the whys and whats, swimming me senseless.
…and then there’s nothing but screaming in my ears.
FLAT OUT death metal growling and screeching like hell has descended and all the demons have come out to play on holiday. Half a second passes and I’m snapshot clear it’s possessed angelic me freed of vocal restraints responding to the two sets of hands snaking their ways across my exposed curves above, between, beneath.
This time the record doesn’t skip. No pausing for a quick snack break. What I didn’t expect on this journey was everything that didn’t happen next. They didn’t stop. They didn’t let me go. They didn’t say, “Ha ha we got you good. Jokes over.” This time they didn’t let up when I could scarcely will my lungs to keep pushing air. They didn’t keep this PG13. No. No whatever should have happened in the Land of What Can Be Expected had long since left the building.
Pop. Slide. Pull. Yank.
…and that’s me laying there heaving in 4 inches more cloth than totally exposed. Fingertips are rapidly finding there way to all the places I fold into a ball if my boyfriend’s hand so much as drifts, hovers, lingers to sniff them. Stroking that, “Don’t you fucking touch me” there place where the inside of my thigh meets my center. The other set is pinching and teasing each bud to rock hard attention against the soft wet fabric of my bra.
Moments in life such as this your body betrays your mind, and you JUST DON’T CARE. Sure, you may think I’m weak, but you’d let go. You’d dive right in. I promise you that. PROMISE.
I wish I could tell you in better detail. In well thought out prose. Where I went next. What trip I took to the better more colorful land of So Not Expected, but all I can remember is flashes…
One of them under me, sitting with my middle over his lap, playing me like Chopin.
The other, lips wrapped around my toes whilst I pressed myself into the other.
My rhythm being matched in strokes, squeezes, sweeps both between me and over me. Whose hands were where I didn’t know nor care. Like I said, all I remember are flashes.
Burning raging flashes of light pouring through me with every skin to hot pulsating skin contact made. The contacts of the negative and positive on a jumper sparking. That was me.
Simultaneous ecstasyjoytorture, and I remember this much…not wanting any of it to stop…and it won’t. Not ever.
Two months later...
“Baby, I swear I’m not fucking with you. Will you just get your cute little ass in the car and come see me?”
Ecstasy given in the end or not, trust is lost a bit after your boyfriend and his best friend ties you up and tickle tortures you for two hours.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fine. But I’m meeting you outside.” I’m being set up again and I know it, but this time, this time it’s all different and the same.
I throw my car into reverse and simultaneously turn up the music that’s whispering to me from whatever station I don’t really pay attention to. Driving sucks when your iPod connector breaks or in my case just grows legs. Ugh…radio.
He’s calling again, and against the law no one in this city cares about, I pick up my phone. “Yeeeeeeeeesssss?” I’m hissing down the phone while my knees take the job of my hands. The other hand is searching my purse for that elusive hair tie I’ll never find.
“You in the car yet?”, he’s almost jumping through the phone with these words.
“MMmmhhmm, sure am. Should I narrate my experience for ya?”
MMMmmppphhhh!!!GwwwaaaaAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooOOOooohhhhh….Hhhuu…huu...huu..huu…AwwWWWhhhhh…MMmmmmmyeeeeeesssss…AaaahhhNOOOOOOOOOoooFFFFFUUUCKKKKKgggggggaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!
No. That wasn’t my narration. THAT. Well that was me. There I am again on the couch tied up and twisted. All Undone. Except this time I’m on the radio. But it’s not my song. It’s not my band. But I’m an instrument in it all the same. My knees almost take me to meet my master and I grab on with both hands. Thank God for muscle memory.
“So…do you like it?” I can hear the grin in his voice.
Me, I’m going, “I…I…Iiiiiiii…..don’t, even, know, what the fuck?!”
Silence.
Begats more silence.
Empires are built and destroyed.
“I. Love. It. But you SO owe me for this.”
“Oh, I think I can come up with a decent way to repay you. PROMISE.”
Wake up.
Feed the cat.
Oatmeal and raspberries.
Local morning news, if you can call it news.
Shower.
Brush Teeth.
Dress.
Work.
Home.
Wine.
Read.
Bed.
EDIT...
Work...and then
"Come on, just for like an hour. We've got some new material I want you to hear. I need your opinion please. Just ONE HOUR. Promise."
I'm such a good girlfriend. "This better be good."
Your voice teasing, "Oh believe me, it's some of our best yet."
If I hadn't been here before I'd say it looks like I am pulling into the local Meth Lab. Perfect place to kill someone if you were into that kind of thing. What else this place was before music started crashing through its walls is a mystery, but I have my guesses. This part of downtown houses the most number of strip joints per capita. Gotta have a place to bring the hookers that hang out outside those clubs for the walking hard ons walkin out in need of release.
Cut to:
Justin smiling at me like this is going to be SO much FUCKING fun.
Cut to:
Me walking down the alley and wondering where the hell everyone is. He said 9. It's 9:12pm and they are never late. Me, it's an art form.
It's Wednesday night so it's dead dead dead at the Pit. No soul strumming a note and as far as I can tell I'm alone with the ghosts of overdosed strippers. Walking back between the hallway of doors, the door at the end on the right is open and I must have missed his truck somewhere.
Lights on. Nobody's home. This. Isn't. Right. Turning to go out and find his truck...
...four eyes stroking me up.
"Jesus, what the hell are you guys doing? Very funny." I laugh out and catch my heart from exiting my body.
Nothing. Just a grin.
BLACK
Best I could tell, rough polyester below me. Gotta be the couch.
Plastic tight on my wrists. Tips of fingers stroke the binding.
Microphone cord?
Guitar cord?
Who the fuck knows.
Something flat. Textured. Holds my knees perfectly together just above the bend. Ankles are the same scenario.
I self inventory to see what moves. What's secured. In this process I realize I'm not just tied t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r, but tied DOWN. Somehow they've got my arms reached out down the length of the couch like a good morning stretch. I can only guess my restraints have become one with the feet of the couch. Tied off at each round wooden leg post.
Fuck. Fuck. FUUUUUUUUCK me.
Something is breathing...
Right. Over. My stomach.
Hot air pools across my exposed skin from my shirt riding up in this constructed pose. I can't ask, "What now assholes?!?!" "What's the grand master plan?" Can't watch. Just feel. React. Feel. React. Feel.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
*Poundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpoundpound*
Nerve endings explode and my brain instantly processes the request of the fingers grazing my sides. Willing my body into uncontrolled spasms. I would scream hell on planet fucking earth but my lips only manage to push "PFFFT!" out of the edges where the tape meets my cheeks. Boys, can't even think to buy a proper gag, just some duct tape they probably had lying around. Lovely.
At this moment, this is where I try to regain some bit of self-control, which is simply laughable. For the first time in my adult life I may have to admit to myself, "Darlin' you have ZERO power and there's not a damn thing you can do." But seriously, fuck that shit. That's what my thought really is at this moment in the game. Fuck it. I can beat 'em. Meditate myself immobile calm. "I am Jack's inner voice of solitude."
...and then my shoes are off...
All self talk, self motivation, self anything evaporates like helium escaping a pierced balloon. All puffed up, but there's nothin' cept air on the inside.
Realization hits me full force and a Mac truck running downhill replaces my heart. Now lock stock awake I can't even wiggle a toe. An onslaught has hit both bare to God soles full force and I'm losing grip on what, when, where.
Fingernails.
MMmmmPhhhttttt!
Running down side instep.
PFffffffttTTTTT! Oh. Dear. God!
Heel round to tips of toes. Two hands each foot.
Can't. Feel. Enough.
Then it just stopped.
At this point I haven't heard a whisper from either of my dear twats. Once I was down they've played the silence is golden game. Before I found myself tied up and twisted I made them work their asses off to get me here. Two strong fully capable twentysomething's against wee little me and it took them a good twenty minutes to immobilize me. Would’ve been longer if I hadn't hit my head on that amp.
I had a fierce headache from that encounter the next day. Lucky for them it wasn't a concussion otherwise I would of have had their balls. Nails taking skin was the most I was able to inflict before going down. Good enough. Maybe I left a scar or two behind. They're souvenir for that day. I may have even damaged a drum or two.
All I know is it looked like cymbals had exploded with mic stands and electric cords when I left the band room that day.
Before I was permitted to exit they made sure I had no fight left in me. After five minutes of total silence I hear a "click, click". So I'm not abandoned. Good? Bad? I was about to find out. One warm calloused finger starts to stroke down my collar bone to my chest plate and hits the top of my snap buttoned blouse. A nice short tug right down the line and "pop"..."pop"..."pop" I'm all undone.
Small circular motions paint my ribcage and I'm thinking I could rip the legs off this couch. Circles change to irregular squeezes. A little here. A bit there. More, more, more, MOOOOORE until my skin starts beading droplets at my chest and crown of my head.
Furnace radiating inside me.
A brief interruption in this round of whatTHEFUCKisgoingon is just long enough for me to register thoughts to the processing unit that’s malfunctioning on HOLY FUCK between my ears.
All that’s coming is why WHY WHY WHY?
Later, on a day these moments are far from the forefront of thought I’ll have that OH, thaaaaaaaat’s why answer rush to my ears and I’ll be here all over again. For now though I’m here with the whys and whats, swimming me senseless.
…and then there’s nothing but screaming in my ears.
FLAT OUT death metal growling and screeching like hell has descended and all the demons have come out to play on holiday. Half a second passes and I’m snapshot clear it’s possessed angelic me freed of vocal restraints responding to the two sets of hands snaking their ways across my exposed curves above, between, beneath.
This time the record doesn’t skip. No pausing for a quick snack break. What I didn’t expect on this journey was everything that didn’t happen next. They didn’t stop. They didn’t let me go. They didn’t say, “Ha ha we got you good. Jokes over.” This time they didn’t let up when I could scarcely will my lungs to keep pushing air. They didn’t keep this PG13. No. No whatever should have happened in the Land of What Can Be Expected had long since left the building.
Pop. Slide. Pull. Yank.
…and that’s me laying there heaving in 4 inches more cloth than totally exposed. Fingertips are rapidly finding there way to all the places I fold into a ball if my boyfriend’s hand so much as drifts, hovers, lingers to sniff them. Stroking that, “Don’t you fucking touch me” there place where the inside of my thigh meets my center. The other set is pinching and teasing each bud to rock hard attention against the soft wet fabric of my bra.
Moments in life such as this your body betrays your mind, and you JUST DON’T CARE. Sure, you may think I’m weak, but you’d let go. You’d dive right in. I promise you that. PROMISE.
I wish I could tell you in better detail. In well thought out prose. Where I went next. What trip I took to the better more colorful land of So Not Expected, but all I can remember is flashes…
One of them under me, sitting with my middle over his lap, playing me like Chopin.
The other, lips wrapped around my toes whilst I pressed myself into the other.
My rhythm being matched in strokes, squeezes, sweeps both between me and over me. Whose hands were where I didn’t know nor care. Like I said, all I remember are flashes.
Burning raging flashes of light pouring through me with every skin to hot pulsating skin contact made. The contacts of the negative and positive on a jumper sparking. That was me.
Simultaneous ecstasyjoytorture, and I remember this much…not wanting any of it to stop…and it won’t. Not ever.
Two months later...
“Baby, I swear I’m not fucking with you. Will you just get your cute little ass in the car and come see me?”
Ecstasy given in the end or not, trust is lost a bit after your boyfriend and his best friend ties you up and tickle tortures you for two hours.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Fine. But I’m meeting you outside.” I’m being set up again and I know it, but this time, this time it’s all different and the same.
I throw my car into reverse and simultaneously turn up the music that’s whispering to me from whatever station I don’t really pay attention to. Driving sucks when your iPod connector breaks or in my case just grows legs. Ugh…radio.
He’s calling again, and against the law no one in this city cares about, I pick up my phone. “Yeeeeeeeeesssss?” I’m hissing down the phone while my knees take the job of my hands. The other hand is searching my purse for that elusive hair tie I’ll never find.
“You in the car yet?”, he’s almost jumping through the phone with these words.
“MMmmhhmm, sure am. Should I narrate my experience for ya?”
MMMmmppphhhh!!!GwwwaaaaAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaooooOOOooohhhhh….Hhhuu…huu...huu..huu…AwwWWWhhhhh…MMmmmmmyeeeeeesssss…AaaahhhNOOOOOOOOOoooFFFFFUUUCKKKKKgggggggaaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!!!!!
No. That wasn’t my narration. THAT. Well that was me. There I am again on the couch tied up and twisted. All Undone. Except this time I’m on the radio. But it’s not my song. It’s not my band. But I’m an instrument in it all the same. My knees almost take me to meet my master and I grab on with both hands. Thank God for muscle memory.
“So…do you like it?” I can hear the grin in his voice.
Me, I’m going, “I…I…Iiiiiiii…..don’t, even, know, what the fuck?!”
Silence.
Begats more silence.
Empires are built and destroyed.
“I. Love. It. But you SO owe me for this.”
“Oh, I think I can come up with a decent way to repay you. PROMISE.”
Last edited:
...wow!!! Oh. my. gosh. Wonderful!!!. I adore your writing style first off...everything from your sentences structures, to your choice of descriptions. This story is incredibly well-crafted. I was completely transported into your world here. A potent blend of sexyscaryfunny
. 
This is great. I am so glad to see you writing stories now. Your poetry/prose was already wonderful, but this story is able to put your skills on display even better. I really hope you continue to write more stories...you are truly among the top talent in this section of the forum. Thank you for sharing this Siren
Go Siren, Go Siren...
. Again many thanks to all that have posted. 
Your words are too kind. I have the utmost respect for a lot of writers in this forum and I can only hope to be considered part of the "top talent" here one day. I do indeed plan on contributing more but I'm in no rush, but let's just say I've got some schtuff I'm workin on. 
So happy you liked the style and story. Follow up will come. PROMISE. 
Dork! 
