This is an interactive story. I’ll be writing short bits and then asking for input from readers about where it should go next.
When Emily and Charles finally exited the bedroom, Virgil was there, jovially making the rounds, his loud belly laughs reverberating, the sound of it rising above the music and conversation.
It turned Emily’s stomach.
There was something just plain off-putting about Virgil and his crass presence, his gold tooth glinting amidst his lecherous smile. He was fairly snake-like in his character…predatory and untrustworthy. Not to mention that he always seemed to have some young, scantily-clad, giggling dimwit hanging from one arm. Where on earth did he find them?
“Let’s slip out before he sees us,” Charles spoke into her ear, aiming his voice in competition with the various sounds swirling around them.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, following him as he wove his way through the throng of guests, a motley crew of young and old in various genres of dress.
But before they could exit undetected, Virgil’s voice bellowed behind them, “Hey Charles, ya fucker…tell your dog-faced lawyers to go fuck themselves! You can have the goddamn house…but stay the fuck outta mine!”
“Gladly, Virgil…just stay the fuck away from me!”
Charles stepped up the pace, pulling Emily along like a child behind him. They downed the stairs quickly, finding themselves on the walk outside, industrial air fresher than that inside and cool enough to trick them into believing it was clean.
“Fuck me!” Charles exclaimed, “He’s such a goddamned cunt!”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Emily said, “But that sounded good, right? He’s giving up his claim to the house?”
“I don’t trust it. He doesn’t give up anything without getting something better to replace it. There’s something he’s not telling me,” Charles shook his head.
“Well, there’s not much to be done tonight, is there?” Emily offered.
“No…no there isn’t. And I apologize. I shouldn’t let him ruin our evening,” he paused, and let a slow smile creep across his face, remembering earlier, “it was rather promising up until his arrival.”
“And it sounds like there’s a vacant house waiting…” she spoke it almost as a question, letting the end of her words trail upward, her eyes questioningly expectant.
“So, you haven’t had enough, eh? Hungry for more?”
Charles exited the taxi first, reaching his hand out to Emily. They made their way up the theatre stairs, the red carpet silencing the click of her heels, and walked toward the apartment door. Charles unlocked it, pushed it open, and ushered her in before him.
“Shall I get us a drink? If the asshole hasn’t finished off everything in the house?”
“Sure,” Emily chose to let his comment go, hoping his irritation would dissipate after a drink and a bit of conversation…and maybe something more.”
He went to the kitchen, and Emily took a seat on the comfortable leather couch, placing her purse on the table in front of her. She adjusted her stockings, wondering at herself for wearing them. It wasn’t like her to dress so….trampy. But, the whole evening had brought out a side of her that she had never let go before. Heading off alone to a party in the industrial side of town. Following an invitation on the back of a condom, for Christ’s sake! Who was she?
She heard Charles’s footsteps and smoothed her skirt, but no matter how much she pulled at it, it wasn’t long enough to cover the tops of her stockings.
Charles sat down beside her, handing her a glass of amber liquid.
“The hard stuff, eh? Things are getting serious.”
“Actually, Emily, they kind of are, don’t you think?”
“What do you mean?”
“We took a pretty intense left turn tonight, I want to check in and make sure things are still good.”
Emily smiled, sighing a bit, “We did…but I’m…okay, if that’s what you are worried about…”
He reached over, ran his fingertip along the bare skin between the top of her stocking and the hem of her skirt. It made her thigh twitch, and the little, invisible hairs there stood on end as goosebumps bloomed like little flowers on her flesh. It took so little for him to draw a reaction from her.
He leaned forward, opened a drawer in the coffee table, and pulled out a shiny implement with a pointy wheel at the tip. Emily had seen one before, at the hospital, but she wasn’t sure what it was called. Charles placed the wheel on her skin in the same place he had touched before. Lightly, he grazed her thigh with it, rolling it like a chalk wheel, singeing a path from her upper thigh to her knee. She giggled at the sensation, surprised by the intensity of the newness of it. Did it hurt? Did it tickle? How best to define that feeling?
He reached back into the drawer, pulling out a blindfold, smiling questioningly at her, “Is this alright?”
“Yes, I kind of like not being able to see what you’re going to do. It adds suspense, but it also calms me in a way. I guess I understand why they do it to horses now.”
Charles laughed at the connection and secured the blindfold, tying it at the back of her head.
“Can you kneel, Emily?”
“I think I can.”
He took her by the wrist, pulling her gently up from the couch, guiding her to what she was sure was the center of the room. He helped her kneel there, on a pillow he’d graciously set on the floor to cushion her aging knees.
She did…not knowing where he thought she was going to go, and in just a few moments, she felt something, tendrils of something being dragged across her shoulder, against her back, and then her cheek. It smelled of leather. She turned her face upward toward the light, and felt his hand against her throat, and then his thumb tracing her lips. She opened them, inviting him in.
Emily could feel his warmth against her and knew that he was behind her, the top of her head pressed into what was likely his groin.
“How do you feel about this shirt, Emily?”
“What do you mean?”
“Would you be upset if I ruined it?”
She felt something cold against her collar bone and then heard the slicing of fabric. Buttons skittered across the floor, and cool air brushed against her exposed chest. Goosebumps again…and the wheel pressed against her cleavage.
“How attached are you to this bra?”
The cold metal slipped between her breastbone and the fabric, tugging forward, cutting through until it popped, and her breasts burgeoned forth, exposed, her nipples tingling at the shock.
The wheel travel from her cheek to her chin, tracing her jaw, then her throat, her breast, and finally her nipple. As it grazed across that sensitive pink flesh, Emily shivered.
“Oh…Emily…I’m going to do such very bad things to you.”
And somehow…those words made Emily feel more free than she had every felt before.
What “bad things” does Charles have planned? Is Virgil out of the picture…that easily? What suggestions do you have for the next installment?
For this go round, I used the photo and prompt inspirations of the following fantastic memes: