Opal Andrews - The chamber of pleasures

Now I am sure that Lois has read it. I don't know whether to hate her or not. I don't dare even bring it up. But I am sure she has read this.

Aunt Isobel has now been gone ten days. Where is she? What if it's some sort of silly trick and she is just… no! That's paranoid thinking. Why plot against me? Lois has been here more days than nights. Both the seventh and eighth steps sque-e-e-a-a-ak, and there's no way to get over, them, without jumping. So I was lying here in bed one night, playing with me, when I heard the step squeak. It was 1:15 and Lois and I bad come to our rooms at eleven.

Without turning on the light, I watched out the window. She went across the back yard and into the wood, just like Aunt Isobel. Except she wore a coat and somehow I got the impression she wore nothing under it. It's a raincoat.

She went again last night.

The next time she goes I will follow her.

Dear Diary, Tory, and Lois:

If you ever read this again, Lois, you will know that I have just watched you go across the back yard and into the trees. You vanished in the darkness, quickly, on your way to Erik's house. And the basement, the cellar, the DUNGEON???

I am jotting this here before I follow you.

"Dear Diary, Tory; and Lois," is it?

Well then I'll begin this entry this way: Dear Diary and Tory, Erik has asked me to keep this up just as though you were doing so, our dear Tory. First he had me go through all you've written here and copy out every bodily or sexual phrase you used. To get, he said the feel of your prose. Then I had to read and reread all your silly drivel. Then he bad me read a couple of Victorian novels, since he says that's almost the way you write. He also gave me a whole list of phrases to use here, writing this just as you would have, Tory dear.

But I will not write it in the first person, as if it were written by you, which of course this isn't.

Nor will I write it in the first parson as me, Lois. I will keep up your journal, but in an objective style. But also, as far as I can, in your style.

Erik says that if I fuck up in doing that, he will wrap a wire around my tits, tight, and leave it there several days-with a plug in my ass, too. So… no more "luck" or "tits" or even "ass".

So you followed me…

No no! Not THAT way. Objectively. Look at me, look at Lois, she's a writer, now!

So Tory followed Lois, wearing a black bra and matching panties under a long-sleeved black blouse… that had belonged to Isobel… and navy blue pants. And house-slippers. She picked her virginal way across the backyard and through the woods, and across the fallen-down portion of the old rock fence, and went slipping from tree to tree up to the old house of assorted colored stones, laid mostly vertically; that is with the flat surfaces facing out, rather than their edges. She rounded the last tree, stopped carefully past the thorn tree, and squatted behind the big riotous bush to peek into that fascinating old cellar that Erik had refitted so carefully and cleverly.

Just as she squatted there, the lights went out in the basement. (Call it the dungeon, why not?)

She waited, scarcely breathing in the darkness, staring at the window and trying to will her eyes to see into the blackness inside. Meanwhile Erik went out the back door of the cellar-the dungeon… and up the steps. And Miles slipped silently out of the woods, where he'd been waiting and watching for Tory. (Once she was past his hiding place, of course, she hadn't seen the quick flash of his penlight that let Erik know she was indeed coming.) And I… that is, Lois, slipped out the front door; I went over to the porch rail on the side of the house where she was.

"Who's there?" I cried out, and naturally Tory tried to be as quiet as possible, with her heart pounding like a sledge-hammer and sweat breaking out to prickle in her armpits. She sneaked back out of the bushes and jumped up to run. As she passed the big tree right behind her, Miles stuck out his foot and she tripped and went flying headlong, with a scream of surprise and terror.

Miles jumped to stand astride her, and bent over to flip her over. She flopped over, whimpering and cringing, and saw him there, all in black and wearing that fearsome black mask… hood, actually, covering his full face Erik had had me make. She screamed again, and the cry trailed off into a gurgling sound as her throat closed up in fear.

In one swift motion Miles reached down, hooked his leather-gloved hand in the front of that black blouse she wore over all that juicy heroic bosom of hers, and ripped it all the way down to her belt. Then, still standing astride her, he reached in and grabbed two handsful of breasts that were the color of paper and the texture of nylon and the resiliency of rubber balls. He squeezed, digging his fingers in. She lurched upward, her face a mask of pure terror, and sagged.

Miles looked up at Erik who had got there in absolute silence.

"She fainted."

"Good. Bring her inside."

I went back into the house, locked the doors, and met them in the dungeon as they brought her in, Erik walking behind Miles, who carried her. She looked like a perfectly-done rag doll, hanging over his arms, with her hair streaming down and one arm flopping and her legs swinging from the knees down. She'd lost one dark blue house-slipper.

"This," Erik said, "is a good-looking girl."

"This," I said, "is one hell of a body!"

"Shall I strip her?" Miles said.

Erik shook his head, looking down at the unconscious girl Miles bad laid on the floor. Her pale hair formed a cloud-like halo about her head. Her oversize bosom, only partially bared by the ripping of her blouse since she wore a brassiere, thrust the blouse high and created many fascinating wrinkles in it. I've never had reason to be ashamed of my body, but this girl made me feel inadequate.

"No, of course we don't strip her yet," Erik said, as though Miles were an idiot. "We'll do that when she's conscious. It would crush her to wake up naked, but it will be better to let her see and feel her clothes go, when that time comes. Just put the leather cuffs on her and hook them together, behind her."

This Miles did, while Erik donned the long brown robe be always wears down here in the… the dungeon. Erik also outlined for us what we would do when the girl awoke. I grinned. Then he told me to start plying her with smelling salts, at the same time as Miles sat her in a chair and bound her to it with a single cord around her waist.

"Unnh… ummmm… hhh…" she began to rock her head, trying to get away from the smelling salts. And then she was awake. We had put on only one light, which was behind us and thus made her very clear to our view while our faces were just barely discernible to her. Mystery! She stared around at us with wide blue eyes, then jerked her hands and started to rise. Thus she learned she was securely bound.

"Let me go!"

"You've been trespassing," Erik pointed out. "This is my property. Following Lois here and trying to peep in my windows is hardly a neighborly way to behave. But after all we ARE neighbors, so I won't call the police. We'll handle the… recompense, ourselves."

Her eyes, if possible, went even wider and her breathing made the white tops of her trembling white breasts heave up over her black bra as though they would spill out at any moment. Her mouth worked for a moment in silence, until she could speak.

"What… you wouldn't da… you can't… recompense?"

"I thought you'd come back to that," Erik said. "Well, it isn't punishment, really. You have a choice. You can either perform a certain task for us, or be spanked, like a child."

"Spanked!" She jerked her head until the blonde hair flew, then bit her lip and said, more quietly, "A… certain task?"