Chapter 1B

2006-12-20 5:20:00 (MSK) | litlivewithu.ru weblogs | user: roughrider1532 | performer: Hannah | entry: 50

My head aches so bad. I move it to the side and the pain is splitting. I feel my pillow on my cheek and I feel like a wave of relief. I'm in bed at my Aunt and Uncle's! I think of them finding me there in the family room and feel a wave of embarrassment. Still, I'm out of that dream! I think I must have the flu, a high fever would like explain it all.

My stomach convulses and I jump up, desperate to get to the bathroom. My head hurts so bad I almost collapse. I look around. I'm stunned. Everything looks strange. I see a door and a dim bathroom and all but dive for it. There seems to be very little left in me, the heaves are painful.

I kneel over the toilet bowl, panting and sweating. As the sound of the flush fades, I hear that background voice: ["Her eyes move dully over the strange bathroom. Hardly taking anything in till they happen upon her sex. 'What's happened to my pussy?' she whispers. Indeed all her pubic hair is gone. It looks so different, so strange, it's so not hers."]

My eyes do fasten on my sex. My voice says, "What's happened to my pussy." I look at it and it looks so strange and not at all like mine. And in fact it's not. Mine is such a dark rude twisted thing. This one is so sweet and pink, its lips smooth and puffed.

For the first time I get a good look at my so not mine breasts. They're full and firm and their flesh gleams the softest palest pearly pink, it's almost like they're made of wax. They are the breasts I've always wanted. That I've stood before the mirror and tried to force out of my chest by pure desire.

I remember my mother looking at me once, saying, "Pity you take after your father's side. Flat and dumb. Every woman in my family is stacked."

I want to touch them, to not only feel them with my fingers, but feel my fingers with them. My hands remain clinched to the rim of the toilet bowl and I'm wracked by another heave, this one brings up nothing at all but makes me aware of how foul my mouth tastes.

I totter to my feet and step to the sink and fill a glass of water and drink. My eyes meet my eyes in the mirror. I don't recognize them at all as mine. These are green flecked with gray, not boring brown. And my hair. Where is its dirty pale brown? Now my dark red hair tumbles gleaming about my bare shoulders. I look again at those amazing breasts, with their aureoles decorated with tiny bumps and their nipples so pert. A couple blue veins stand out beneath their pearly flesh. I try to will the stupid Nancy into moving her shoulders so I can feel them shake. She of course doesn't.

I forget all about the story and what's going to happen, just reveling in my looks.

The background voice goes: ["The bedroom door opens without a knock and Mrs. Preston walks in. Nancy suddenly feels her naked exposure. She leaps up and dashes blushing for the bed and dives under the covers. Looking up she meets Mrs Preston's cool gaze."]

Its like I'm a puppet. I dive like I'm scalded for the bed. From there I look fearfully up into the awful Mrs. Preston's hard gray eyes. I say, "Where am I? Where's my Dad?"

"Where are you? Think of it as Hell. Who am I? Think of me as Adel. Where's your Dad? Think of him as gone."

"Where is he?"

"Don't you remember last night at all? You work for me now," she says, "That's all you need to know."

"I want to leave! You can't keep me here! It's against the law!"

"Will you come downstairs with me?" she asks.

"And out the door! Where are my clothes!"

"You must come as you are. Are you ready?"

"Fuck you."

"Just let me know when you change your mind."

The door closes. I feel myself separate a bit from Nancy. Her/my body gets up and I drape the bedspread around my shoulders. I think, "This is a mistake, put it back!" and then I head for the window.

The door opens again. I spin. There stands Mrs Preston and two swarthy guys. One of them I recognize as the guy in the car, the driver I guess. I freeze. While Adel watches calmly, the men approach me, smiling broadly. I shrink backward until I feel the windowsill against my butt through the bedspread. They try to pull the covers from me. I fight and kick and when the bedspread's torn from my hands I shriek and leap at Adel. My arms are grabbed and I can do nothing. The other man strips the remaining sheets from the bed and the one holding me pushes me violently onto the mattress. As I lie curled in a ball, sobbing, Adel says calmly, "When you promise to leave the bed made up as it's supposed to be, you can have your covers back." Then "Luis, the towels from the bathroom too." Then they are gone.

I shout and scream for help until I'm hoarse.

2006-12-20 5:20:00 (MSK) | litlivewithu.ru weblogs | user: roughrider1532 | performer: Hannah | entry: 1052

I stand looking out the bedroom window. It's a second floor window. I am so desperately hungry. That is what consumes my mind. I am so hungry that I'm finding it difficult to separate myself from Nancy.

I hear that background voice, that rich hypnotic man's voice, it goes: ["What a picture Nancy is, there by the bedroom window. Outside it's a beautiful spring evening. Two large apple trees glow white in the setting sun, beds of daffodils and tulips line the drive. Across the lawn is a small suburban street and on the other side of that is another lawn on which sits another huge house. It is quite distant, maybe two football fields away. Her attempts to wave at it have been fruitless. She is so lovely with her dark auburn hair, her delicate face with it's band of light freckles along her upper cheek and nose, her fine boned shoulders, thin waist, full soft bottom, slim narrowing legs, neat ankles, one foot pushed back. The dark shadows under her eyes, their redness from weeping, the slight uncontrollable shaking of her hands where they rest on the window sill, only serve to make her more vulnerable and attractive.

"She is so so hungry. Its ache fills her.

"It is 5 days since she arrived. 5 days of nothing but water."]

The ache makes it like so hard for me to think. My memories are so confusing. It's like they're duplex. There's my memories from reading the story, leaning eagerly over the laptop, and my memories from experiencing it. I remember my escape attempts, slipping out the bedroom door in the wee hours, only to set off deafening alarms and get caught halfway down the stairs by a laughing Luis or Miguel, of being carried struggling back to the room, of being collared and tethered by a locked strap to the toilet, my arms bound behind my back. Of Adel standing watching, wearing a gray bathrobe and looking absolutely unsleep-disheveled. I remember how when I read that passage I felt kind of like an erotic excitement, the same as when I chanced upon bondage pictures on the web. It was more intense because while I was reading it I seemed also to be feeling Nancy's desperate emotions.

When I'd experienced it for real, as Nancy, it'd just completely ruined me. I could still hear Adel's cold voice say, "Agree to behave in the morning and you'll get the freedom of the room back" and I could still remember the impossible long hours sitting naked on the bathroom tiles, my back against the toilet, then morning and my/Nancy's first surrender.

What I remember caving completely, just hours before, huddled in bed under the scant protection of the covers, telling Adel I would do whatever she wanted just to give me something to eat.

"You will come downstairs with me this evening?" she asked

"Yes, Yes, just give me something to eat now."

She'd said coolly: "This evening, after my little get-together, if you've been cooperative," she pauses, "After you've been the life of the party" and she'd left. I remember weeping and the continual desperate hunger.

If anything, I'm grateful when that hateful man's voice goes: ["There is the sound of the door opening. Nancy squeaks with shamed alarm and dives for the bed. The door to the bedroom opens and Adel enters, she gets just a glimpse of the girl's white form vanishing under the covers."]

The bedroom door does open. I'm filled with shamed awareness of my exposure and I dive for the bed. I have the covers over my bottom and up to my chin as Adel enters, I so hate and fear her, which is the truth. She has been in and out of this room since I woke. Always calm. Always dressed neatly in the Office American clothes my mother wears to work, 2 piece gray or blue suits, white blouses, low heeled black pumps. In fact, I realize, it's hard not to compare her to my mom, there's like the same stinking superiority, the same amused contempt.

That background voice continues: ["The girl says, 'Please Adel, I've agreed and I'm so so hungry, can't I have something to eat now?'"]

My lips move of their own volition and I go, "Please Adel, I've agreed and I'm so so hungry, can't I have something to eat now?"

I am so very very hungry, hungrier than I've ever been in my life.

"And have you change your mind, Nancy?" Adel pauses, watching me calmly, "Not likely. Get up and stand beside the bed."

I think for like the millionth time that I must wake from this dream! I try to bite my lips but can't, my lips and jaws won't move. As the words said I'm like frozen, staring up at the horrible gray haired woman.

"Now Nancy, we have a tight schedule."

The voice in the background reads: ["Still she doesn't move. Adel takes the covers and yanks them off. Oh what a sight the weeping girl is! So soft, so exposed, her skin the palest contrast to the white of the sheets! Her breasts the round firm globes of an 18 year old in all their first glory! How delicious she looks as she twists trying vainly to conceal her hot young flesh!"]

I stare up at Adel. I'm consumed by embarrassment and shame. I cover my breasts with one arm and the other hand goes between my legs.

"If you are to eat, Nancy," Adel says clearly and slowly as if speaking to an infant, "You must stand. That is the first step." She pauses, then "The first of but many."

Flushing, miserable, I swing my legs off the bed and obey. Bending a bit from shame. I still can't get over the body that I see with my lowered eyes. The breasts so round and firm, the hips plump, even the feet are wrong, not stupidly long and narrow. I've never liked the way my feet look. I feel like my head has been lopped off and glued onto the neck of some hot young thing, as perfect as the teens I so vainly admire on the web. Except, I've got the perfect teen's head and face now too.

Adel sets the little black cosmetics case she's carrying on the bed. "You've showered like I asked?"

"Yes."

Adel slips a finger along my armpit, I feel the bite of her fingernail. She raises the finger to her nose and sniffs.

"OK." She takes a little glass perfume dispenser, "Lift your arms."

I blush, frozen and shaking. I don't want to lose what little protection I have.

"Now."

My arms seem to rise of their own accord. My underarms are sprayed and feel suddenly chill.

"This is expensive stuff," Adel says, "Try not to sweat it off," she pauses, then "You'd best avoid all excitement."

She takes a pinkish red lipstick and runs it along my lips, putting a hand behind my head to hold it still. The hair that flits through the sides of my vision is dark red and long. It's funny that I don't seem to get used to anything about being Nancy.

From the cosmetics case Adel takes something with a little bristly brush and paints my lips with it. Her face is so close to mine I can smell her breath, there's wine and something spicy on it. My stomach lurches with hunger. She takes mascara from the case and does each eye. My lashes are like a dark fringe on the top of my vision.

"Your arms!"

I've put my arms before my breasts again. I raise them.

She cups one breast and applies the lipstick to the cookie sized aureole and then to the nipple, pushing it about, coating it all over. I watch and feel fascinated. That breast is such a stranger to me! I never get tired of looking at it. It's so large it blocks out her cupping hand. Its skin's so soft and delicate!

I shift anxiously. The touch of the lipstick and her hand feels so exciting. I'm again reminded of the reservoir of heat within me, if only it could be turned into food! The other breast is quickly attended to.

Adel drops to her knees and kneels right in front of my waist. Before I can do anything, she's running that lipstick along the inside of my, along my sex lips. I jump when it touches me, "Oh" I gasp, "Stop!" My hand reaches down to interfere.

"Stand still," Adel orders. "Keep your hands up! I'm perfectly willing to put a stop to the evening right now. It could be a week or more before my guests are free again. Think how hungry you'll be then!"

My arms cross in front of my chest. One of my legs begins to tremble and shake uncontrollably. I feel tears welling in my eyes.

"Careful," warns Adel, "I'm in no mood to redo that makeup."

Adel parts my sex with one hand, spreading it as far as it will go. The sensation is shocking. She works the lipstick about quickly, I close my eyes and clench my teeth. She grips my little tender tip and coats it too.

Way in the background I hear that man's voice go: ["Adel sprays Nancy's cunt with the rich perfume. Nancy jumps at it's sudden chill. Adel says coolly, 'Sweating won't be the problem down here.'"]

Adel sprays my sex and I do jump at the sudden biting coolness of the perfume. Adel does say, "Sweating won't be the problem down here."

"Turn around and bend, rest your arms on the bed."

I do. I know what comes next. Nancy jerks with shock and distress as her butt cheeks are spread. "No no" she pleads.

Adel says, "That is a word you'll find means little tonight," she pauses, then, "Use it all you like though." Then she works the lipstick about, pressing it uncomfortably into what feels like my asshole but which I tell myself firmly is Nancy's.

I feel the cold spray of the perfume, then Adel's hands release my rear.

She stands and says, "Straighten up and turn to face me." I do. Then, "Open your mouth and breath out." She sniffs. "You'll need to floss, brush and rinse with the wash you'll find in the bathroom. First put on these. I'll get you a glass of milk. Can't have you passing out. You're the main attraction."

She hands me a pair of stockings, they're ivory colored with broad lacy bands at the thighs, then a pair of impossibly high heeled sandals.

I sit numbly on the bed and slip the stockings on. They fit tightly and gleam, their lacy edges accenting my thighs. I spend a moment looking at my calves, at my knees, my thighs, so different from my own thin ungainly limbs. When I move my legs, those sheathed calves sway so seductively. My skin is the smoothest cream in tone, no red patches or blemishes.

I look at the shoes. The heels are amazingly long, long even when you consider how thick a platform they have in front. There's like a pair of ribbons at each ankle but nothing else. How to attach them? Though I know from reading what to do, I stare at them without comprehension.

"Just press the shoe to the sole of your foot."

Adel has returned. She is holding a large glass, the milk. Its scent makes me weak and desperate and nauseous.

I do as she tells me. I feel the surface of the shoe grip. I try to wiggle my toes and they become attached as well. I lift my foot wonderingly. The shoe moves with it. As I put my right foot onto the other I ask, "How do they come off?"

"Maybe they don't," Adel says, then, "Hurry up, I'll do the ribbons. You drink the milk. Lift your foot."

Adel hands me the milk and takes my raised foot and quickly ties the ribbons into an attractive bow just over the ankle. "The other one."

I drink. I'm so hungry and empty the milk is like painful as it goes down. I feel light-headed and sick.

"Now your teeth. Quick!" Adel pulls me to my feet and slaps my rump, sending me scooting for the bathroom. I'm not used to such shoes, twice again as high as the sandals I'd, I mean Nancy'd worn to the prom, I myself of course've never worn anything higher than sneakers. I trip and sprawl. "Quick!" Adel barks.

I pick myself up and wobble my way to the sink. I see Adel behind me in the mirror, leaning against the doorjam, watching as my hands of their own accord work the floss between my teeth. I hear Adel's shoe tap the tile impatiently.

In obedience to the distant instructions, a voice I recognize as my own speaks in my head. "I shouldn't have agreed! This is so wrong! I look like such a slut! I should refuse."

What I myself think, looking at myself in the mirror, is: "Am I hot shit or what!"

"The mouthwash. Hurry it up."

When I've rinsed and spat, Adel says, "Finally, come on."

Adel goes to the door and into the hall beyond. I follow, unsteady on those stilt-like shoes. She stops in the doorway. I am so aware that I'm worse than naked, the stockings hot on my legs, the sandals tipping my feet forward, straining my ankles and calves.

"What is going to happen to me?" I whisper, looking nervously at the dark hall behind her.

"What do you think?" Adel answers. "Get a move on!"

"I can't go out there," I whisper, "I just can't! Let them come up here. I'll do anything."

"If you don't come, you'll starve, despite being desert."

I take a hesitant step forward.

Adel takes my hand and pulls me into the hall. I will my hand to grab the doorjam, to fight, but of course it doesn't obey. As the reader in the background directs I trip and fall to my knees again and struggle back onto my feet.

The hall has a high ceiling and thick carpet. The door on the other side is closed. On my left, stairs lead down to a landing. Adel pulls me to the stairs. I trip again and barely save myself by clutching the railing with my free hand. The landing is gleaming hardwood. Stairs lead up directly in front of me, I guess to another wing of the house. Stairs to my right lead down into a large hall. Adel pulls me down. My shoes click on the wood.

A large oriental rug covers the hall's floor. To my right is a large living room with several couches and easy chairs, a large flat screen, and a fireplace with a roaring fire. To my left is a dining room with a long dark brown gleaming wood table, a chandelier hangs above it. The table is set for five, the place settings laid out on gold colored placemats. A man hurries across my view on the other side of the table. I panic and turn to flee up the stairs but Adel grips my hand.

"I can't. You can't make me, this is too much," I whisper.

Adel just looks at me. I'm suddenly so aware of rich dinner smells, the smell of meat and cake and rolls and God only knows what. It's like I'm floating inside an oven. My stomach is so empty, I have no choice.

Adel pulls me clattering into the dining room. The two men, Luis and Miguel, are setting out wine glasses, three of various sizes at each place setting.

There is no place setting at the foot of the table. Adel indicates the chair. I'm aware of the echo, the distant man's voice goes: ["Adel commands, 'Climb on that and get on the table'"], an instant before Adel speaks the same in her clipped alto tones.

The distant man's voice goes: ["The girl stares at Adel without understanding,"] and that is what I do, mouth open, though I know perfectly well what is expected.

"What are you, stupid? On the table, Nancy. You're the centerpiece. Every dinner table demands one. And be careful not to mess up the silverware and glasses or these men will make it hard on you later." Adel pauses, then, "Quick!"

As she moves she hears the unseen voice go: ["She steps onto the chair, it's cushion gives under her foot, the spiked heel makes a deep crater. Her upraised stockinged leg with its swaying calf, the lines of stretched tendon against the smooth flesh of her thighs, all look so so hot.

"Nancy carefully climbs onto the table and crawls down the narrow corridor between the glasses, the wood of the table hurts her knees, her rear seems impossibly raised. Somehow having her sex so exposed to the world from the rear makes her feel more awful than before. When she looks down she sees her dark reflection in the wood's polish, her hanging breasts, her pale smooth pussy. Her knee touches one glass and it slides. In the middle she hesitates, her strange dark reflection in the polish of the wood looks up at her, her expression amazed and strained."]

"On your back, Nancy. You can relax for a bit. Take your ease while you can, and Nancy, remember, to be fed, you must do as your told, willingly." Adel pats me on the rump.

Awkwardly, carefully, I drop to my side and then twist and shift so I'm lying on my back, looking up at the chandelier.

Adel pats my thigh, "Again, all you have to do is wait and do as you're told... And of course, have fun."

I'm left staring up. The table is so uncomfortable. Hard on my shoulder blades and rear. I lift and bend my right leg so that it is at an angle, my shoe flat on the table, my foot tipped uncomfortably by the heel.

One of the men comes up. He's holding a small square pillow of gold colored material. I blush furiously and put one hand over my sex, the other arm over my breasts, hooking my hand on my shoulder. The guy grins down at me and sets the cushion down on the table. "Lift your head," he instructs. When I do he slides the cushion and then I hear him move off.

I'm alone. I hear the background voice go: ["What a sight she is! Her auburn hair spreads across the gold of the cushion spilling over the dark shining mahogany, her face lightly freckled and pale, tears welling in her green eyes, her bottom flattened against the hard wood, her plump hips, her blushing sex lips demurely hidden beneath her hand, her breasts keeping their shape despite gravity, and oh her legs, firm in the thigh, her calves penduluming when she shifts, her neat ribboned ankles, her feet so tipped by those heels, the place settings empty along her flanks and above her head. How can anything to be served possibly compare to her? Even if cooked by God's own chef! The diners when they arrive must pause and, gazing at her, feel their mundane bites turn to sawdust and their wine turn to water."]

I remember reading that, imagining myself in the girl's place, flushing with heat, I remember what my fingers were up to. I feel the polished wood getting slick with my sweat under my bottom. How exciting it'd been to read, with the girl's sensations welling up in my mind, how awful it was to experience.

I hear the far off clatter in the kitchen, a faint murmur of men's voices, the distant rumble of the furnace. The room seems quite comfortably warm. I'm suddenly aware of the smells of imminent dinner. My stomach hurts and my right leg begins to tremble and shake.

I stare helplessly at the ceiling. I try to move my toes but they won't budge, they're like glued to the shoes. I hear that unseen omnipresent voice go: ["She shifts her legs to ease the pain of the wood hard on the base of her spine"] and my legs do shift, both shoes are flat on the surface, both knees high in the air, as the voice says, I feel the air moving about my thighs. I hear the voice: ["Seen from down the table her cunt is plump and closed, like a fleshy tropical fruit all but overripe, it's reflection in the shining wood so impossibly hot."]

I hear steps and I stretch my legs and clinch my thighs to like make less of myself visible. I look to the side and see that it is one of the servant guys. He pours wine quickly and efficiently, paying no attention to me.

I still can't get over it. Like how can this be happening? One minute I'm like reading that so exciting text, a sweet climax building, the next here I am, experiencing it all first hand. Even though 5 days have passed in the story, it feels in my memory like just minutes, the length of time it took me to read the words.

Surely it's just a strange dream, possibly it must play it's course to where I was when the laptop fell from my frenzied fingers. Then I will surely come to myself, lying before the fire. There's no way this can go further. I don't know what happens, it won't be able to play in my head. It must let me go.

My back hurts and I raise my knees again, the hard plastic soles of those shoes scrape on the wood.

I remember another email of my mom's: "Oh Dougy, I'm just desperate for a login to litlivewithu.ru. But you know it's so expensive! I've heard that its so beyond video. The characters feel like alive and you sense their every emotion. And it's so true. I loaded their sample, just a little bit from that old dog The Story of O. The text appeared on the screen, nothing special, then I was just blown away. One moment I was Ann-Marie, pressing the red-hot brand into O's sweet flesh, the next I was Sir Stephen, savoring the moment. It was so amazingly real."

Is that what's happening? I wonder. Am I experiencing the normal run of my cousins' website? I don't think so. That was more like what reading by the fire had been. Then I'd experienced everyone, though mostly Nancy as the other characters are so like cartoonish, and I'd certainly kept my distance from Adel Preston. I even remember there were parts where Nancy wasn't present. Those seem to be gone now. And there was always, of course the sense that I was in control. Now, it's like I'm experiencing the story from the bottom, locked in this one character, at the beck and call of that reading voice. If it were to stop, I wonder, what would happen to me? Perhaps I would wake? Or vanish? No. I'm sure what'll happen is that I'll wake when I come to where I left off reading. Getting there will be unpleasant enough.

"Man oh Man" a man's voice exclaims.

"Awesome!"

"Look at how her cunt is reflected by the wood!" There's laughter as I hurriedly stretch my legs flat again.

I hear steps and by lifting my head and looking down over my chest I see four men and Adel enter from the hall. The men are elegantly dressed in black and white tuxes, two have red cummerbunds, the others black. Adel vanishes behind me to the head of the table.

The men sit with a clattering of chairs. Looking up at them, they're all like grotesque, their mouths are strange and I'm like looking up their nostrils.

Luis and Miguel start serving.

The man by my right shoulder, a guy with puffy shaking cheeks and what I guess is a bald head, laughs, "Why there's a hair in my soup!" He lifts a strand of my hair and puts it between his lips. His eyes meet mine, "My name's Andrew and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

I stare at him dumbly and he laughs. From my perspective his several chins, thick lips and fleshy ears are prominent. I look away and he laughs again. I close my eyes. The smells rising from the soup are overwhelming. I can almost think of nothing else.

"So where did you pick this one up," comes a gruff voice from the man by my left shoulder.

"I first saw her almost a week ago," goes Adel's voice, so nasty and dispassionate. "She'd just gotten home from her prom. Imagine her in a red strapless dress, bushy below the waist, when she walked in she looked almost like a bell, begging to be rung. She was tired and just wanted to go to bed but her Dad asked her into the living room, 'I want to hear about it honey, ' he said. She glanced at me, shy. She sat on the edge of the couch. She was quite lovely. I nodded to him and he offered her the drink. 'Something to top the evening off, you're grown now' he said. She sipped, got this endearing surprised expression on her face, managed to say she was feeling a little sick and then toppled over."

"What did you have over him?"

"He was the CFO of a smallish company. He'd been embezzling for several years. The place was going belly up sooner than he'd expected and he was worried the FBI and SEC were closing in. Rightly so."

"So that is where the tip to sell short on Continental Shelf Chemicals came from," one of the men said.

"Hey," goes another, "I know who you mean. I read about him vanishing. I even used to work with the guy. At his previous company. Tom Lyons. It was maybe 10 years ago. I even met this girl, at a summer outing for senior management and families."

"He came to me in desperation," Adel continued, "With considerable effort, my influence created a one day window. One of my employees who looks somewhat like this young thing accompanied him on his flight. Everyone thinks Nancy here is with him in hiding in Central America."

"Sweet."

"How's she taking it?"

"As well can be expected," the dry voice says with a hint of amusement, "It must be difficult to go so abruptly from having at least the illusion of freedom, of choice, to the reality of it's absence. Most of us never have to face this until the moment of our deaths."

"She is a lovely thing."

There is a pause. While the soup dishes are being removed one of them says, "Have any of you tried ExtremeOPhilia Adventures?"

"Not me," goes Andrew, the old guy on my right, by my head, "I'm more the sedentary type."