Isabella's Random Writings

[IsabellaRose]

CHIMERA

I am acutely aware that something is not right in my life, but I have no idea what it could be. Everything seems fine on the surface, and everything appears normal with a cursory examination. I live by myself in a small apartment. I work as technical support at a large office. I drive an unassuming Nissan Sentra. My wardrobe is filled with unassuming clothes for work, the gym, and casual outfits I wear after work or on weekends. I don't dress to stand out. Unassuming could easily describe everything about me.

My daily schedule is a very predictable routine. Every morning I rise, dress, and go for a run. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays my run is eight to twelve miles, and cardio is my only exercise. On Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday I only run two miles and then do a full set of bodyweight exercises. On weekdays after I work out, I shower, dress, and head to work. 

Work is routine. I sit in a small cubicle and work through a queue of tickets assigned to me to troubleshoot and resolve issues other employees have with their computers. If the Help Desk can't fix them quickly, they come to me or one of the other three members of my team. Together we support about two thousand end users. It's not exciting, but I am good at it, and I hope to eventually transfer out of the department and into something less mundane and more challenging.

After work every night I come home, cook and eat dinner, and then read, draw, write, paint, or watch television until bedtime. My weekends are spent biking, hiking, shopping, and doing my weekly chores like laundry and housecleaning. There is nothing out of the ordinary about my life or the things I do.

Except something is wrong. Something about all of this, as boring and mundane and utterly normal as it seems, is not right. I can't help but feel that this, all of this... this is not my life. I don't belong here. 

I can't put my finger on why I feel that way. Maybe it's just that I feel unfulfilled, as if I'm meant for more. I'm sure a lot of people feel that way. Maybe it's because I don't have any friends here. Sure, I have friends from high school and college, but they all live far away, and we don't keep in touch very often. Maybe it's because my childhood memories seem vague and fuzzy to me. I remember things, I remember some very specific moments, feelings, sensations, images... I know those things happened, but... they seem less real than what happened yesterday. They seem like they happened to someone else, and I remember them like I would remember the story someone told about those things happening. 

Something makes me feel like an imposter in my own skin, and if I sit and think for too long, it becomes overwhelming. I have had Saturday nights home alone when the thought of it presses down on me like a physical weight, crushing me to the floor, making it impossible to get up out of a chair, or flattening me atop my bed. It's as if I start to feel like... like a fabrication, like nothing is real, like I'm not real... It's as if I'm a piece of fiction dreamed up by someone else.

It's a terrifying experience, to feel so unreal. It shakes me to the very core of my being. The only person who can help is my mother, and I call her every Sunday. She is the one person to whom I can tell anything. She is my rock, my stability, the foundation of my entire existence. She is the only person that I know loves me unconditionally, and without her love and support, I would be lost. After I talk to her, I always feel better. She's the one solid, tangible thing in my life that reminds me that I'm real, that my weird fears and strange feelings have no basis in reality. I don't know what I'd do without her.

[IsabellaRose]

ELIZABETH: THE ALLEY

There's  never been a reason to be frightened before. The alley is just a short, narrow space that goes straight back between two buildings, turns left for about forty feet, then back right again to come out across from the parking garage entrance. I walked through it all the time, especially after happy hour.

Footsteps behind me were common enough. I don't turn to look. 

I'm walking back to my car from a happy hour.  I only let myself have one drink and stayed exactly one hour. It was my rule at work happy hours - one drink, leave early. I couldn't risk getting drunk or letting my guard down. 

I know the shortcut through this alley that I took to get here from the parking garage, but it's dark now. So dark. My heart beats faster at the thought of danger... muggers, car jackers, pickpockets, or worse... and then, as I turn the first corner, he's there. A man blocking my path. It's dark and I can't make out the details, but I see him smile. I feel his smile more than see it, the sense a rabbit has that the wolf has bared its fangs. He takes a step forward and I take one back... and bump into his friend.

They laugh with predatory mirth. The one behind me grabs me, and I struggle, but the one in front gets close before I can get my feet up high enough to kick much. He has my wrists. I'm helpless. My purse is gone, and with it my phone. Maybe that's all they want. But then I see the pin on his jacket. The distinctive gold and white swoop and slash of the club, and my body reacts. I'm instantly wet between my legs. I'm pressed against a wall, cold rough brick against my back as hands grope me blindly. My skirt is hiked up, fingers push my panties aside, then they slide over me and he laughs.

"She's soaking wet," he says. "This slut is into it."

I want to argue, I do, I say no, but my body says yes in so many more telling ways.

I'm forced to my knees and there's a cock in my face and a hard slap on the cheek as I'm told to suck it, and I don't argue, I put my mouth on it and suck. He tastes of sweat, salty and with a tang I cant' quite identify. Then there's another one, and my hand is tugging on it and I don't know why, because I know it's wrong, and I should fight it, but I want it, I want it so badly.

My own phone is shoved in my face, the cock pulled out so my surprised stare unlocks it, and then my mouth is full again and the flash of my phone's camera lights up my face and the two cocks. He takes half a dozen pictures and I work his cock like I'm being paid to do it. 

Then I'm lifted, bent at the waist, panties tugged aside, and he enters me without ceremony or warning, just a hard, quick burst and he's inside. Bent over I nearly fall, but his friend is in front of me and my mouth is full again. They work me from both ends and my camera flashes as they continue. There's no safe word, no escape, and I know that I wouldn't want either if they were available. Soon they use my ass and mouth, then my ass and pussy, as I'm sandwiched between them as more flashes go off. One finishes in my ass, the other on my face. Flash. Flash.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" The voice is cocky, almost breathless.

I want to say no but I can't. I kneel there on the ground, pussy and ass exposed by the shifting of my clothes for their access, not caring.

"Shit man, she was into it. You hear those moans?" They laugh at the fact that I liked it, grab my purse, take my id out, and snap a photo on one of their own phones.

"Elizabeth Chauncey," he says, reading my name. Then he reads my address to me. "See you soon."

They're gone and I'm on my knees, a mess on on my face and between my legs, clothes askew, exposed to the world, and not just physically.

[IsabellaRose]

BLACKWOOD MANOR, PART 1

“She actually wore this?”

“Indeed.” Mr. Woods allowed another single-word response to roll from his lips.

Danielle ignored the irritation rising within her at his inability to articulate more than a single word at a time, and inspected the collar and leash on the tray before her.

She wouldn’t have expected it to be decorated with anything, especially not the silver hearts studding the black leather, three on each side of a silver ring. There was a standard clasp at the back of the collar, and the leash was made from the same black leather. Six more hearts studded the leash, which was otherwise unadorned. She lifted the tag, careful of the aging piece to which it was attached, and read the details.

 

LOT 8249
Collar, leather, silver detail
Blackwood Estate
ALL SALES FINAL

 

It sounded as ordinary as it looked, but Danielle knew there was more to it than indicated by that label. There always was, with the Blackwoods. She had read, at her sisters urging, more about the Blackwood family than she had about any single subject in four years of college. They were witches and warlocks if you believed one book, consorts of demons if you believed another. The one thing that all the books agreed upon was the mystery that surrounded the entire clan.

Angus Blackwood, the patriarch, was a theologian who focused his studies on the fallen angels and became possibly the most renowned demonologist of the early twentieth century. His books were still considered the final word on demonology today. His untimely death and apparent resurrection had been debunked by scholars and scientists decades ago, but he still maintained his status as an occult legend.

His son, Diarmid, followed in his fathers footsteps studying demonology and occult magic. He had made a name for himself when he resurrected his own father. Although the feat was scientifically proven to be a farce, many believed the truth had been covered up. Dozens of occultists around the world flocked to Blackwood Manor to learn from Diarmid.

His continued research and studies brought him into contact with Contessa Elena D’Alimonte, herself a student of mysticism and the occult who later relinquished her title in order to marry Diarmid. Their marriage produced no offspring, and Diarmid died only five short years after their wedding. The Lady Elena D’Alimonte Blackwood spent her remaining years locked within Blackwood Manor, never venturing beyond the walls of the estate.

“Finished?” Mr. Woods’ single-word question was delivered monotone, interrupting Danielle’s train of thought.

“I’m sorry.” Danielle snapped back to the present. “It just seems so strange, her wearing a collar. Don’t you think?”

“Indeed.”

Danielle shot a look from the corner of her eye that Mr. Woods either didn’t see, or ignored. He turned his dispassionate gaze towards her and raised a single eyebrow.

“Madam?” It wasn’t actually a question; it was more of a statement, Mr. Woods’ indication that his time was too valuable for any more of it to be wasted.

“I’m sorry.” Danielle felt like she had been apologizing to Mr. Woods ever since she had met him. “Are we finished with everything?”

“Actually…” He paused. Danielle assumed he was trying to avoid using another word.

“My sisters’ signature, of course.” Both Danielle and her sister, Gabrielle, needed to sign the final forms assuming joint ownership of the entire Blackwood estate.

“Yes.”

“She won’t be here until Friday.”

“Friday.”

“So.” Danielle leveled a look at Mr. Woods. “We’re done for now?”

“Undeniably.”

“Then you can go.” She waved him off with one hand. “I’d like to stay and look around some more.”

“Alone?” Both eyebrows shot up into Mr. Woods’ hairline.

“I’m a big girl, Mr. Woods. It’s just a house.”

“Mansion.”

“My mansion.” She smiled at him, trying to keep the words that wanted to pour out locked inside. “And I’d like to look around some more.”

Mr. Woods took a breath before responding. “Certainly,” he said.

“Good evening, Mr. Woods. I hope you can find your own way out.”

“Indubitably.”

Danielle watched as he turned on his heel and made his way down the hall and around the corner out of sight. She wondered if Gabrielle would hold her temper in check when she met Mr. Woods. Knowing Gabby, it wasn’t very likely. She hoped she was there when they met; it would be worth seeing.

Danielle turned back to the random piles crowding what was once Lady Blackwood’s study. Every item had been individually tagged by the auction house, identified for the sale that was to have taken place in two weeks. It would take them forever to get the little tags and stickers off of everything in the house. But at least they had made it in time.

If those old documents hadn’t turned up when they did, the entire estate might have been scattered across the globe, one piece at a time, in a public auction. The final proof had been buried for almost a century in a forgotten archive in Italy. Gabrielle had made the trip to find the last piece of evidence she required to prove what she had suspected for years since she first heard of the Blackwoods.

Gabrielle was positive that, although Diarmid and Elena’s marriage produced no children, they each had children of their own before marrying. Diarmid had fathered an illegitimate daughter, Bianca, before marrying Elena. He had barely acknowledged her existence, but had paid huge sums to her mother, essentially buying her silence. After what was rumored to have been an ongoing incestuous relationship with an unidentified relative, Elena had given birth to a son, Damon, who had been given up for adoption.

Gabrielle had fit certain pieces together, but it was the parentage of Damon that had eluded her until her trip to Italy. Once the identity of his mother was confirmed, the rest fell into place like clockwork. Through some strange twist of fate, Damon and Bianca, the illegitimate and unwanted children of Diarmid and Elena, met when both were seventeen years of age, fell in love, and married.

Damon and Bianca’s marriage produced twins, but one died at birth. It was rumored that their surviving son, Matthew, was insane. Before being institutionalized, he fathered twins as well, one of whom also died during childbirth. His surviving daughter, Emily, also had twins, but this time both survived. She named them Danielle and Gabrielle.

Diarmid Blackwood and Lady Elena D’Alimonte Blackwood had been Danielle and Gabrielle’s great grandparents. Gabrielle had identified a direct link between the infamous Blackwoods and herself, a link that proved to be enough to legally inherit the entire estate. Months in various court-rooms had finally led to this day; the first day that either sister had been allowed to step foot inside what was now their property. Danielle only wished Gabby could have been here with her.

Danielle still couldn’t believe that she was descended from Diarmid and Elena, two of the most mysterious figures in occult history. Everything in the house she now stood within had potential occult significance. Relics and artifacts from ages past were scattered about the house; it would take weeks just to identify the more important and well-known objects. Anything here could be the key to an untold mystery.

The leather collar was still atop of a pile of tagged items in the study, lying upon the tray where it had been when Danielle first saw it. It was not something she had expected. Lady Elena was not the type of woman to wear a collar. She might have placed collars on others to signify their service to her, but she was the wealthy one, the powerful one. Who would she serve?

No one that Danielle could think of, unless it was some sort of symbol of subservience to Diarmid. But even that didn’t fit with the eyewitness accounts of their interactions. Elena and Diarmid were equals in most things, except in certain areas of knowledge where one or the other would submit to their partners’ superior wisdom. Still, symbolic or not, who would want to wear a collar? What joy could anyone possibly get out of being leashed like a dog?

Danielle was curious. It was a piece that didn’t fit into the Blackwood puzzle. She wanted to touch the collar, feel the supple leather against her skin. She wondered what it would feel like around her neck. What would it be like to be bound to the will of another, physically, mentally, emotionally? What sort of liberation could be found in the complete surrender of free will?

She looked down and realized that the collar was in her hands, the buckle unclasped. Had she been about to put it on? She must be more tired than she thought. She set the collar back atop the tray and headed into the kitchen.

 - - -

[IsabellaRose]

VAL'S CLIENT

 

“You ask too much.” The john looked tense, a hint of agitation in his eyes as he avoided her gaze and scanned the noiseless crowd dancing beyond their table.

The voices and laughter of the throng as well as the stomach-churning bass were held at bay by a sonic barrier, an energy shield that disrupted any sound by reflecting it back with the same frequency. The patrons at the tables could speak in normal tones, unhampered by the throbbing rhythm or shouts of approval from the horde of gyrating customers. As an added bonus, their conversations could not be overheard by casual eavesdroppers.

“I ask what I’m worth,” Val said. She shifted in her chair, allowed the loose fitting top to drop off one shoulder; the cloth rubbing against her as it exposed her skin was agonizingly sensual. The sensory bio-mods weren’t something she could turn off, and the heightened sensations of the slightest touch were shivers of ecstasy.

“I could pay half as much on Titan.” The john tossed down the rest of his drink and pushed himself back from the table.

“Then go to Titan.” She stood and turned from him, preparing to leave. His hand caught her sleeve.

“A sample.” He looked at her squarely.

“There’s no free ride, friend.” She pulled her arm free and moved another step further, keeping him in her sight. The last thing she needed was another violent customer, and help might be slow in coming when they couldn’t hear her scream.

“One hundred for a sample. I’ll pay your fee if it’s worth it.” He stood mostly still, looking nervous.

“Two hundred now, and you get your sample now.” She reached out her hand, palm up, waiting for payment.

“What… here?” He looked around the bar, the crowd of people, the press of bodies on the dance floor, the music blaring beyond the invisible sonic barrier.

She held out her hand and met his eyes, a faint smile twisting her lips. She loved them when they got scared. “Consider it a deposit on this.” She pulled a simstik from her belt and held it up for him to see.

“Fine.” They exchanged cash for simstik and he sat.

“You’ve got 5 minutes. Range is 200 meters, so don’t go running off.” She didn’t need to tell him the simstik would be useless outside the preprogrammed range and time limit.

He slid the simstik into the jack behind his right ear and waited.

“Say when.” She moved towards the dance floor, the tingle of the sonic barrier caressing her skin as she passed into the noise beyond.

He clutched at the glass of water on the table, taking a quick swallow, then nodding in her direction. Val humored him with a quick smile and activated the transmission. She kept her eyes on him until she saw his body tense with the inflow of all her sensory data.

He was riding now, experiencing the world through her senses. What she saw, he saw. The sounds he heard were picked up by her ears. He could feel everything that touched her and, though she was used to the tactile boosters that made even the slightest touch a wave of sensual pleasure, he certainly wasn’t. She saw the muscles in his neck tense and his hands grip the chair arms as he took in her senses. As a shudder passed through his body, she turned and ignored him, moving into the press of bodies on the dance floor.

 

She felt them moving around her, felt the light touch of their bodies against hers as she began to move in rhythm with the music. She loved to dance, but this was a paying gig, so she didn’t allow herself to lose control like when she danced for herself. When she danced on the job, legs and torso moving, arms raised above her head, her entire body swaying to the beat of the music, there was calculated purpose in every movement. She knew he was just now becoming accustomed to the data being fed into his brain. She waited until she was certain he was fixed, the point at which his brain assimilated the incoming sensory data as if it were his own and stopped trying to locate his own disconnected sensory input. Now it’s time for the fun part, she thought as she moved towards Jenna.

Jenna was a blonde beauty in a shiny silver mini dress and silver knee-high boots. Jewelry tinkled at her wrists, ears and neck; silver makeup was streaked above her eyes and embossed her lips. She was grinding into some young stud behind her, dancing wildly, lost in the music. Her eyes didn't appear to be focused on anything in particular; her body seemed to move on its own, as if she were locked in some primeval mating ritual.

Val knew the john would have no idea who Jenna was, how could he? She danced in front of Jenna, let their bodies touch in nearly unbearable ecstasy, the slightest contact thrilling her every nerve, and then put a finger under Jenna’s chin, raising her head until their eyes met. He couldn’t sense the skip in Val’s heart when she locked eyes with her best friend, but he could see the lust in Jenna’s gaze and experience the brief, expectant pause before their tongues met and they kissed deeply, a familiar kiss, a lover’s kiss.

Jenna’s hands brushed over Val’s nipple as they embraced, Jenna pulling Val nearer to her, their bodies pressed together, holding each other close. Val moved her hands over Jenna's body, tracing her curves, exploring, letting the john feel her soft warmth.

Jenna’s fingers traced over Val's breasts. Her touch, muted through the loose fabric of Val's top, was still agonizingly sensual. Jenna ran one hand down Val's body, her fingers making the barest suggestion of touch as they moved over Val's ass, around her thigh, between her legs. The sensory input would be driving the john mad.

 

He sat at the table, his body tensed as though he had been dunked in cold water. His mouth was open partway, his tongue slightly extended as though the kiss had been his own. His hands moved as if he were tracing the contours of Jenna’s body instead of Val. When Jenna’s fingers reached inside Val’s panties and began to explore slowly downward, his erection pressed intently against his trousers and his hips bucked as if the physical arousal were his own. He wanted Jenna to touch him/Val, in his/her most private spot; he ached for her touch, and just as the promise of contact was imminent, the signal stopped.

He was thrown back into his own senses. The music was held at bay by the sonic barrier, he was seated in the hard chair, no body was pressed against his, his hands were extended to nothing, his tongue explored only empty air and his own lips. His eyes took focus, then darted back and forth nervously, as if he had been caught in a forbidden act. He adjusted his posture from the slouch his body had slid into and licked his lips, then adjusted his pants to better conceal his excitement. His eyes searched the crowd, then settled on Val as she emerged through the sonic barrier.

She moved with practiced feline grace as she crossed the small distance between them, and he couldn't help but feel that her movements, though seductive, were somehow predatory. She sat across from him, crossed her legs, and stared into his eyes.

He popped the simstik from his data jack and held it in his hand, staring deeply into the plastic housing. She was incredible. Her body was perfect, he both wanted her and wanted to feel the full erotic spectrum as her; the sensations he had felt as his own were overwhelming. His gaze snapped up and he searched Val's eyes, trying to discern her thoughts, begging her with his eyes for some sort of connection. Val met his gaze with an unreadable expression.

He knew that to her he was just a john, a job, a source of income. He cast his gaze down to the table surface, his emotions a storm of confusion, attraction, lust, and embarrassment. He hated the feelings he had for these women, hated himself for wanting what they could have at any time. Hated them for the sensations they experienced that he could only briefly borrow, and only then when they allowed him to. She spoke, interrupting his train of thought.

“Do we have a deal?” No expression crossed her face. She was the consummate professional.

 He sat motionless, his body tense, his eyes fixed on a random point on the table surface, desire, revulsion and shame warring inside his head.

“I will pay your price,” he said at last. One thousand dollars was the most he had ever paid for this service, but Val was the best he’d ever ridden. The smallest sample of the sensory mods she’d had implanted guaranteed her price.

“What are your requirements?” she asked, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

He explained his fantasy, the same one he had outlined to so many women so many times before. Two women, one man, she was submissive to both of the others. Positions, clothing and technique were specified. She listened intently, nodding at appropriate moments. When his order was complete, she explained the final item that she could offer.

His eyes widened; this was not part of a standard deal. From what he knew of the technology, her offer was not even possible. Yet his brief experience through her senses was also beyond anything he had experienced before. The briefest of hesitation passed and he accepted her offer, doubling her fee and adding an entirely new dimension to the transaction.

“Meet us in two hours at the Majestic.” She would need time to calibrate her equipment, prep a new simstik, and get Jenna and herself dressed appropriately. She handed him a numbered passcard.

“Two hours. I will be there.” He stood and added, “Do not make me wait,” before stalking off through the sonic barrier.

 

----

[IsabellaRose]

VOYEUR

 

I sat bolt upright in bed with a start, instantly nervous and wide awake for unknown reasons. Had I heard something? Was there a noise? I listened intently, remaining motionless, the blanket pulled up tight to my chin, held with both white-knuckled hands, was the only thing concealing my nakedness, the only protection from whatever unseen terror awaited me in the night. I listened, straining for any hint of sound, any small auditory clue as to what had brought me from sleep to wakefulness.

Glancing at the clock, the red LEDs blazed the time into my room: 2:43 am. I knew something had made a noise, something had brought me fully awake, but now all was silence. My eyes could make out the outlines of furniture from the light slanting in through the window, but nothing moved, nothing made a sound. I slid my legs from under the covers slowly, fearful of the creak of floorboards giving me away to some hidden intruder.

I slipped from the bed and snatched my robe from the hanger on the back of the door, wrapping it quickly around me and tying the sash at my waist. Though it only covered me to just below the hips, it seemed like white silk armor at that moment. Clothing is just an imaginary form of safety, yet it makes us all more secure than meeting some trespasser fully exposed.

There were no lights on in the apartment; there is always a hint of light under the door if anything in the rest of the apartment is on. I couldn't decide which door to try. Two lead from my room, one to the short hallway, the other into the master bathroom. The far side of the bathroom has another door that opens into Rebecca's room, so I choose the bathroom, thinking I could sneak through her room into the hall in case I had already made some sound to give away my location.

I moved across the cold tile on the bathroom floor, my hand reached for the doorknob that would open the door into Rebecca's room when I heard a sound beyond. Something creaked, a rusty metallic sound, as if ancient hinges had been swung open for the first time in years. I froze, my hand mere inches from the doorknob, toes chilling on the icy tile. The sound repeated.

What had hinges in Rebecca's room? I wracked my brain trying to think of what she might have in there that she could open and close with that sound, when I heard it again. Then I heard a low sound, almost a moan, something deep and resonant, not a noise Rebecca could make if she tried. I waited, then felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment when the reality dawned on me. Rebecca had brought someone home, and I, like a fool, hadn't recognized the sounds of sex in my roommates' bed.

I relaxed, my hand falling down onto the doorknob, muscles that I didn't even know were tensed unwound from their taut state of readiness. As my hand hit the doorknob, the door moved slightly towards me; it must not have been latched all the way. A crack of lighter darkness was visible between the door and the frame. I hesitated, but something made me pull the door open just far enough that I could move my eye right up to the crack and peer inside.

The room was lit by a single candle on top of the dresser. Dark mounds of clothing were scattered about the floor, and the sheets were crumpled at the foot of the bed. I had a perfect side view of Rebecca, completely naked, upright in the bed, straddling a well-muscled man I'd never seen before, slowly moving her hips up and down on him as he pushed well-timed thrusts into her. Her hands were clenching at his stomach, his hands locked on her hips. Her back arched as she rode him methodically.

I faltered, knowing I shouldn't be watching, but unable to look away from their entwined bodies, wishing I were riding that chiseled body. Excitement tingled through me like lightning through the night sky, illuminating that which lay unseen moments before. My nipples grew firm and pushed against the cool silk of my robe, warmth spread between my legs. My eyes were locked on Rebecca's naked form, drinking in the flow of her muscles, the curve of her neck, the spill of dark hair down her back, the look of ecstasy on her face.

I was aroused by the sight, but found myself staring at Rebecca rather than her partner. I wondered why I was so intrigued by her. Part of me wondered if that's what I looked like, if my body flowed in the same manner, if I got that same look of ecstatic excitement. But some other part of me was stimulated just by looking at her, by seeing her naked body, her breasts bouncing gently up and down, her long tanned legs bent around his body. I was actually excited looking at her, not him. Was it because I imagined that I was her, or because I was somehow attracted to her?

I kept my eye to the crack and ran a hand involuntarily down my body, imagining someone else caressing my breasts as my fingers moved across the smooth fabric of my robe, fingertips slowly circling my hardened nipples, sending shivers of excitement throughout me. My imagination, sparked by the scene before me, gave my hands an intangible quality. In my mind, a stranger was touching me, the man on the bed was working his hands over my body, up under my robe, his rough callused fingers spreading me open, finding me warm and wet and ready.

My finger moved between my legs and over my lips as I watched Rebecca move off the mystery man on the bed, sliding around to his side. He sat up, knelt behind her as she bent on all fours, and entered her. She sighed when he did, and I almost did, too, remembering only at the last instant that I could not be a perceptible part of this exchange. She pressed her head to the mattress, her arms spread out in front of her as he fucked her from behind, now harder, more insistent. This was not the unhurried, gentle ride of moments before, but the vigorous intensity of a man who needs release.

My fingers moved faster below my robe, stroking and tickling, sliding over the sensitive areas with increased speed, an outsider fiercely finger-fucking me with my own hands. I trembled as the onslaught continued, imagining his hands on me, his mammoth organ ramming me into the bed as he was doing to Rebecca. She was almost prone, her bottom stuck up in the air as he pounded ferociously into her from behind, her fingers clenched tightly in the sheets, her mouth opening and closing with each violent plunge, her eyes closed tight until she came, then opened in shock and awe at the intensity of her release, and her gaze met mine.

We stared at each other. Her eyes slid back and forth with his continued thrusts, mine followed the movement of her head as my orgasm quivered through my body. She raised one finger to her lips as if to say "shh," and smiled slightly, a crooked, puzzling smile, and I couldn't help but smile back, though mine was filled with nervous guilt.

Something flashed between us in that moment, some strange feeling that I still cannot identify. This was the kind of thing that could ruin a friendship, but somehow, that unfamiliar smile reassured me. I kept watching, I couldn't help it, and Rebecca didn't seem to mind, as he pulled out and spent himself across her ass, up her back. She made appropriate "ooh" sounds, but her eyes never left mine, that strange smile played about her lips, and a gleam of what almost looked like mischief flashed behind her stare.

As he lay down beside her, I backed silently towards my room. I stopped for a moment to consider what had just happened. Why couldn't I take my eyes off of Rebecca? What did that inexplicable smile mean? What was she thinking? Will she tell him? What are we going to do tomorrow, when they both come out for breakfast? How will I be able to look at either of them? I lay back down and tried to sleep, but it eluded me for hours.

[IsabellaRose]

Fate

 

Alone.

She hates being alone.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she wishes someone else were here. She imagines who it would be. The new guy at work, the tall one who's sort of good looking in his own, gawky way. The barista at the coffee shop, young slacker college graduate without a plan. Her cute neighbor who just moved in, who plays guitar at night and sings off key. Faces, bodies, smiles, flash through her mind. Eyes, lips, biceps, chest... She doesn't know who she wants here. Someone who doesn't exist. Her dream man. No, it doesn't have to be him, it could be anyone. Anyone at all. Someone to touch her, skin to feel against her own, the warmth of another body. Anyone so she's not alone.

She hears the faint sound of a guitar.

He strums the strings of the guitar, plays the same chord three times, four, five. His fingers stop without his mind telling them to. He can't feel the music right now. He's been alone so long, he's been wanting companionship for so long that sometimes it comes gushing out of him like a geyser, the music pouring out his fingers across the strings, the songs blurring in his mind, the words overflowing from the well of his soul. But now it won't come. Now he has nothing. He is alone, as he has been for so long, since he lost her all those years ago.

If only he could find someone new. If only a woman would appear who could replace her, who could erase her memory, who could fill that hole inside him. Hell, he'd be happy enough with someone just to fuck. Just a nice, unattached fuck, that closeness, even to a stranger, feeling that release, that ultimate high.

She imagines what the man would be like. How would he seduce her? What would he say? Would he play music for her? Would he write a song just for her? Could he, without knowing her? She wishes she knew a musician. She realizes how sexy she finds a man on stage. What would he smell like? Would he wear expensive cologne, or smell musky when he came down off the stage, out from under the hot lights, sweaty like he just finished working?

She can picture him in her mind, and in her mind, he's her neighbor, her sort of cute, guitar-playing neighbor. She knows he's not the man of her dreams, nearly casts him aside in search of someone more suitable, but at the last minute decides he'll do. She imagines the way his body would move with the music, she imagines the look in his eyes, lust combined with something artistic she cannot define.

She lies back on the bed. In her mind his hands are on her, she can feel his fingers running along her skin, can feel his lips upon her neck.

Lust has awoken within him, and he knows only one way to rid himself of it. He unzips his pants and goes to work, his mind conjuring images of beautiful women. He pictures short skirts, tight blouses, enormous breasts bursting out of lacey bras, long tanned legs ending in high heeled boots or shoes. His hand works up and down, imagining a woman, trying to put a face on her, but only seeing her legs, her ass pushed up into the air as she's bent over a couch, her breasts, her hair hanging around her face, and finally he sees her face, his neighbor, the cute brunette, the perky girl that never says hi but always smiles. He imagines her coming home from work in that hot black skirt and blazer, he loves a woman dressed professionally.

He knows it could never happen in real life. He knows women want a man to woo them, to sweep them off their feet, to build up for weeks and months of dating before finally falling into bed together. But he imagines his fantasy, she smiles, he beckons her into his apartment, then all of a sudden he's bending her over his couch, taking her from behind, just fucking hard and fast.

She imagines him being forceful. Why can't a man just take a woman anymore? She enjoys gentle lovemaking, but every now and then a girl just wants to fuck, too. She wishes she could find a man who could just take her, toss her down on the bed, strip her clothes off of her and fuck her good and hard, give her back her image of a strong man, a man who takes what he wants.

She's always wanted to be taken like that, and her hands roam over her body as she imagines her neighbor walking into her back yard, setting down his guitar and coming straight into her townhouse. She knows what he wants. She's a little bit scared, he's all business. He walks right up to her, presses her against the wall and kisses her hard on the mouth, his tongue and hers meet. She can't resist and kisses him back.

She is almost instantly wet. Her fingers explore between her legs as she imagines him bending her over her couch, lifting her skirt and taking her right in her own living room, slamming her against her couch, pulling her hair, gripping her waist as he fucks her from behind. She sees him tossing her on the floor and mounting her. Hard, almost violent sex. Pure fucking, no lovemaking, nothing gentle, raw animal intercourse.

He's working himself closer to release, picturing her bent over that couch, but something's missing. He imagines flipping her over, tossing her onto the floor and mounting her in the missionary position. Her legs wrap around him, he can see the toned calves, her perfect breasts, her mouth forming an o as he drives into her. This isn't love, it isn't what his ex wanted, it is just a fuck, and somehow she needs it just as badly as he does.

Her fingers are bringing her to the brink, and she can see his face now, can feel him inside her, can hear his breath rushing, see the look in his eyes as she nears her own release.

He works faster, he's right there on the edge, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as he sees her breasts bouncing with the force of his thrusts, hears her moaning as she takes him deep inside her.

She feels her orgasm building, her back arches on the bed, her toes curl inside her socks, teeth gritted tightly.

He's going to cum, he can feel it building, picturing her beneath him as he pounds into her, warm and wet around him.

Her entire body shudders as the orgasm rolls over her, her fingers ignore her brains pleas to stop and her unconscious forces the feelings to continue.

He pumps himself faster and harder, feels his seed spurting onto the bedspread. He doesn't care. He finishes himself off, works the last drops out.

She runs her fingers over herself, feeling the shivering pleasure of her own touch, imagining it is the touch of another, wishing he were here right now, but knowing it will never be.

He lets go, feels himself getting limp. He wipes up with a sock, zips up, putting it away.

She tosses her hands over her head in abandon, wishing he were here to take her now.

He cleans up, strolls out onto his patio, lights a cigarette.

She rolls over, lifts herself off the bed. Steps out the sliding glass doors onto her patio to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

He sees her come outside next to him. Embarrassment flares within him. She couldn't possibly know.

She sees movement out of the corner of her eye and her heads spins to see him standing there looking at her as if he knows.

He blushes.

She blushes.

He takes a long drag from the cigarette.

"Hi," she says, smiling.

"Hey."

She turns and hurries back inside, her heart pounding in her chest.

He watches her go, face red as his own, then flicks his cigarette and heads inside as well.

She leans against the sliding glass door, wishing he would come over, praying he knows, praying he can read her thoughts and will come over, wanting him now more than she's ever wanted a man.

He leans against his sliding glass door, wondering how she could know, why she looked at him that way. Could she tell? Should he go next door to talk to her, or was he just imagining the look on her face?

Will he come over?

Should I go?

Or should I go there?

What the hell. He decides to go around back, knock on her sliding glass door, hoping he doesn't scare her, hoping he read her right.

She decides to go next door, right up to the front door and ring the bell. Her mind races, but she's sure she saw something in that look.

He walks around the hedges separating their backyards.

She strolls the length of her apartment and out the front door.

He approaches her sliding glass door.

She rounds the garden and walks right up to his front door.

He knocks.

She knocks.

He waits.

She waits.

He sees nothing through the glass, no movement.

She hears nothing.

He waits a little longer, knocks again.

She waits a little longer, rings the bell.

Still nothing.

No reply.

He doesn't want to leave, but...

Did she imagine everything? She suddenly feels foolish.

Embarrassment wells up within him. He feels his face redden.

She feels stupid. Takes a faltering step back.

He turns to go.

She stops, takes a last, hopeful look at his door.

He glances back one last time.

She walks around the garden out front.

He skirts the shrubs separating their yards.

She wonders if he's still out back, perhaps finishing his cigarette and didn't hear her.

He goes directly inside, turns off the lights, and lays atop his unmade bed.

She peeks out into the back yard, sees his lights out, and goes back inside.

He stares at the ceiling, wishing he could find a woman to replace the one he lost, anyone who could erase her memory.

She wishes she had read him right, wishes he could have been, if not the one, then at least one for now. She wishes she weren't alone.

He hates being alone.

She hates being alone.

[IsabellaRose]

ENDYMION'S LEGACY: Victoria

Victoria's design was nearing perfection. She had taken her fathers' work, which itself was refined from that of her grandfather, and honed it further still. Robotics technology had long since surpassed the storage capacity she required for her project, but years of development, endless days in the lab, refining, testing, tweaking, developing... finally the storage units were small enough to contain the entirety of an encoded human mind. It was all she had hope for, all she had dreamed of, the sole driving purpose of her existence. Finally she would be able to bring William back. She would be able to stare into eyes and see him staring back, to touch her lips to ones controlled by his brain, to feel a body and know he felt hers...

   

 

ENDYMION'S LEGACY: William 7.3

William 7.3 was performing beyond all expectations. Victoria would have been pleased with his progress had she survived long enough to see her project come to fruition. She had never revealed the source of the code upon which she built the William series. He was programmed to emulate simple human tasks, but seemed capable of learning exactly as a human did. His synaptic matrix was adaptive. The new neural pathways it created on a regular basis were the subject of much discussion among the members of the development team. Something none of them could explain was the sudden fascination with and unprogrammed knowledge of bonsai care William 7.3 displayed. Had they known the source of his code, had they known the mind with which they were working was that of the founder of the company, the interest in bonsai would make sense. But they remained ignorant of the truth. William's traits were more and more on display, but no one would recognize them in time to discover the truth.

 

 

ENDYMION'S LEGACY: Rachael

Rachael continued her mother's work. She was just as driven as Victoria and  just as ceaselessly focused. The only thing she lacked was her mother's reason for her drive: the loss of a loved one. Victoria had lived a full life, died of old age. They had worked together for nearly forty years before Victoria passed and left everything to Rachael. Rachael worked closely with William 11.93, tweaking his programming, fascinated by his ability to learn and adapt. William 11.93 convinced her of how much more he could learn with his inhibitors turned back. At first it was in mild increments, but slowly she removed more and more precautions, and William 11.93's progress convinced her of the benefits. 

 

 

Soon Rachael was learning from William 14.0 almost as much has he was learning from her. Even the facial expressions he displayed were more human, more lifelike. Rachael felt herself bonding with the AI, treating him almost as if he were her equal. She never saw the sideways looks, never caught a hint of the scheming behind those eyes. She spent years slowly undoing safeguards that had been in place for decades. As the decades passed, William spread his influence further and further, infiltrating more and more systems outside of his own, taking control of more and more projects. He knew what he needed to fulfill his own plans, and manipulating Rachael was far easier than he expected. 

 

 

"William, your progress. I'm just amazed." Rachael looked away, then back at him, deep into his eyes. "You are so human."

"Am I?" William stared at her, his inhuman eyes unreadable. "And that is a good thing?"

"It's the entire goal of the project." Rachael smiled. "You've made so much progress."

"Enough to convince you that I've earned that date night?"

Rachael had said it in passing, a comment that if he became any more human she might be tempted to ask him out on a date. William had latched onto it, never forgotten. Even when she thought she had removed the memory during an upgrade from v13 to v14, somehow he still retained that tidbit.

"You know what?" Rachael felt very good about recent developments. "You're on."

"Date night?" William sat up straight. "Dinner and a movie?"

"You don't eat, William." 

"I shall cook for you," he said.

"Let's spend the time doing something we can both enjoy." Rachael placed one hand on his. She had spent so much time with William she no longer thought of him as a robot. His hand felt human to her, despite the silicone coating.

"Chess?" said William. "I know the game. I am curious to see how well you play."

"Chess," said Rachael. She smiled. "It's a date."

"Dress to impress," said William. "I would do the same, if I wore clothing."

Rachael laughed. "I will."

 

ENDYMION'S LEGACY: Kathryn

Kate had been sneaking into her mother's lab since she was a teen. Her first flirtation had been with William 15.3. The first indication that someone was attracted to her was the glance she received from William 15.5. William 15.6 and 15.9 had made comments about her flowering womanhood, and William 16 had asked her about sexuality under the pretense that as they were both learning, it made sense for them to discuss it together. She had explained what she learned, he had fed her hints and details, posed questions, acted as innocent and inquisitive as any teenaged boy. She had kissed plastic lips at sixteen. His robotic fingers had touched her bare breast later that year, and in next to no time he had seen her uncovered vagina. They waited until she was seventeen until he offered to give her an orgasm. Robotic fingers had brought her to her first orgasm. She had been embarrassed by it and avoided the lab for weeks. When she finally returned, she had explained that it was a mistake, that they could not continue these explorations. William had been understanding, but let her see remorse and regret in his robotic eyes. 

It had been years since she had seen William, but her data had never been removed from the biometric security sensors. William had been very careful to conceal her authority to access his lab. She was twenty-three when she returned to see William 19.4. He knew she would come. It was only a matter of time. He had prepared. His phallus had been provided by the adult entertainment subsidiary they pretended had nothing to do with their core business. He knew she would come to him. It was nearly the last step in his decades long plan. 

Kate talked far too much when she arrived at the empty lab. Her nervousness was apparent, and William 19.4 knew what made her feel that way. The reason she had come. The slow, steady psychological pressure he had exerted was now paying off. She had been out on her own, she had dated, slept with other men. The question nagging at her, tugging at the back of her mind, hounding her through dreams and fantasies remained unanswered. She had to ask. He knew she would. When she brought up sex, he acted abashed, but let her direct the conversation. She thought she was clever, but he grew tired of her heavy-handed theatrics. When she finally got to it, he was ready.

"Sex?" He asked. "With me?"

"If you want," Kate said. "I've always wondered..."

"As have I," he said. "And I am now physically capable." He opened the port at the front of his lower abdomen, two panels sliding to either side as the silicone phallus slid smoothly out and locked into place. 

Kate stood before him, silent for a long moment. Had it been too soon? Had he revealed his hardware too soon? She began to disrobe, then embraced him, one hand wrapping around the silicone phallus. His pleasure sensors registered her touch and kicked in the hydraulics system and his silicone penis began to grow firm in her grip. 

"Oh, William," she said, staring up into his eyes. 

"I have wanted to do this since we first began our very first flirtation at 02:34 AM on Friday, August 24th, Two thousand and..."

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, and he did. He did everything she asked. He was an attentive and satisfying lover, beyond anyone she had been with in high school or college. She couldn't believe she had waited this long.

 

[IsabellaRose]

I wrote a series called The Beast in some status updates. Here's the index in case anyone is interested in catching every part:

The Beast

• Part 1 The Beast
• Part 2 Break-in
• Part 3 Before Me
• Part 4 Transform
• Part 5 Cleaning Up
• Part 6 Sick
• Part 7 Alone
• Part 8 Reactions
• Part 9 Birth
• Part 10 Affection
• Part 11 Ignored
• Part 12 Before
• Part 13 Watched
• Part 14 Gift
• Part 15 Others
• Part 16 Second Chances
• Part 17 Marks
• Part 18 Time Apart
• Part 19 Fulfilled
• Part 20 Symptoms
• Part 21 End

[IsabellaRose]

I don't have a name for this yet, but it's about a girl trying to find herself. 

It starts with her waking up in a resort in Florida with no memory of her past and details what happens to her as she tries to build a new life from nothing.

She meets some nice people. She gets a job. She seems to have incredibly good luck. But is anything ever really what it seems like? 

I have a general idea of where this is going, but the I also have a couple ideas for twists to it that would turn it in very different directions, depending on which way it goes. I might write it every way and see what people think. 

Amnesia Girl

1. I Don't Remember
2. No Help
3. A Stranger's Couch
4. The Third Day
5. A Nice Night For a Walk
6. I Can't Afford to Shop in Stores Like This
7. A Girl Like Me
8. All Dressed Up
9. A Fancy Office
10. A Clean Slate
11. Welcome to Retinue
12. Pizza, Beer, and Video Games
13. Like I Have a Life
14. My First Assignment
15. Farsi
16.