A Nightmare & Vision ✛ The Chair

The Chair
A Nightmare & Vision by Redbud

  • Modeled after Raziel’s recently re-issued collection of erotic stories. The first illustration is by Ben Newman. Visit his blog. It’s great stuff.

Her teddy bear. That was the only thing she recognized.

She had been kidnapped. Somehow they stole her out of bed without waking her. They had bound her wrists to a chain that was fastened to an iron post neatly rising from a wooden floor. She was naked. Her hip and shoulder were sore from having lain on the wood, but the wood wasn’t cold and neither was she.

She panicked.

ben_newman_promises_small

Artwork by Ben Newman

She stood. She tugged at the chain. She cried out angrily. She looked around the room. The walls and ceiling were velvety black and the floor was warm with the glow of recessed lights. This wasn’t a dungeon. The floor was polished and the wood was beautiful. She almost cried for help; but she wasn’t so addled. She didn’t see anyone else in the room.

She studied the iron cuffs. They were lined with padded velvet. She tried to twist her hands out of them. She tried until the pain stopped her.

She almost screamed when she saw her reflection. She was shaved. Her black hair was beautifully cut to her shoulders. How was it possible?

She tugged at the chains angrily. ‘Let me go! Stop it! Let me go!’

She began to shake and she knew she had to calm herself. She breathed deeply. She more carefully studied the room. There was a chair. She paid more attention this time. It was deep, almost like a recliner, but not plush. There were spot lights surrounding it. They were off. There were also cameras behind, in front of and to the sides of the chair.

There were wrist restraints on the arms. There were ankle straps and knee straps to keep the knees parted. In the center of the seat, there was a chrome dildo or phallus. There were two of them; and the girl knew, then, that this chair was meant for a woman. The larger of the two chrome phalluses arched upward, as long as her forearm, perfectly smooth and round. It gleamed. The base of her belly recoiled. How could it fit? Can could a woman really be impaled so deeply? Why did it need to? ‘Let me go! Please!’ She screamed.

She tugged and pulled violently at the post.

Her wrists remained chained to the post. The cameras were going to film it all. Who was going to watch it? She saw other dildos and sexual devices attached to the chair. She saw carefully looped wires with delicate silver cups at the ends – attachments for her nipples and clit. She saw a machine hanging above the chair. Two clean glass tubes, ready to suction breast milk during orgasm, reflected the warm light suffusing the room. The cameras would capture it all.

Attached to the dildo was a clear tube leading upward to a glass funnel for semen.

The cameras and lights would record it all: her begging; her struggling; her stiffening; her rolling eyes; the impalement; the depth of it; her inability to escape it – the insemination; her expressions, breath, and sounds as it happened inside her; her tacit agreement to what was being done to her – her orgasm.

Why? Why her? Was she so beautiful? Why do men do this? Why do they like to watch girls – helpless, inseminated, having an orgasm? ‘Let me go!’ she screamed again. ‘Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!’

It was all she could think of to say.

A door opened. A trickle of piss streaked her thigh.

Men entered. They wore black masks like the beaks of crows. They were black capes with gold clasps. Their capes were feathered with crow’s feathers. But for the capes and masks, they were naked. Their cocks, every one of them, were full and upright. Their bellies were fit and muscular. Their nipples were blood red on their broad chests. Their skin was golden. Was it their skin or did they sprinkle something like a gold dust on their loins and lips?

The girl backed one way, then the other, unable to escape the chains of her wrist.

She looked at one and then the other. ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Please don’t! Please!’

There were seven men. They surrounded her. They said nothing. They made no motion. The girl shook. Her voice shook. ‘Please, let me go.’

They looked at her: her breasts – the nipples – how they were upright and a young woman’s; her lips; her narrow, muscular and ready hips; her flat belly; her belly button; the inverted V of her rib cage moving in and out of shadow as she breathed; her thighs; calves; feet; hair; and slender neck. She felt a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t turn to see which figure it was. It pushed and she fell to her knees. They were clean and shaved but she could smell their cocks, their dark musk and tangy masculinity, so different and strangely like from her own smell. One of their cocks approached her mouth but didn’t touch. She didn’t open her mouth but she could feel the heat of its soft flesh at her lips. She could feel the heat of other cocks at her ears and the nape of her neck.

The hand was still at her shoulder. It pushed again until she lowered her cheek to the floor, her ass raised behind her, her wrists stretched in front of her. Another figure lowered himself to his knees behind her. She began shaking again as she felt the heat of his cock between her thighs but not touching. She waited and waited and waited. She cried out when a finger just touched the wetness glistening at her thigh.

The finger was withdrawn.

Keys! They were unlocking her wrists. She could run! But there were seven of them. Would they hurt her? Where would she run?

The cuffs fell away.

The men around her stood and she heard the quiet command to stand.

One by one the figures lifted and kissed her right hand. The last guided her by the curve of her spine toward the chair. ‘No!’ But they didn’t seat her. They quietly passed the chair to another door. The door seemed to open silently of its own. The outdoors! She could smell it: the grass, leaves, moisture and soil. She could hear it! The one man between her and escape handed her her teddy bear. He stepped aside and lowered himself to his knees all the other figures followed.

Was it a trick?

Her knees almost gave out but nothing happened. Nothing was said. No one stopped her. She stood on a cool granite deck. The warm night air hushed the leaves. She could just see her nightgown and clothes folded neatly in a pile on the charcoal granite. The door closed behind her. She was alone. Something was around the neck of her teddy bear – a key to the door that had just closed. She took off the key. Her breath shook.

The girl put down the teddy bear –

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William Crimson ✛ February 16 2013

Latest Comments

  1. paul1510 says:

    Will,
    brilliant, hopefully there will be more.
    Paul.

  2. Cammies on the floor says:

    Intriguing and also hoping there will be more.

  3. Windowbox says:

    Please Will, there has to be more !

  4. vanillamom says:

    I am in the minority here…you told *exactly* enough. Perfection…leaving us to paint the rest of the picture…so very well done.

    nilla

  5. Monocle says:

    Excellent, Will. And I agree with Nilla. From my perspective of N&V, it’s exactly right.

  6. Mic says:

    Very much like the classic Nightmares and Visions! Leaving just before the main event. Still, I don’t think anyone would be upset by a sequel…

    • willcrimson says:

      Hi Mic, your comment gives me a chance to talk about erotic writing in general, and not in a defensive way, but from a writer’s perspective. I know that when I first strarted writing my only models were the stories found on places like SOL or ASSTR and various published anthologies like “Best Women’s Erotica” which I’ve loved but which, in my opinion, have increasingly dipped into navel-gazing. I didn’t have any sense of individual style.

      So, when I first started writing, my models were other stories on SOL & ASSTR. Writing erotic stories for the first time is also like having sex for the first time — all you want to do is have sex. The problem is that after you’ve written the ‘nth story about sex, it starts the get boring. I guess some erotic writers never really get past this (to judge by their stories) but I did. One begins to realize, as a writer, that there’s a difference between writing sex and writing erotica. I’m won’t go so far as to say, as some writers, that you don’t need sex to write erotically (that seems a contradiction to me) but I do think that what’s erotic is everything that happens before, during and after sex: the anticipation, the uncertainties, the nervousness, the fantasy, the reality, the give, the take. In the best erotica, I think, the physical part is important, but the least important. What makes a story “hot”, are the circumstances in which the sex happens.

      So… when I think about this story, I think that what’s “erotic” about the story has already happened. If I continue the story and put the heroine in the chair (the main event), then mostly we have a physical description of a girl on a big sex toy. I admit, the scenario is fun to think about but, in truth, film/pornography is better at this than erotica/literature (in my opinion). For me, writing such a scene would basically be punch-list sex. We all know what’s going to happen: she does this, she feels that, she orgasms.

      If I were to continue to story, and if she decided to go back in, I think the chair would disappear. The fun would have to be in her search for it. That’s where the erotic element would be. And maybe I’ll do that. :-)

    • paul1510 says:

      Will,
      if you were to write a sequel, the chair might/would become irrelevant.
      What might be interesting is her internal debate, whether to use that key or not, you could really dig deep into her psychology.
      Just a thought.
      Paul.

    • willcrimson says:

      That’s a great suggestion, Paul, and certainly (to me) the more erotic direction to go.

    • Mic says:

      I can’t help but feel I’m stealing all the thoughtful responses from others who are far more active here.

      I definitely see your point about having a little bit more depth to stories. That being said, the Nightmares & Visions section has always seemed more of a direct, single subject sort of affair. The more I read this the more I see the additional effort in her decision and thoughts. Of course, the premise, of one “excerpt” of what could be a full story, is still there.

      Your (and Paul’s) thoughts on a sequel are really interesting. I confess that I’m slightly more inclined to the more straightforward of erotica concepts, but I do I understand your reasoning. Either way, I’m sure such a continuation would still be excellent.

  7. Harper Eliot says:

    It’s amazing, when I read your writing, Will, I feel like the sexuality and the perversions come from almost exactly the same place as mine. I don’t often get to glimpse that in anybody else, and it’s really quite something.

    This is magnificent.

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