The Devil Inside

[Dollface]

The first part of a story I'm working on. This is my first story hear on RB so all comments/constructive criticism are more than welcome.

.>part one: a death in the family.<

Once upon a time there was an unfortunate little girl named Gwen who grew up to be an unlucky young woman. She was beautiful, yes, with long blonde hair that went down to the back of her knees if left to hang free, and a pair of the bluest eyes the world had ever seen. She was smart too—graduated early from high school and at the tender age of 18 was already in her second year at a prestigious university.

It was while at this university that she began to have the nightmares…

She was in a darkened, richly-decorated room, naked, gagged and chained spread-eagled to a massive bed. The room was silent save for her muffled cries for help and the metallic clinking sound of the chain links as she thrashed in place, desperate to escape. Exactly what, or who it was that she was so terrified of, Gwen could never remember at that point, though she had dreamed this scenario countless times.

Despite her almost superhuman struggles, her bonds held firm, and it wasn’t long until her lithe young body was slicked with sweat, her well-developed breasts heaving. Finally, after some time had passed—seconds? Hours? Years?—the heavy, ornately-carved door creaked open, allowing a bent, wizened figure inside. The newcomer ignored the chained girl at first, opting instead to settle down at his desk where he scratched at a piece of paper with a dirty ballpoint pen. After several moments of writing, the old man pushed himself away and rose to his feet. His cold, black eyes met Gwen’s frightened blue ones, and his thin lips twisted into a smile.

“Dear, sweet little girl,” he whispered mockingly into the darkness. “Poor little princess. All alone with no one to protect her. Oh, whatever shall I do with you?” The bed creaked under his weight as he sat down next to his prisoner. Gently, his gnarled hands stroked her soft body: grasping her breasts to feel their fullness, tweaking her nibbles, trailing across her soft, full lips and back again, stroking her firm stomach, and finally exploring the delicate folds of her vagina. Through it all Gwen tried to scream, but couldn’t even manage that, thanks to the gag.

The old man ceased his lecherous examination and stood up once more. Taking great pleasure in his captive’s frightened whimpering, the man began to slowly undress, leaving his discarded clothing in a crumbled heap on the ground. His penis was a thick pole, and was already hard with lust when he climbed on top of her. Gwen shook her head furiously as tears sprang to her eyes, pleading with him nonverbally to stop. Laughing, the man grabbed the girl by the chin, digging his long nails into her cheek before forcing a kiss upon her lips. “Good girl,” He said with satisfaction.

Suddenly, a shrill ringing sound could be heard. The sound grew louder and louder, and the man scowled with irritation. “Already?” He muttered to himself, then glared down at the helpless girl beneath him. “We will meet again soon enough, darling. But you will come to me…”

Gwen sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath. Her sheets were a tangled mess all around her and she had somehow managed to kick her comforter to the ground. The phone rang again, Gwen looked at her digital clock. 3:14 a.m. What could be so important that someone had to call at 3:14 in the morning? Groggily, she picked up the receiver.

“Hello?” She said. “Yes, this is her.”

She listened to the person at the other end of the line for what seemed like eternity, her blue eyes widening with shock.

“Are you sure?” She asked, her voice almost breaking with the strain of emotion. Listening again, it took everything in her power to keep the phone pressed to her ear.

“I’ll be on the next flight there. Thank you.”

[RapeU]

That was a good teasing start. I like it so far

[Dollface]

Thanks!

[Flesh4Fantasy]

Very nice start...

Gwen's misfortunes sound like they will be mystifying and entertaining.
Just enough to keep me coming back for the next installment. (Soon?)

Very strong edit as well, which gets you -

5 Stars

+Rep

[HYMENBUSTER]

sounds as if nightmare and reality may soon converge...what wonderful foreshadowing...can't wait to hear more and do the same to you

[Uncle Al]

I hope there's more excitement to come...

[Dollface]

Thanks y'all! I'll have part 2 up soon hopefully.

[Dollface]

>.part two: in which we meet the big bad wolf.<

The Underwood House: built in 1807 by brewery tycoon Samuel Underwood for his wife Mary, this sedate Ohioan manor has had a long, storied history. Its various passages were said to house everything from escaped slaves prior to the civil war, to barrels of cheap booze during Prohibition. Recently, it was converted into a boarding house, with some or the 35 rooms turned into apartments—but today, it is the scene of a murder.

The parlor was brimming with activity as a bleary-eyed detective escorted Gwen into the room. “…And I must warn you, the scene you’re about to encounter is disturbing. I’m sorry it had to be this way, but unless we have a positive identification of the body—.”
“It’s fine,” Gwen said, cutting him off. She took a deep breath as they approached the covered body. The detective gave a nod to one of the officers and the sheet was whisked off. All the blood rushed from Gwen’s face as she stared at the battered corpse of her mother. “Is that her?” The detective asked gently. Gwen could only nod in response, swallowing hard to keep the bile that was rising in her throat in check. The detective shouted some orders to his men, but Gwen wasn’t listening, instead she staggered into the kitchen. Throwing open one of the wooden cabinets, she shakily grabbed a glass, ran over to the faucet to fill it, then gulped down the contents in a matter of seconds. Slamming the glass back down, she gripped the counter as if for dear life, squeezing her eyes shut.

“You must be Gwen,” said a velvety voice that was surprisingly familiar. Opening her eyes, she turned to see a well-dressed man nonchalantly sipping a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. His dark eyes regarded her with interest, which caused the girl to flush with irritation. How long had he been there? Was it too much to ask to have a moment of peace in her own mother’s house—especially on the day of her death? But Gwen didn’t say any of these things. Instead, she simply nodded. “Yes, that’s me. And you are…?”
“Call me Michael, I’m one of the tenants here,” he said, a look of faux sympathy spreading across his handsome features. “My deepest condolences for your loss. Victoria was a fine woman.”
“Thanks,” Gwen muttered, trying to avoid eye contact lest she burst into tears in front of this complete stranger.
Yawning, he stretched dramatically before rising to his feet. His black suit was in pristine shape despite the late hour—not a wrinkle to be seen. He smiled and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder as he passed. “Welcome home, Gwen. I expect to see a lot more of you,” he whispered, then stalked out of the room.

It took a long time for Michael to reach is apartment. He had specifically selected the most isolated quarters of the massive house in order to gain absolute privacy. With the thick, almost sound-proof walls of the building, it would be impossible for any of his neighbors to hear him as he enjoyed his perversions—but still, it was always better to err on the side of caution.

Unlocking the antique door, he paused to take in his reflection the vast mirror that adorned the wall just inside the room. Already he could see a network of wrinkles beginning to form in the corner of his eyes. There was a touch of grey around his temples, clearly visible against the backdrop of the rest of his jet-black hair. This wouldn’t do… Not at all.
He slammed the door shut with a bang, but refused to turn the lights on. Somewhere in the darkness, a feminine whimper could be heard accompanied by the merry jingle of chains. Michael chuckled and moved fluidly in the darkness toward the bed in the center of the room. The bound girl whimpered again and tried to shy away from his touch as his expert fingers plunged between her legs into her battered pussy. He smiled when he felt the telltale wetness, removing his fingers and wiping them on her flat stomach. “Good girl,” he said approvingly.

There was the distinct sound of a zipper being undone, and the girl screamed for mercy that she knew wouldn’t come. The bed creaked and shifted under his weight, and her captor settled in between her legs, rubbing the length of his shaft up and down her slit for a moment, lubricating his manhood with her juices. Without warning, he plunged into her depths and started to pound away like a madman. The dark-haired girl screamed into her gag, but it was no use. No one would be coming to her rescue. After what seemed like an eternity, his breathing quickened in the darkness and the girl felt his cock swell. Sure enough, a feeling of warmth spread through her abdomen, and her spasming pussy milked him for all his seed. Finally, he collapsed onto her, his face buried in her creamy breasts as he struggled to catch his breath. She couldn’t breathe under his weight, but she knew better than to complain, it was better to blackout then to have to face whatever tortures Michael would inflict upon her.

Fortunately for the girl, he lifted himself off of her in a matter of seconds, removing his softening cock in the process. Redoing his fly, he circled the bed, admiring his handiwork as his cum leaked out of his prisoner’s cunt, then he reached out and stroked her cheek tenderly. “Let’s hope that got the job done, hm? It would be a shame to ruin that pretty flesh of yours more than I have to.” He walked off toward the bathroom then, pausing once to call over his shoulder: “I think I’ve found you a playmate. Won’t that be nice?”

[Flesh4Fantasy]

All that's missing is the dramatic organ music...

See about getting some piped in, OK Dollface???

[Dollface]

Originally Posted by Flesh4Fantasy

All that's missing is the dramatic organ music...

See about getting some piped in, OK Dollface???

All I have is a kazoo. Will that work?

[Cedar]

It's impressive. You have a gift for tactile description, and the connection between the dream and reality is definitely intriguing. And personally I like stories that show a literate vocabulary like this instead of resorting to the same old small grab bag of four-letter words. I'll be watching for future episodes.

The kazoo, though, doesn't quite fit the mood.....

[Dollface]

Originally Posted by Cedar

It's impressive. You have a gift for tactile description, and the connection between the dream and reality is definitely intriguing. And personally I like stories that show a literate vocabulary like this instead of resorting to the same old small grab bag of four-letter words. I'll be watching for future episodes.

The kazoo, though, doesn't quite fit the mood.....

Thank you! That means a lot coming from you.

But... I love my kazoo.

[Dollface]

>.part three: in which nothing sexual happens (sorry!).<

I'll tell you all my secrets
But I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more.
-Tom Waits, Tango Till They're Sore

The following weeks went by in a blur: there was the ever-present investigation, the autopsy, school, the funeral, the reading of the will, finals, the endless flights to and from home and the Underwood House—all of it only turning up more questions while answering none.

Gwen had inherited her mother’s deed to the House, along with a generous sum of money. Her mother had seen to it that Gwen would want for nothing, no matter where life took her. And so, Gwen made plans to move into her mother’s former apartment at the Underwood House. The move would by no means be permanent—the House was too weighed down with decades of family memories for that—but Gwen just couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow it was up to her to find the answers that she sought.

Several plane trips and piles of paperwork later, Gwen was finally settled in. Her first task for the next day would be to meet the rest of the House’s inhabitants. But for now it was late, and already Gwen was struggling to keep her eyes open. Yawning, she dragged her way through her evening routine before settling into bed.

She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

“Take this basket and bring it to your grandmother,” said a voice. Her mother’s voice.

In the darkness, a dusty basket packed full of food appeared. Now normally Gwen, like any sane person, would question why her dead mother wanted her to take a basket of food to her even-deader grandmother; but this was a dream, so naturally logic did not apply and Gwen took the basket without hesitation.

“Follow the path. Do not dawdle, and do not stray—you’re late enough as it is,” said her mother’s voice again.

Then Gwen was standing at the edge of a dirt road. Behind her was only darkness, in front of her a bright, sunlit forest. She started down the road heading where she instinctively knew that her grandmother’s home would lie.

She walked and she walked, and then she walked some more.

Her throat was parched with thirst, and as she walked she could hear the rumblings of a waterfall a short distance away. Her mother’s voice had warned her not to leave the path, but the promise of a drink was too great to resist. This was a dream, her dream, she couldn’t get lost, not really.

And so she ventured into the forest, pushing her way through the thick brush, getting tangled and scratched in the briars, listening for the sound of rushing water that always seemed just out of reach.

Gwen fought with the forest for some time before realizing that she was undeniably and irrevocably lost. Exhausted, she fell to the ground sobbing, only to hear footsteps approaching her from behind.

“Trespasser…” Hissed a voice; inexplicably familiar.

Gwen had time enough to turn her head only to see a shadowy form approaching her from behind. Muscles rippling beneath a velvety covering of darkness in a vaguely canine form.

“No!” She shrieked. “I’m lost!”

The figure seemed to chuckle as it circled her—never close enough to her to come into viewing but still close enough for her to be all too aware of its presence.

“I’m serious!” She shouted, panicked.

“Oh, I believe you,” said the figure in a seductive tone. “That’s why I’m giving you a choice: become mine or die.”

Somewhere, a part of Gwen’s mind shouted at her to choose death over surrender. It went against every law of dreaming: surely she was supposed to avoid death no matter what the costs? But still her mind persisted.

“I am yours. Do what you must,” She whispered, much to her own dismay.

The shadow seemed pleased.

“Then I shall come for you soon. Truly you are much wiser than your mother,” it said, than disappeared.

Gwen sat up shortly thereafter, soaked with sweat. It was only a dream, she told herself. Nothing would come of it.