Posted by Extranjero on February 14, 2003 at 12:08:31:
KNIGHTS & ROSES
Lisa woke from fevered sleep and sat up with a gasp.
The bed was big and soft but unfamiliar. Her bleary eyes grew wider as she squirmed around to look. She saw it was a genuine four-poster, its silken curtains furled with velvet ropes. The room itself was full of rosy sunlight, the richly-textured decor all aglow.
She felt a chill against her skin: as if the nightmare wasn’t over yet.
The bed was made, its covers scarcely rumpled; she'd simply been curled up on top of them. Another giddy moment and she realised she was nude.
Then memory came flooding thickly back.
The sly face of her host came first. She flinched as if reacting to a punch. Oh, how his smile had charmed her over dinner. Giggly with too much wine, she’d gushed at him all evening; leaning forward teasingly, not caring how much cleavage she revealed. The low cut, off-the-shoulder gown was Jayne her roommate's favourite. After she'd passed out, he must have undressed her ...
(... caressed her ...? )
... because she hadn't a stitch on now, except for a tight choker round her neck. She touched her throat - then dropped her gaze and stared in disbelief. He’d given her a Playboy bunny’s collar and bow tie. And fishnet gloves. She gawped at them. Oh God, she thought. Oh God.
What had happened? What had he done? She remembered the muzziness, clogging her mind; hair in her eyes as her head began to nod. The candlelit room had grown stuffy and hot. And then, at last, he'd spoken - his soft voice thick and purring in her ears.
He'd whispered of a houseful of pitfalls and traps, preserved in his family since Puritan times. A mansion that still crawled with clockwork demons. A house of correction for the unchaste ...
At which point the drugged drink had overcome her, and she'd slumped across the remnants of dessert.
Oh, shit ...
Lisa's hand crept up to clasp her mouth. Why hadn’t she suspected? There'd been something weird about him from the start. But she had been too flattered to think twice. This rich young man had picked her out and brought her to his mansion. He'd swept her off her feet, charmed her into his bed ...
But not the way she'd hoped.
Shaking off her wooziness - it seemed to cling like glue - she started up and scurried to the door. It was locked. Gritting her teeth, she strained against the handle. She didn’t want to bang on it, nor shout to draw attention. Not knowing whose attention she might draw ...
Clockwork demons. That was what he'd said.
The heavy panel wouldn't budge, and Lisa drew back, panting. A gold-framed mirror caught her eye; she glimpsed a fleeting movement in the glass. A figure with a ghost-white face. She spun around in shock.
The figure’s naked body was familiar, but a garish mask was staring back at her. The dark bob of hair framed a face like a doll’s – covered in white makeup from forehead to throat. Her big brown eyes were rimmed with kohl, and round red spots were painted on her cheeks. Her pursed lips formed a sulky scarlet pout.
Even as she gasped, there was a crackle from the ceiling - and suddenly the bedroom was expectant with live air. Lisa’s muscles clenched. She raised her eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Simons," a female voice informed her with Disneyland cheer. "You're a very lucky young lady. This is your chance to follow the maze to the heart of the House of Games. Once you reach it, you'll be allowed to go free ..."
Lisa listened, saucer-eyed, her bosom panting softly.
"Do remember that the Guardians of the House have been programmed to prevent you from reaching your goal. And the House is also full of nasty pitfalls for people who don't take care ..."
Lisa's dry throat spasmed. She tried to swallow.
"Finally, may we remind you not to try leaving the House. Naughty girls who try to leave are punished most severely ..."
And on that bright sign-off, the air died in the room and left poor Lisa frozen where she stood.
Nightmare. It had to be. Had to.
But of course she knew it wasn't. And here she was, without her clothes, in a house in the middle of nowhere. Playmate turned to play-thing.
Even as she bit against her knuckle, there was the faintest click behind her - from the door.
* * *
Up on the screen, he saw her spin to see.
The hidden camera was well-placed: it showed the depth and beauty of her eyes. They widened as he watched, like hazel moons. Fixedly she stared at the silent door, her mesh-gloved fist still pressed against her mouth.
A simple double-click had sprung the lock. He twitched the mouse, and watched the cursor swoop across the screen. Button bars and icons gave control of every room. The whole house had been clockwork once: a blind, devouring engine. Now it was his inter-active game.
The Host's cold eyes grew narrow at the corners as he smiled. He clicked on the next icon, and began.
* * *
Lisa moved the door an inch and peeped out through the crack.
It had taken twenty minutes just to summon up the nerve. The silence on the far side was oppressive: dense and cold. She couldn't bear the thought of walking naked through the house. Yet even in this room, she had a sickly sense of being watched - and ogled. In the end, she'd had to make a move. Just waiting was the worst thing of all.
The gloomy panelled corridor was empty.
Heart in her throat, she slipped on out, and tiptoed cautiously towards the corner. She felt exposed, ridiculous, the mistress in some silly bedroom farce. Her dolled-up face must surely fit the image; but this wasn’t at all funny and her eyes brimmed as she thought it.
An antique suit of armour had its back against the wall, like a steel sentry posted on her room. The visor of its helmet was a blank, aggressive prow, an empty slit above it for the eyes. Easing past, she saw the crossbow held across its breastplate. A stubby wooden quarrel was still resting in the groove. The point was like a bud of rusty iron. She couldn't help grimacing at the sight.
The house seemed full of silence, but the evil sense of watchfulness persisted. She had a queasy feeling that the shit could follow every move she made. Even as the idea chilled her belly, she reached an open doorway, peered in - and caught her breath.
For a moment she was sure that there were people in the room: a Jacobean lady and her maid. But then she saw that they were dressed-up dummies, the kind you'd find in any stately home. They'd been set up at the centre of the empty sunlit room, surrounded by rich tapestries and paintings. Two more suits of armour flanked the fireplace.
A row of windows gave onto the gardens.
Lisa bit her lip and crossed the threshold, padding towards the diamond-leaded panes. Walking past the mannequins, she felt a flush of coyness - as if these waxen women could still see her, and be shocked.
Turning her bare bum to them, she tried to get her bearings. The grounds were green and welcoming: so near, and much too far. Lisa stood on tiptoe, peering downward through the ivy to the path. No movement could be seen outside. The frame was locked and bolted. Dispirited, she turned away again.
Jayne would be making breakfast now: no doubt a little envious of Lisa's vaunted luck. Poised to pounce when she heard her roommate's key. Dying to hear the details.
Yes, just dying ...
And she'd get to hear it all, of course. Lisa could see herself now – curled up on the sofa in her satin dressing gown, with Jayney there to coo and cosset her. No question, she would live to tell the tale ...
Was he watching her now? The prospect yanked her back into the present. Stepping back, she looked up at the paintings. Majestic portraits, gazing down. Did their eyes move? Literally follow you around the room?
There was a rusty twang behind her and she jumped - then squealed, as something whacked into the wall where she'd been standing. Even as she flinched away, her wide eyes found the bolt: embedded there, its point sunk out of sight.
She whirled, and clapped her gloved hands to her mouth. The nearer suit of armour had already fired its crossbow, and now its fellow knight was moving too. A grating of machinery behind the polished breastplate, and the helmet swivelled round to glare at her. Lisa stood and shuddered for a moment, then turned and fled in panic from the room.
The knight outside had come to life: was clanking down the corridor towards her. Lisa squealed again, and took off in the opposite direction. Her bare back tingled fiercely at the thought of its bow, but a moment later she was round the next corner, and out of its line of fire.
A flight of stairs was there ahead, and Lisa hurried down them. The foyer at the bottom boasted half a dozen doors, but she dared not see what lay in wait behind them. Walls of spikes, perhaps, or swinging axes. Or crossbow-men who'd shoot her where she stood ...
Whimpering, she glanced around. A passage below stairs seemed to lead to the scullery. The corridor was dim, but there was pale light at the end. Lisa sniffed and darted down towards it. She came into a long, bleak room. A dozen waiting figures turned to see.
Lisa cowered back with fright, then realised they were dummies: mechanically acting out a range of kitchen chores. Wind-up serving maids and clockwork cooks.
Full-length French doors let in sunlight at the end of the room.
Lisa's heart surged. With a last, scared glance behind her, she ventured in. Heads turned towards her, and away. Jerky waxen limbs went through their motions. Once more she felt a crazy urge to cover herself as she crossed beneath blind gazes. A blush suffused her body like the glow of a ripe peach.
Past the whirring tableau, she came to the doors. There was a sunlit patio outside, and a rose garden beyond it: rows of bushes in bloom, with a high privet hedge around them. But at the far end she could see a gap - and through it the woods. They looked so near.
She gripped and turned the handle.
It was stuck.
The tramp of heavy footfalls reached her ears. They echoed in the foyer, and then started down the passageway towards her. Horrified, she summoned all the strength in her slim arms. Snivelling, she strained against the door.
(Naughty girls who try to leave ...)
She tried to shake the warning from her head. Freedom from this nightmare lay before her, just the other side of the glass. She'd be telling all to Jayne tonight: describing this high drama with a shuddery relief ...
... punished most severely. The chiding tone had chilled her to the core. But naughty or no, she hadn't any choice. Besides ... whatever their threats ... she could reach the cover of those trees in no time.
The clang of iron boots was coming closer.
The door gave with a creak, and shuddered open.
Lisa felt the kiss of warm sunshine, and fled like a fawn towards safety. The air in the garden wafted to meet her, fresh and fragrant. Racing down between the bushes, past the silent marble fountain in the centre, she glanced behind herself, then forward - and skidded to a halt.
By the gap in the hedge, two iron knights were waiting.
They must have been there all along - stepping out from cover to block her path as she made her final dash. She stared at them in horror. Then, as the ponderous shapes came stalking forward, she backtracked, turned and saw more of them behind her.
Fuck, thought Lisa frantically. Oh, fuck!
The grounds were just a part of this whole horrid maze. She realised that with dreadful clarity. Knights were clanking in from all directions, crossbows braced. As she ducked and weaved between the bushes, searching with growing terror for a gap, one of them emerged from the house in her wake - straight out through the French doors in a burst of shattered glass. Even retreat was not an option now.
The scent of crimson roses filled her nostrils. She breathed it in panicky gasps, casting this way and that - but always blocked by grim advancing breastplates, helmet heads. The noose of iron was drawing tight around her. Wherever she looked, an armoured shape was waiting ...
She wouldn't be seeing Jayne tonight; nor crying on her shoulder. The knowledge filled her belly like barbed wire.
There was nowhere left to turn. She came to a helpless halt amid the roses, her fingertips pressed tight against her lips; her pretty face all doe eyes and dismay. She felt sick and giddy and short of breath. Some forlorn part of her hoped she'd faint and miss what must come next.
The knights had formed a ragged circle round her; the scraping of their joints had fallen silent. The helmets leered grotesquely, more scary for the blank slots of their eyes. Grilles like grinning steel teeth, and beaks like birds of prey. Half a dozen crossbows pointed in towards her body. But now they stood as motionless as empty suits of armour.
Lisa made a mewling sound, and waited for the worst. Two pearly tears rolled down her painted cheeks. But the ghastly pause went on and on. No sound except the thumping of her hot and swollen heart.
The Host reclined before his screen, one finger on the button of the mouse. The Crossbones icon waited to be clicked. But not before he'd fully savoured Lisa's transformation, from snooty sales assistant to a doll-faced little slut. Her simpers over dinner turned to helpless whimpers now.
She would have taken hours to choose her gown and lingerie. Too bad she hadn't known that she had come here to be murdered in the nude.
Lisa seemed to sense his eyes upon her. She cringed, and slid her hands between her thighs. Dying was a concept too enormous to be grasped; being caught without her knickers seemed more relevant right then. Her shapely breasts remained exposed; they rose and fell as she began to sob.
"I'm sorry ..." she said miserably. "Just let me back inside ..."
The Host just smiled, and shook his head. He’d warned the silly cow, she should have listened. Naughty girls who left the house were punished without pity. He savoured that foreknowledge for a moment - then licked his lips, and double-clicked on Crossbones.
The icon winked; an hourglass hovered round it. Lisa, heedless, wiped her cheeks and sniffed. The fatal signal passed her by. She didn't even know that she was dead.
One of the clockwork knights began to creak.
Lisa's woeful eyes grew wide; she looked towards the sound. The knight was taking aim towards her tits. For a moment she stood petrified, a rabbit in the middle of the road. Then shook her head in pitiful entreaty.
"Oh, no ...” she snivelled plaintively. “Oh, please ..."
The bow unleashed its quarrel with a sudden, vicious twang. Before she had a chance to blink, the feathered bolt was buried in her chest.
The impact made her squeal and stagger backwards. She clutched her breasts, then arched her spine as if to show them off. Her mouth stayed open in an O, her dark eyes full of disbelief and fright. The smiling Host could understand the panic on her face. It wasn’t quite the date that she had dreamed of.
Then her heart split open in a burst of searing pain. Her head flipped back convulsively, her fishnet fingers clawing at her tits. A contrast to last night, the Host reflected: she’d flaunted them a bit more coyly then. The little slut had teased him with her cleavage, believing she could tempt him up to bed. But all she’d done was earn herself an agonising death.
The irony, of course, was lost on Lisa. Transfixed, she tried to twist away, her dolly face grimacing with despair. But nobody was going to come and save her. The iron knights looked on indifferently.
Lisa let her tongue poke out and made a gagging sound. Now she knew that she was dead, all right. She wriggled vainly for a moment longer - then crumpled like a swooning debutante. Her body bucked convulsively, then spent itself and slumped. She let her head roll sideways, and was still.
The knights stayed where they were, like rusting statues: staring past each other into unseen distance.
* * *
He clipped a fresh rose from the bush, and knelt beside the body of his guest.
Her makeup had begun to run, with sooty streaks below her shadowed eyes. It made her look more miserable, as if she'd wept black tears. A sexy clown who'd cried herself to sleep.
He touched the dewy crimson to her cheek. She didn't stir.
Her nudity was luscious, but the bow tie lent decorum to her corpse. Entranced, he stroked the bloom across her unresponsive flesh. Her nipples had grown button-hard; the petals moistened them. He tickled her flat stomach, tracing circles round her navel. Her thighs were open wide in invitation. He turned the fragrant flower in his fingers, sniffed its scent; then stooped to push it deep into the lifeless girl's vagina.
Lisa's eyelids didn't blink. She never felt this last indignity.
Her tender cleft closed snugly round the stem. He tucked the flower into place: a scarlet efflorescence from her sex. But Lisa kept on sulking, like the spoilt bitch she was. The pressure on her clitty woke no pleasure in her now.
The Host sat back, admiring the effect; then straightened up, and turned towards the house. Ready to greet his next delightful guest.
The doll lay motionless where she had fallen, quite heedless of the sun upon her skin. No slinky dress to show off now, nor briefs to spare her blushes. Just Cupid's dart between her tits - and a rose to set the seal on her romance.