COME INTO MY PARLOUR 4

When Sarah awoke again, it was in a room, that she did not know. She could not move her legs apart, eventually Sarah discovered that she could move her arms, but only if she moved them as one and kept her wrists together. The sensations of phantoms arousing her had left her and her body felt battered and bruised. Sarah remembered Friday night, the brief moment of wakefulness, when she had believed herself to be ychained. She did not recall anything else, not even how she had ended up, in the room, that she was in. Sarah squirmed under the duvet and raised her arms, with that the quilt slid off her. Sarah, who had been induced to do it, by the sight, of her body, screamed. Her body was a terrible sight, because it was all covered in wheals, cuts, bruises and bite marks. There were no signs, of any bonds that were restraining her legs or wrists, but she could see six new tattoos, which she could not recall having had done. There was a pair of tattoos on her wrists. Each one of the pair encircled one wrist, another similar pair on her thighs; a third pair encircled her ankles. Each tattoo was not composed of scenes or figures, instead they were made up of similar symbols, to those, in her Bikini tattoo; there were lines that encircled her limbs, these marking the limits of the tattoos. The tattoos terrified her, but also held a sinister beauty for her.

Slowly, Sarah’s hands moved towards her face, causing her elbows to brush against her nipples, but such contact brought her no sensation of pleasure, instead as her elbows had brushed over her nipples, a line, of searing pain had torn across her buttocks. Her elbows jerked upwards, as she cried out in pain. Sarah’s hands touched her face, as they did so, her wrists touched her throat and to her great relief, her wrists separated. She started to cry. Shortly, thereafter, there was a knock on the room’s door. Sarah tried to move her hands, to pull the duvet over her, only to discover that she could not move her wrists, away from her neck, when she realised her predicament, she once again screamed! The door opened and Walter entered, as soon as he had done so Sarah cried out; “You bastard! What the hell have you done, to me!” Vaguely, Sarah’s mind slowly started to recall a desperate phone call, to Walter, on Saturday. The only detail she recalled, with any clarity, was the design she had sketched for a tattoo.

Walter walked over to her; he was softly saying words, not the same words, that he had used, in his greetings, to her, in the past. These were different words, reminiscent of those he had mumbled, as he had worked, but they still did not mean a single thing, to Sarah. His voice calmed her, Sarah asked; “Did I get you… to tattoo my thighs, ankles, wrists… and… er… neck?” He nodded and continued to whisper; Walter’s hands grabbed her legs and pulled them apart. Sarah screamed. But Walter only slid a pair of silk trousers up her legs and stepped back.

Sarah tried to kick him; She was awe struck, when her legs moved independently of on another. Victor ordered, “Lie still and I’ll put the top on, for you.” He resumed his whispering.

Sarah was so confused, but his muttering seemed to cause her fear to abate; eventually Sarah lay still, “Please!”

Victor moved towards her; he kept up the whispers, which Sarah could not understand. Walter grabbed her left arm and eased it away, from her neck. He slid the arm, of the top, up her arm. He repeated the process, with her right arm and secured the collar fastening. The outfit was very skimpy and reminiscent of the costumes for harem girls, in exploitation movies. The silk barely covered the tops of her breasts and all of her limbs. One further unusual thing about it was that its arms ended in fingerless gloves and the legs included a similar feature for her feet. The outfit displayed her original tattoo to great effect, as no silk covered it; it was as if it had been specifically designed, to show off her tattoo, to best effect.

Sarah was careful to keep her limbs away from each other, “How did I get here? Why dress me, in this?” As she asked about the outfit, Sarah remembered her flat, all her clothes, in shreds, on the floor; except for the Harem Girl outfit and a slightly less revealing outfit, that would have left her legs and arms bare.

Victor looked down on her; “You phoned me last night…”

Sarah sighed, as she recalled the event; she had struggled to the phone and knocked it off the hook, pressing last number re-dial with her nose and then there had been all the hysterical pleas over the phone. Vaguely, Sarah remembered Victor, doing the Tattoos for her, Monday was when he had done them, if she could trust her memory. She had two flashes of memories, that came to her, these were of ordering and picking up the outfit, that she was wearing. Seconds later, the memories of the phantoms’ torments of her, with constant pleasure, tried to overwhelm her. Their tormenting of her had lasted for at least three whole days and had been a terrible torture for Sarah, despite that her body felt dead without it. Sarah glanced at Victor; “It was just the seven?”

Walter moved towards the door. “I’ll show you to some mirrors. You wanted other things done but…”

Sarah’s hand shot between her legs, when the memories flooded back into her mind. She knew she had not had her labia pierced, once her hand had touched her flesh, as soon as she had touched herself, Sarah collapsed, onto the floor. For what to her had seemed to be æons, Sarah had had the sensation, of something trying to tear her nipples off. Walter muttered again and the pain fled. Sarah held her hands and arms away from her body; “What is it that you keep muttering.”

“I don’t know.” Walter answered, “I saw it in a book, it was described as an ancient rite, to ease suffering and calm the frightened.”

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