Thursday, January 6, 2011

Freedom of Restraint: Episode 1 - Lena Marov

Freedom of Restraint: Episode 1
Lena Marov

"Ugh get off...and leave too," I said, pushing my somewhat paunchy companion away from me, and nearly off the other side of the bed.  He was a pale skinny college boy in his late teens, probably an attendee of nearby NYU, but it didn't matter.  As a nighttime companion he'd been adequate, but unspectacular like too many his age.  I thought about showing off my wings just to scare him into departing with a bit more urgency, but that might provoke some unwanted questions, and even less wanted attention.

"What?" he asked dumbly, sitting up.  His curly brown hair, which had been fun to run my fingers through, started to annoy me for some reason.

"Get dressed and get out," I told him simply.  "I have an interview tomorrow afternoon so I want to sleep alone tonight."  The words were half true.  While sleep did tend to clear my head, I didn't need it for rejuvenation, not as much as sex anyways.

"Well alright," he said, running a hand through his hair and finally moving.  He started to dress as though he was doing it under water, too slow, like he was waiting for me to change my mind and ask him to stay.

"Are you sure you don't want-"

"Now!"  I cut him off.  He had crossed the threshold from minor annoyance to full fledged pain in the ass.  Smiling somewhat devilishly, I turned on the charm.  "You will be out of my apartment within two minutes," I purred, "and you'll be leaving your pants here.  I'm sure the cab driver will love your boxers."  The jeans looked like a comfortable trophy, and he'd pissed me off enough so that I had no issues with making him embarrass himself.  When the effects of my influence wore off about halfway back to his dorm, he'd feel pretty foolish at wandering out in his underwear.  I wouldn't be around to see it, unfortunately, but the mental picture was nearly as good.

"Okay," he said slumping the jeans over the edge of the bed.  Within seconds, everything else was in place and I was closing my door after watching him disappear down the hallway and into the elevator.

I sighed and stretched my wings.  Large and seemingly unwieldy for such a petite girl like myself, the tips nearly reached opposite walls in my small studio apartment.  I wasn't sure what they were exactly in the tangible sense.  They were always present, though they could only be seen and touched by human beings if I desired.  Substantial enough to be able to lift me off the ground, and yet ghostly enough for me to be able to wear clothes or lay on a bed without any annoying problems.  They are a mystery, like many aspects of my existence.

I stumbled into my undersized bathroom and studied myself in the mirror, prodding at the spots amid the short black hair on my head where mythology said my horns would be.  It had taken an absurdly small amount of research for me to figure out what I was.  There was a remarkable amount of information on the internet regarding succubae.  Some of it fit, some of it didn't.  My appetite for sex had been rather similar to a vampire's appetite for blood since puberty.  Masturbation could tide me over for a little while, but I needed either a dick inside of me, or lips planted firmly on my nether regions or I grew weary and began to waste away.

It had been a harrowing time for my foster parents, their little fourteen year old impaling herself on everything she could find.  It strained relations at the least, and they were not sad to see me leave when I was eighteen.

Fast forward a little over three years and time had me where I am now, staring into a mirror, wondering about myself for the millionth consecutive night.  I've never known any others of my kind, but I have seen them, and different races too.  I don't know what it is that makes humanity so oblivious, when we are not.  Still, the courage to approach someone, to inquire about my existence has eluded me.

It always amused me how little the mythological representation of succubae and my own appearance intersected.  Typically the women are shown as tanned, voluptuous, horned demons with malicious stares and large leathery wings.  The wings are pretty accurate, and my firm C-cup breasts match the ample bust of many of the pictures, but everything else is way off.  I would never be called anything even remotely near voluptuous, or intimidating.  In fact, as far as mythical creatures are concerned, minus the wings, I am more elfin than anything.  A pixyish tapered face, a willowy body, barely palpable hips and fair white skin...  My appearance still has me attracting the eye of many a boy and girl, but it doesn't exactly scream slut, harlot, or any of the other delightful words meant to describe what I am.

Sighing, I stepped into the shower.  I don't need them.  I never get sick, never have an odor, and dirt seems to have no interest in attaching itself to my body, but it feels natural since everyone else around me does it, and the warm water always feels good, especially after unsatisfying sex.

I was looking forward to the interview the following afternoon for a bunch of different reasons.  After three years rushing through an accounting degree, it was gratifying to be making a foray into the real world.  The money that my biological parents had left me had been able to sustain me, and would continue to do so for a while, but it wouldn't last forever.  And the desire to make a contribution to something with my time had started to outweigh the desire for an easy life.  Sitting around doing nothing wasn't much fun, and attending classes and completing pointless assignments seemed a little too close to doing nothing for my taste.

Then there were the less professional reasons that the interview had me brimming with excitement.  First off was the nature of the establishment that was evidently hoping I'd prove intelligent enough to be allowed to keep their books.  Freedom of Restraint is, for lack of a better term, a professional dungeon, (and I suspect an occasional fuck parlor).  There are many dungeons scattered throughout New York City, specializing in providing a variety of bondage related delights for their clientele, but FoR is different.  Private to the point of almost seeming shady, the only reason I found out about an opening there was my friend Tara.  I would call her my corrupter, but I don't think a succubus that started having sex when she was fourteen can consider herself less corrupt than anyone or anything. 

Still, she had been the one to ward off much of the guilt that I'd felt from engaging in an activity that society labels as "dirty," and also the one to introduce me to some of the more delightful aspects of sexual play.  Tara had been the ever-willing dictionary that defined the word bondage for me and she had relished the opportunity to introduce me to the many delights of submitting to, or dominating someone sexually. 

I turned the shower off and seemed to dry almost instantly, something I've never quite gotten used to.  Wandering back out into the living area and over to my bed, I fished my cell phone from beneath the sheets and dialed a familiar number.

"Heard you tumbling around down there," Tara said, her words dripping with anticipation and lust "thought I might be hearing from you tonight."  She lived in the apartment directly above mine, it was actually how we'd met.  She had come down one evening after I had enjoyed a particularly rough go at an almost painfully large and more than deliciously skilled guy, presumably to tell me to fuck off and to keep it down in the future.  Instead of the heated argument she'd prepared for, our conversation had actually been rather friendly.  Her eyes had glazed over once she saw me in my tiny cami, and I knew immediately that she was attracted to me without even having to use my suggestive abilities.

"Yeah, it wasn't good, do you want to come over?"

"Do I ever not?  I told you that you didn't have to ask.  What are you wearing?"

I smiled, knowing she'd detect the implications in my voice.  "Nothing..."  The phone went silent and I knew she'd be knocking in under a minute.

Sure enough before I'd even had a chance to rummage around the floor for the phone charger, a gentle tapping came from across the room.  "I keep telling you that you can just come in," I called, dumping the phone on the nightstand and turning to greet my visitor.  The door opened and shut with a series of soft clicks.

"Sorry, habit," Tara said shyly, making no attempt to hide the fact that her eyes had glued themselves to by body, and would probably remain there for most of the night.

I grinned at the perky blonde knowing that her submissive nature had her wrapped tightly around my finger for as long as I desired.  Tara had confessed her attraction to me early, as if I needed to hear the words.  What had surprised me was her utter willingness to act on those desires without requirement of reciprocation on my part.  The girl was made to please and while a feminine touch had always proven less fulfilling of my needs than a masculine one, it was no less welcome especially since Tara was so good at her craft.

"Get on your hands and knees, and crawl over to the bed," I said with a smile, taking a seat on the edge and enjoying my show.

1 comment:

  1. I really love your description with this. I can picture what Lena looks like perfectly (and I'm sure the black hair had nothing to do with Lena from Tatu. Not at all. ;)) I can't wait to see how this develops.