The Velvet Noose Ch. 01

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She couldn’t remember exactly how she had come to be in this particular situation, but she did know she had not planned it this way. She remembered making the decision earlier in the afternoon to go to The Velvet Noose when her husband had announced – once again – that he would be working late and probably staying overnight at the office. (This had begun to happen on a regular basis lately and she was not at all sure that these overnight stays were truly work-related.) She remembered calling two of her best friends to accompany her, but both said they were otherwise occupied that night. One of them said that she would be free later and might be able to join her there. The other said she would not even think about going to The Noose at any time, much less with only one other woman. That had made her reconsider her decision, but only for a minute or two.

The Velvet Noose, more commonly called The Noose, was a quiet club on the outskirts of the city where – or so word of mouth had it – one could find almost any kind of diversion or perversion he or she could afford. Janice had never been there, but she had listened in on several conversations at the office in which tales of debauchery and licentious behavior were hinted at. She never really absorbed any details, because every time she would ask about the club or about a particular event that the men or women had been discussing, the conversation would cease and the group would break up with lame excuses about having to get back to work, etc. This not only served to heighten her curiosity, but also infuriated her.

So, here she was, tied to a wooden post in the very center of what appeared to be a beautifully furnished house or apartment. There were no windows in this room, however, so Janice could not ascertain where she was, or if it was daylight or dark. How she had arrived at this particular moment in her life, was beyond her recollection. She knew she had slammed down the phone in disgust when her second friend had refused to go to the club with her and had, in addition, lectured her about “that sort of place.” She knew she had immediately decided that she would go alone. That much, she remembered.

She could also clearly remember tearing off the jeans and blouse she had on at the time and striding into the bathroom where she looked at herself in the mirror on the back of the door. She liked what she saw, dammit! Why was her husband so damned blind to this figure? She was only a few pounds heavier than when they’d married. While she had never been a skinny model type, she was not overweight, either. At 5’ 6” tall, her 140 lbs was spread out quite nicely and evenly. Some would call her ‘full-figured’ but not many. Her hair was deliciously auburn with golden highlights in the right light and she wore it very long – down to the center of her back. Today it had been pulled back in a severe ponytail as she stood at the mirror. She immediately discarded the ‘scrunchie’ that held it and allowed it to flow down her back in shimmering currents of red-gold. She shook her head from side to side and ran her fingers through her hair, tossing it apart and fluffing it until it resembled the mane of the fiercest African lion one could imagine.

Why didn’t her husband ever do that for her anymore? He used to love running his fingers through her hair as he made love to her; but he simply did not do either of those anymore – run his fingers through her hair or make love to her. It was as if she had become invisible.

Janice allowed her eyes to move down across her alabaster shoulders to her breasts – large, but not outsized. Her bras were comfortable for her at 36D, and she never had back pain or any other problems associated with their weight. Earlier in their marriage, her husband used to marvel at the fact that they were almost perfectly melon-shaped. It was as if someone had taken a very large honeydew and sliced it absolutely in half and had placed one half on either side of her breastbone – they were that round and that perfect. She unsnapped and shrugged out of her bra to look closer at herself. Each breast was tipped with a huge aureole – dark, dark brown in color, nearly the diameter of a coffee mug – and centered in each of those lumpy brown circles was an inordinately distended nipple. Her nipples did not extend only when she was aroused; they were perpetually in a state of stiffness. She had to be very careful about the blouses and sweaters she chose for wearing to work. Oftentimes the air conditioning would actually cause them to harden more, and that could only mean trouble. They would swell to a size unmatched by any other woman she had ever seen in her 32 years of visiting locker rooms for tennis, racquetball, swimming and any of the other sports that kept her body in prime condition. When aroused, Janice could boast (if she would ever do so) about nipples that were an incredible 1” in length and thicker than a fat Crayola crayon.

She reached to touch them now with her fingertips and watched as they hardened to just exactly that size with the aureoles swelling and crinkling as they matched the nipples in their excitement. She took just a moment to close her eyes and run her fingertips around in circles over her entire breast surface, circling under and around and along the tender sides before she returned to her nipples. Janice opened her eyes and watched as she took her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and pulled at them, further extending them and causing them to harden even more. She twisted and tugged and pulled and rolled for a full five minutes before she actually realized what she was doing. Was she that horny? When had she and her husband last made love? She honestly could not remember.

What surprised her most was the fact that coming out of her closed-eye reverie, she could see that the crotch of her beige panties was moist – no, not moist, but actually quite wet. Had this little bit of private touching sent her this far into sexual arousal? She bent to slide the panties down her legs and stepped out of them, one foot at a time. She hesitated as she went to throw them into the hamper, and slowly raised them to her nose. Inhaling deeply, she was gratified that she still thought she smelled delicious. Her husband had not kissed her between her thighs for so long she could not possibly remember when the last time had been. She sniffed again and caught the unmistakable scent of arousal that only she recognized. And she did the unthinkable. She slipped the tip of her tongue out of her heavily lipped mouth and touched it to the center of the wettest spot on the crotch of her panties.

An electric shock seemed to jump between the panties and her mouth and she had them against her face in seconds, sucking at the juices that clung to the cotton panel in the panties. She moaned and closed her eyes again, allowing one hand to creep between her slightly spread thighs to find the top of her slit and touch the spot she had been hoping her husband would touch for her tonight. She trembled as the two senses – tasting her pussy nectars and feeling her hardening clit – jolted together in the pit of her stomach.

There was no need to go any farther, was there? She really didn’t need to get off this early in the evening, did she? She looked directly at herself in the mirror and said, out loud, “Fuck it! And fuck you, too, Charles Edwards!” And she proceeded to stroke her clit and finger her slit as she sucked the panties deep into her mouth and tasted all that she had to offer.

As expected, her climax came quickly, heavily and with a full-body shudder that made her grab the edge of the sink to keep her knees from buckling completely. “Oh, God,” she thought, “if I am that horny, I am going to get myself in some real trouble at that club tonight, I just know it.” But it did not alter her resolve to do something about her lonely existence as of late.

She dropped her panties into the hamper, picked up her bra and added it to the pile and stepped into the tub/shower combination, pulling the shower curtain closed behind her. While showering under the warm, inviting, then steaming hot water, she managed to touch and massage each and every spot on her body that she claimed as an erogenous zone. Breasts, nipples, throat, collarbone, flat stomach, buttocks, inner thighs – all served as contact points for her sexual arousal, and now as she touched them repeatedly, each one sent a different sensual message to her brain until she was, once again, in the throes of an impending orgasm. She flipped the lever that changed the flow of the showerhead to the faucet in the tub and sat down on the bottom. She scooted down, down until her ass was directly against the front wall of the tub and then lifted both legs high in the air and placed them flat against the front wall of the shower enclosure.

In this position, the heavy flow from the faucet splashed directly onto her cunt and flooded her clit with sensation. She lay there, panting and gasping for air as nature took its course and she exploded with a body-thrashing orgasm. As she relaxed, she could feel the warm water coursing through the opening of her now-stretched-open cunt lips and into the heated depths of her love chasm. It was both relaxing and arousing…she tingled all over.

Finally removing herself from the flow, she turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, toweled herself dry (resisting the impulse to masturbate yet one more time with the bath towel between her legs) and moved to the bedroom.

All this, she remembered as she stood there tied to the wooden stake-like apparatus. She knew that all the events of the afternoon and early evening had led her to this spot, but for the life of her, she could not remember a thing about it.

Her memory revealed a picture of her, a mental video really, getting dressed for her planned excursion. First, a black thong that left very little to the imagination. She had often considered shaving her pubic hair, or perhaps trimming it into a strip or a heart at the top or something else, but her husband had always talked her out of it. He claimed to be a connoisseur of pussies and told her often that the most interesting, the most delicious, were those that were heavily covered in a thick matting of curly hair – and he made it obvious that it did not matter what color that hair might be. Her thong allowed rather a large amount of hair to slip out – top and sides – and left no doubt that she sported a profusely hairy, untamed bush of pussy fur.

A black bra with only half-cups of soft lace – more of a decoration than an actual aid in holding up her breasts (of course, she required no such aid as her breasts were strong and firm from the continued regimen of exercise she endured almost daily) was the next item she chose from her lingerie drawer and slipped into. Her nipples were not covered at all by the lace of the cups. They stood stiff and proud just above the front rims of the cups. It was almost as if they were daring anyone to touch them, feel them, suck them, bite them – and that eventuality may well present itself later this evening, she thought.

The mental video continued and she saw herself slipping into black, lace-top thigh-highs without anything to hold them up except her thigh muscles and the elastic at their tops. She smoothed out any pulls and wrinkles and admired herself again in the mirror. She was, indeed, “a beautiful specimen of womanhood, and that husband of hers could just go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut if he didn’t think so,” were some of the thoughts that coursed through her head while she watched herself dress.

Striding to her closet, she chose a pair of higher-than-normal black pumps – not ridiculously high so that she would totter and wobble, but high enough to make her calf muscles bunch when she walked and tilted her forward just enough that she had to hold her shoulders back for balance, thus thrusting out her hugely-nippled breasts for all the world to observe. After she stepped into the pumps and got used to them, she selected that most perfect of all outfits for a woman to appear at her sexiest best: the little black dress. This particular number was some sort of a crepe material -- a sheath with a scoop neckline and a hem that slid to just about two inches above the knee. Once again, not overtly sexy enough to be categorized as ‘cheap’ but enough to catch the eye of every male between the ages of 14 and 70. She looked again at her reflection in the mirror and smiled. She knew she was on top of the world with her looks. Brushing out her hair, she made the easy decision to allow it to swing free, unfettered and full of life, cascading down her back and swishing as she walked. God, she was beautiful!

But that’s where the video in her mind ended. Nothing else came into her sphere of recollection. Now she stood in this unfamiliar room still fully clothed, so nothing untoward could really have happened, but becoming a bit uncomfortable in her heels, with her hands cuffed above her head to a ring in the post and wondered if her choice of clothing or her decision about her hair had led her to this moment; but she had no clear memory of anything. Bits and pieces were trying to sneak through, but she could make no sense of them at all.

Her memory informed her that she had taken a cab from her home to the club because she understood somewhere in her subconscious that she would be drinking and did not want to chance a DUI on the way home. She remembered, or so she thought, the cab driver giving her a long, slow look as she walked to the door of the car. The cab driver was female and Janice had the distinct feeling she was going to jump in the back seat with her any second. She had actually giggled under her breath when she had thought that earlier this evening. Janice had never had any real sexual experiences with any other women, and the thought of this tiny little cab driver with her bleached-blonde hair and her tiny breasts which poked at the fabric of her uniform shirt being her first homosexual lover served to make her giggle. The driver heard the giggle, undoubtedly, but did not say anything at that moment about it.

Janice managed to dredge up the scene when her cab drew up outside The Noose and remembered it as if it were only a dream. The cab driver had turned around and said something to her. Now, what had that been? Something like, “This is a dangerous place for someone who looks like you. Anything you think you can find inside there, I can get for you someplace else. And there wouldn’t be any danger. Do you want to stay with me tonight? I can see you are excited; your nipples are punching holes in your dress. Come on; let me make you feel really good. Let me give you something you probably never had before. I won’t even charge you for the cab fare.”

The memory was becoming clearer now. She remembered the invitation almost as if it had been offered a minute ago. She had politely declined and had paid the woman her fare, with an exorbitantly large tip, and then had slipped out of the cab and stood in front of the door. That much, she could remember well. It was what happened after she went through the dark red door that became more like a fuzzy TV picture than reality.

Damn, why couldn’t she remember? What had happened in there? Where was she now? What in the hell was going to happen? For God’s sake, what would Charles say if he found out she had gone out like this? What time was it? What day was it? Who had put her here?

As her mind continued to race in search of answers to those questions, she became aware of a slow darkening of the room. The lights were growing dimmer and dimmer with each second. Furniture and wall coverings disappeared into the gloom as the darkness overtook the light. And when it was finally completely dark in the room she realized that she was not in shadow as was the rest of the room, but was, in fact, spotlighted by two or more bright lights in the ceiling. She was not blinded by them as they shone all around her rather than directly into her eyes, but she could see nothing at all outside of two feet from her spot in the center of the room. She felt like she was on display or onstage with the glare of the spotlight cascading down on her.

Janice looked around, straining her eyes, but saw nothing. She stood absolutely silent and still, but even with focused concentration, could hear nothing except her own breathing and the hammering of her heart in her chest. She could not even hear sound from outside the room. Again her mind reeled with the possibilities: was this room so soundproofed that no sound could get in – or out? And why would it be so? For what purpose was a room constructed in such a manner? Was there the possibility that she, herself, was going to be the source of the sounds that the designers and builders of the room did not want to escape? Would there be pain involved? “Oh, God,” she screamed inwardly; “what is going to happen to me?” And just then, the scene changed.

Directly in front of her, a door opened in the darkness of the wall. A lengthy line of figures was strung into the corridor outside the door, but she could see no features on any individual person because the light was quite bright behind them and their bodies and faces were in shadow, and also because they were all attired in identical hooded robes. From the little she could see, Janice sensed that the robes were not of the satin and silk variety so often affected by so-called satanic cults, but rather like the roughly hand-sewn robes of monks or medieval friars.

As the figures filed in through the door and turned either right or left and disappeared into the darkness, they kept their heads bowed and their hands inside the wide sleeves of their robes, so Janice could still not figure out if they were male or female, old or young, black or white or any other physical feature except for the fact that some were short, some medium in height and others quite tall. As the last figure entered the room, the door was closed behind him/her and the room was once again plunged into darkness except for Janice at dead center, cuffed to the sacrificial post. (At least this was the way she was beginning to think of it.) Janice had quickly counted a total of eight individuals as they made their way out of the light and into the darkness which surrounded her.

Not a sound was uttered by any of the figures. It was evident that they were observing her, but were not saying a thing. Were they waiting for something? Was she supposed to do something? She opened her mouth to speak and immediately a hand was placed over it from behind. She could not see if the hand was male or female, but it pressed against her face with just enough pressure so that she understood she was to make no sound, at least not at this point.

A whisper slid into her ear and she heard, “Fear not, my beautiful girl; for the evening has just begun for you. You have been selected to receive the attentions of the members of The Circle of the Noose. You should feel honored. You will not speak unless spoken to; you will not cry out unless given permission; you will not question or refuse any suggestion or command given to you during the course of the evening. If you follow these instructions to the letter, you are guaranteed an evening of delightful pleasures and a safe return to your home. If, however, you break any of the rules stated, you may find that our displeasure will be directed toward your body, and it may not be as pleasurable as the response your cooperation would elicit. You may answer this question in one word: ‘Do you understand the rules?’”