The Basement of The Bitter Pill ~ Closed to SoulWeaver

[fuckmeat]

... and anyone he chooses to invite.

From The Bitter Pill

pulls the key from my pocket and contemplates it for a moment, admiring the pretty Fleur De Lys bronzework. A thorough search of The Bitter Pill eventually leads me to a heavy oak door with an ornate bronze lock. I try the key and find that it turns smoothly, despite the antiquity of the lock. I push the door open slowly and step quietly through it, locking it behind me to prevent others from wandering in. Stone steps lead down to a basement level, twisting to keep me from seeing too far ahead

The canvas is yours SW, paint it as you will.

 

[SoulWeaver]

The dark corridor opens into daylight. You are standing on soft lush grass, the air cool and crisp. Light filters around you, as sunlight does through azure water, with ripples and eddies, felt rather than seen. A single path leads forward and in the distance, alabaster towers gleam. The horizon seems odd, unclear, like one of those trick illusions, it could be within touching distance, or days walk away.

A whisper caresses your ear, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It pours over you like liquid silk . . . causing unseen skin to flash and pucker.

"You must chose a name child."

"The name you will use here. You may gasp other names if you travel deeper, but when you leave, your chosen name will stay, along with some essence, a trace, a tiny token of your soul."


.

 

[NessaCary]

Opening one leg so her thigh opens, her skate turns out and spins until she catches herself on one toe stop clumsily, clutching the door. Drinking and skating don't make a good mix. She figures she'd take them off after she finally made it to the restroom. The deep mahogany door she'd used to catch her balance definitely didn't lead to the bathroom though. It seems to ripple below her hands and she steps back, falling backwards and catching herself on one hand and her ass. There's a metallic click as a small key falls out of her pocket and onto the stone floor.

She regards it for a moment, brass with black marks of age and beautiful. It's warm to the touch when she reaches for it, wrapping her fingers around it and holding it her palm a moment before standing back up. The key, of course, fit perfectly and she found herself facing a eerily green-lit stairway.

"Looks like skates off," she muttered, unable to resist a little mystery. Pocketing the key and slinging her skates over her shoulder she followed the corridor downward. A whispered word echoed and she was glad that she didn't have to listen to the clack of heels bounce against the tiled walls.

...and then there were no more steps.

 

[SoulWeaver]

...and then there were no more steps.

A soft noise caught his eyes and dragged them over to the window. He looked out across carefully manicured lawn, down the cobbled path and to the shimmering doorway. “Ahhhh … she’s here,” he allowed a shiver of delight to trickle down his backbone, bumping over each ridge like any icy liquid droplet.

The skates were a nice touch, he hadn’t been expecting those. He did so like surprises. He suddenly had a picture of her, hanging naked, sweat trickling down her cleavage as her skated feet twisted and scrabbled for purchase, just touching the glass floor . . . and no more. His grin widened, no, far too early for that, where had his manners gone. He snorted a little, he knew just where they were and just how long ago they had been taken. Down here he didn’t need to pretend much.

He watched her from the distance, her strong and supply thighs obvious, and no doubt delicious. He decided to allow her to walk to him. It would amuse him to watch, and give her mind time to wander and soften. Of course a little help wouldn’t hurt and he cleared the spires to glint ahead of her vision, just enough to catch and intrigue. Without wanting to spoil things . . . he absently wondered how wet she was . . .

.

 

[NessaCary]

Spinning slowly in the darkness, she forgot which direction her feet had been originally pointed. About to pick direction to walk at random, she saw to twin lights twinkle just up ahead. The moment her feet began moving in their direction, they flickered and disappeared. The tile under her feet gave way to something softer, tickling her ankles.

"It's grass!" she thought with surprise, feeling a bit like Alice at the moment, "but that's ridiculous. Grass doesn't grow in dark basements."

As she said it the darkness lifted, no...that was wrong, her vision cleared. The lawn underfoot became visible as the quaintest cottage she'd ever seen came into sight. Trees taller than could be possible grew up around its sides and she couldn't help but let out a squeal of girlish delight. A glance over her shoulder revealed that behind her was still dark. She wandered forward, full of sinful curiosity.

http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs44/i/2009/071/d/b/The_Charm_Maker__s_cottage_by_jermilex.jpg

 

[SoulWeaver]

She wandered forward, full of sinful curiosity.

“Gahhhhh!” for a second he almost choked under some saccharine invasion. It took him a second to adjust, he realised he’d been a bit too liberal with her thoughts. The minds of most who entered here often dipped into some sort of surreal protectionism if left to their own devices. Selecting images of attraction or safety like wallpaper in a swatch book and applying it where they needed to, so that their other desires could run rampant and then be dismissed as some sort of bizarre and uncontrollable dream. Of course, the ones that stayed soon had that misconception put right.

This one, this “Nessa,” had chosen to see his great towered castle as some sort of fucking gingerbread cottage. He fumed and toyed for a moment with the idea of letting her see just exactly where she really was . . . but then with a resigned shrug, decided his thoughts were better occupied in ensuring things went more to plan after he’d got her inside. She had already surprised him once and that wasn’t going to happen again.

He allowed himself a tiny peek though. He almost giggled, feeling a little like a child sneaking downstairs on Christmas eve to shake and test their presents, or like the time he’d played as Santa, he’d surprised more than a few housewives with an unwelcome gift that year, he remembered rather fondly. As his thoughts neared, his senses flashed alive, awash with her warm skin, light perspiration and soap. Bits of her ached and tingled, some flesh, some deeper, physic needs that had brought her here in the first place.

He dimmed the outside lighting a little more and allowed the yellowish light from lantern above the door, her door, to beckon . . .


.

 

[NessaCary]

The warm glow of the light called to her, drew her in as the world she found herself darkened rapidly. Her skates grew heavy as she walked forward and though she was walking along at a good pace it seemed that the light got no closer. Gripping her skates tighter, she took off at a jog, generous bosom bouncing with each step...and still nothing. A strange sound echoed around her, like malicious laughter and she stopped, peering around in the darkness suspiciously. Panting lightly, she leaned down and rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath and when she looked up her toes were right next to the door.

"Hello?" she called softly, her voice sounding hesitant and young. She frowned when no one responded and repeated herself, trying to sound more sure, firmer. She didn't.

When there was no answer, she frowned and tried the knob. Locked.

"For Christ's sake," she hissed and fumbled about in her hair for a bobby pin. Just as she found a few and leaned toward the lock, the door opened. Glowering, she stomped inside just a step and stopped, crossing her arms.

"More tricks?"

 

[SoulWeaver]

"For Christ's sake," she hissed and fumbled about in her hair for a bobby pin. Just as she found a few and leaned toward the lock, the door opened. Glowering, she stomped inside just a step and stopped, crossing her arms.

"More tricks?"

My but wasn’t she a treasure! Feisty, and more. Stubborn, although he was sure she preferred to be called headstrong or focused, he couldn’t help but grin stupidly. “Why was that?” he wondered, “Why did one always feel stupid grinning when no one was around to see?”

He was mildly impressed at her stance though, she certainly wasn’t easily spooked. He did wonder though, as he’d watched her jog, watched the heft and sway of her breasts as she’d bounced to nowhere. He’d wondered what dark little fantasies she hid away, locked in the leaky basement of her mind, to be brought out after a few drinks, or when all alone on a hot summers evening.

She was standing in the vestibule, on a ceramic tile mosaic flanked by marble columns. A long passageway led out in front of her, ornate doors on each side. He liked the incongruity of her outfit against the opulent surroundings, or was it the filmy sheen of sweet visible across the mounds of her squeezed cleavage. He needed something from her though, she had to pick a door, direct action was needed.

He plunged her into darkness, drifted down and whispered behind her, a gently half imagined sigh that began in the nape of her neck and played down her spine. While she shivered, he entered her mind, softly, not wanting to touch, just find. He flipped pages, slipping down layers easily, passing family and then friends, he skipped school and the clumsy adventures of fumbling boys. He wanted her private thoughts.

Finally he was standing in front of a blank wall, darker than dark, but the atmosphere here was dripping with emotion. Her wants were here, her needs … swirling around in the darkness. He closed his eyes, and willed it. He willed her to show him one thing, a desire, a want ..... something he could give .....



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