Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 29, 2010 19:19:11 GMT -5
Cara stepped through the doors of the Laundromat. She examined the entire room, from left to right, and felt a cold chill run down her spine. The room was completely silent, except for the spinning hum of a single washing machine. The room was completely empty, except for one faceless man, who had buried himself in some magazine with a muscular, naked man on the front. Cara did her best to ignore the stranger and dragged her sack of clothes to the machine at the opposite end of the room to the man's.
She bent over to open the bag containing Damien's clothes and suddenly felt the icy touch in her turn to an unwelcome tickle. She stood upright and spun on the spot. The man was no longer reading the magazine and was, instead, staring blankly at the washing machine before him. Cara shook her head at her own stupidity and bent over once more. Again, the numb, tickling sensation returned. She stood rigidly upright a second time and instantly turned to face the man. He was still staring blankly at the wall.
Cara bit down on her bottom lip, straightened out her skirt with her hands and then kneeled down next to the bag. She began lifting the clothes into the machine, although it was difficult, as she wasn't quite tall enough.
"Why are they so tall?" she whispered to herself, still struggling with the clothes.
"They expect you to stand up when you load them."
Cara squealed and fell face first into the bag of clothes. Shaking, she slowly turned around to see the man standing before her. He was smiling from ear-to-ear and Cara felt the fear in her body lighten, although not disappear entirely. His smile had a childish innocence to it, although the creases around his mouth seemed to belong to that of a hardened warrior. He extended his hand towards her, still smiling casually.
"You want some help?" he asked with a soft, non-invasive voice.
Cara didn't move, still in a state of slight shock. She soon found control of her muscles and sat upright. She found her face to be uncomfortably close to the stranger's crotch, yet didn't move for some reason unknown even to her.
"I'm fine," she managed to mumble, before turning swiftly back to the clothes.
"Well, if you're sure," the man said and began walking back to his seat.
His sneakers rubbed loudly on the polished floor and Cara wondered how he had made it all the way over to her, without her noticing. Her stomach swelled with shame, as she realised how clueless she really was.
After what had felt like an endless struggle, Cara had managed to place all the clothes in the washing machine and then turned the device on. She quietly made her towards the seats and took the one furthest from the man. However, the chairs did not take up as much space as the machines and she found herself only feet away from him. He had returned to his magazine and Cara noticed the man on the cover was not naked. He was wearing black trunks and she realised he was a professional wrestler. Cara wasn't sure if this discovery comforted her or not. She didn't have time to dwell on the matter, as the man spoke once more and snatched her away from her thoughts.
"I'm going to be in one of these some day," he said, his eyes not leaving the pages.
Cara shuffled awkwardly in her seat and didn't say anything. The man waited several long, awkward moments and then spoke again. Cara clenched her teeth and tightened her entire body as he formed the words.
"Yep, I'm going to be the greatest wrestler ever," he continued, as if in the middle of some fascinating conversation. "It's my dream, you see? And I've got the best trainer around. With his help, I know it'll become a reality. Do you have a dream?"
Cara couldn't have responded, even if she wanted to. Her entire body had frozen stiff and she was having difficulty breathing, let alone speaking. The man's friendly, laid back tone had not changed in the slightest even after she had completely ignored him. She had expected him to yell or curse or hurt her, but it was as if he hadn't even noticed she wasn't speaking to him.
"If I'm annoying you," he stated, matter-of-factly. "Just let me know. I just thought you might want to talk to someone. You seem kind of lonely."
It was as if the entire universe had come to a complete stand still. Cara had lost all control of her body and mind. It was like he was gazing into her very soul and it filled her with anxiety. Just who was this guy?
"What am I saying?" he continued, still not looking away from his magazine. "I bet you have to fight guys off with a stick all the time. You're really pretty. Not like you need me to tell you that, though."
Surely this wasn't happening. This man was simply some twisted creation of her mind. But it didn't make any sense. She could see the light shining onto his smooth skin. She could smell the metallic fragrance of his deodorant. She could hear the steady flow of his breathing. No, he had to be real. Perhaps his words were a simple coincidence. But on the chance they weren't, just how did he know what he knew?
Cara swallowed a large, cold blob of saliva and the sound echoed throughout the room. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment, before forcing her eyes to take a quick glance at the stranger. He was still just sitting there! Just reading his magazine!
"But don't worry, I'm not going to ask you out or anything," he said, his tone exactly the same as it always had been. "I just thought you might want to talk, rather than just sit there by yourself. It's okay though, I'll shut up."
Cara cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. She was now sweating profusely and her voice quivered heavily.
"Were you?" she spoke, forcing the reluctant words from her mouth. "Were you... you were looking up my skirt, weren't you?"
Cara instantly felt herself turn completely red and she clenched her body tightly once more. The man threw his head back and burst into a fit of gleeful laughter. Cara cast her vision to the floor and hung her head in shame. Why would he want to see up her skirt?
"You got me," he admitted, the relaxed, childish tone to his voice still as present as ever. "I'm really sorry. I tried to stop myself."
Cara gasped and turned to the man. He had gone back to staring at the pages of his magazine. She felt the remaining sense of dread instantly evaporate and her body loosened more than it ever had before. She rose to her feet and made her way to the seat next to the man. She placed herself beside him and stared into the side of his head, as if trying to penetrate to the inside.
"Who are you?" she finally asked.
The man's smile broadened and he folded the magazine closed and placed it on the seat to the other side of him. He turned to face Cara and she was overcome with a pleasant warmth swelling in her chest. He extended his hand and Cara took it with hers.
"Name's Declan Prescott. What about you?"
"Cara," she mumbled quietly. Her voice still lacked any hint of confidence. "Costello."
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Cara Costello."
"My owner won't let anyone fuck me, without his permission."
For the first time, Declan's smile vanished. He stared at her blankly and she felt the grip he had on her hand tighten.
"You're owner," he inquired, an alarmed, yet strangely comforting, tone fuelling his words.
Cara nodded abruptly and felt her entire body going even redder with shame.
"My boss," she was able to stutter.
"I see," Declan said, withdrawing his hold on her hand. "Well I did say I wasn't going to ask you out."
Completely out of instinct, Cara snatched Declan's hand with hers, before he could withdraw it entirely. She could feel herself shaking and bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to calm herself. It was not long before she felt the warm trickle of blood running down her chin. Declan pulled a tissue from his pocket and placed it on her jaw.
"What are you saying?" he spat, still applying pressure to her mouth. "You're a slave?!"
"I'm... I'm..."
The skin on Cara's head felt like it was collapsing into her skull and the pressure became too much. Her eyes erupted with an overpowering flood of tears and she screamed at the top of her lungs. She felt a thick arm warp around her gently, yet firmly. She dropped her head into Declan's shoulder and wept into his shirt uncontrollably.
"I'M NOT EVEN A PERSON," she blubbered, feeling everything around her become wet with tears. "I'M JUST A PIECE OF ASS FOR THEM TO DO WHATEVER THEY WANT TO AND I HAVE TO TAKE IT!!!"
She felt Declan's second arm wrap tightly around her, as she continued weeping into him. He pressed his lips to her ear and spoke with a gentleness she had never before witnessed.
"Well, we're off to a bad start," he whispered. "I've lied to you already. I've decided I'm taking you out to dinner."
End
She bent over to open the bag containing Damien's clothes and suddenly felt the icy touch in her turn to an unwelcome tickle. She stood upright and spun on the spot. The man was no longer reading the magazine and was, instead, staring blankly at the washing machine before him. Cara shook her head at her own stupidity and bent over once more. Again, the numb, tickling sensation returned. She stood rigidly upright a second time and instantly turned to face the man. He was still staring blankly at the wall.
Cara bit down on her bottom lip, straightened out her skirt with her hands and then kneeled down next to the bag. She began lifting the clothes into the machine, although it was difficult, as she wasn't quite tall enough.
"Why are they so tall?" she whispered to herself, still struggling with the clothes.
"They expect you to stand up when you load them."
Cara squealed and fell face first into the bag of clothes. Shaking, she slowly turned around to see the man standing before her. He was smiling from ear-to-ear and Cara felt the fear in her body lighten, although not disappear entirely. His smile had a childish innocence to it, although the creases around his mouth seemed to belong to that of a hardened warrior. He extended his hand towards her, still smiling casually.
"You want some help?" he asked with a soft, non-invasive voice.
Cara didn't move, still in a state of slight shock. She soon found control of her muscles and sat upright. She found her face to be uncomfortably close to the stranger's crotch, yet didn't move for some reason unknown even to her.
"I'm fine," she managed to mumble, before turning swiftly back to the clothes.
"Well, if you're sure," the man said and began walking back to his seat.
His sneakers rubbed loudly on the polished floor and Cara wondered how he had made it all the way over to her, without her noticing. Her stomach swelled with shame, as she realised how clueless she really was.
* * * * *
After what had felt like an endless struggle, Cara had managed to place all the clothes in the washing machine and then turned the device on. She quietly made her towards the seats and took the one furthest from the man. However, the chairs did not take up as much space as the machines and she found herself only feet away from him. He had returned to his magazine and Cara noticed the man on the cover was not naked. He was wearing black trunks and she realised he was a professional wrestler. Cara wasn't sure if this discovery comforted her or not. She didn't have time to dwell on the matter, as the man spoke once more and snatched her away from her thoughts.
"I'm going to be in one of these some day," he said, his eyes not leaving the pages.
Cara shuffled awkwardly in her seat and didn't say anything. The man waited several long, awkward moments and then spoke again. Cara clenched her teeth and tightened her entire body as he formed the words.
"Yep, I'm going to be the greatest wrestler ever," he continued, as if in the middle of some fascinating conversation. "It's my dream, you see? And I've got the best trainer around. With his help, I know it'll become a reality. Do you have a dream?"
Cara couldn't have responded, even if she wanted to. Her entire body had frozen stiff and she was having difficulty breathing, let alone speaking. The man's friendly, laid back tone had not changed in the slightest even after she had completely ignored him. She had expected him to yell or curse or hurt her, but it was as if he hadn't even noticed she wasn't speaking to him.
"If I'm annoying you," he stated, matter-of-factly. "Just let me know. I just thought you might want to talk to someone. You seem kind of lonely."
It was as if the entire universe had come to a complete stand still. Cara had lost all control of her body and mind. It was like he was gazing into her very soul and it filled her with anxiety. Just who was this guy?
"What am I saying?" he continued, still not looking away from his magazine. "I bet you have to fight guys off with a stick all the time. You're really pretty. Not like you need me to tell you that, though."
Surely this wasn't happening. This man was simply some twisted creation of her mind. But it didn't make any sense. She could see the light shining onto his smooth skin. She could smell the metallic fragrance of his deodorant. She could hear the steady flow of his breathing. No, he had to be real. Perhaps his words were a simple coincidence. But on the chance they weren't, just how did he know what he knew?
Cara swallowed a large, cold blob of saliva and the sound echoed throughout the room. She felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment, before forcing her eyes to take a quick glance at the stranger. He was still just sitting there! Just reading his magazine!
"But don't worry, I'm not going to ask you out or anything," he said, his tone exactly the same as it always had been. "I just thought you might want to talk, rather than just sit there by yourself. It's okay though, I'll shut up."
Cara cleared her throat and forced herself to speak. She was now sweating profusely and her voice quivered heavily.
"Were you?" she spoke, forcing the reluctant words from her mouth. "Were you... you were looking up my skirt, weren't you?"
Cara instantly felt herself turn completely red and she clenched her body tightly once more. The man threw his head back and burst into a fit of gleeful laughter. Cara cast her vision to the floor and hung her head in shame. Why would he want to see up her skirt?
"You got me," he admitted, the relaxed, childish tone to his voice still as present as ever. "I'm really sorry. I tried to stop myself."
Cara gasped and turned to the man. He had gone back to staring at the pages of his magazine. She felt the remaining sense of dread instantly evaporate and her body loosened more than it ever had before. She rose to her feet and made her way to the seat next to the man. She placed herself beside him and stared into the side of his head, as if trying to penetrate to the inside.
"Who are you?" she finally asked.
The man's smile broadened and he folded the magazine closed and placed it on the seat to the other side of him. He turned to face Cara and she was overcome with a pleasant warmth swelling in her chest. He extended his hand and Cara took it with hers.
"Name's Declan Prescott. What about you?"
"Cara," she mumbled quietly. Her voice still lacked any hint of confidence. "Costello."
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Cara Costello."
"My owner won't let anyone fuck me, without his permission."
For the first time, Declan's smile vanished. He stared at her blankly and she felt the grip he had on her hand tighten.
"You're owner," he inquired, an alarmed, yet strangely comforting, tone fuelling his words.
Cara nodded abruptly and felt her entire body going even redder with shame.
"My boss," she was able to stutter.
"I see," Declan said, withdrawing his hold on her hand. "Well I did say I wasn't going to ask you out."
Completely out of instinct, Cara snatched Declan's hand with hers, before he could withdraw it entirely. She could feel herself shaking and bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to calm herself. It was not long before she felt the warm trickle of blood running down her chin. Declan pulled a tissue from his pocket and placed it on her jaw.
"What are you saying?" he spat, still applying pressure to her mouth. "You're a slave?!"
"I'm... I'm..."
The skin on Cara's head felt like it was collapsing into her skull and the pressure became too much. Her eyes erupted with an overpowering flood of tears and she screamed at the top of her lungs. She felt a thick arm warp around her gently, yet firmly. She dropped her head into Declan's shoulder and wept into his shirt uncontrollably.
"I'M NOT EVEN A PERSON," she blubbered, feeling everything around her become wet with tears. "I'M JUST A PIECE OF ASS FOR THEM TO DO WHATEVER THEY WANT TO AND I HAVE TO TAKE IT!!!"
She felt Declan's second arm wrap tightly around her, as she continued weeping into him. He pressed his lips to her ear and spoke with a gentleness she had never before witnessed.
"Well, we're off to a bad start," he whispered. "I've lied to you already. I've decided I'm taking you out to dinner."
End
