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Author's Notes: If you have any commentary on this or any of my stories or suggestions or ideas then email at arcane_x@hotmail.com. The more thought out and less vulgar the email the more likely I am to read it. As for the rest of my work on the net feel free to post and distribute as you wish so long as credit and the above address remains attached.
A chair.
It looked so simple, so harmless.
It would have looked much like any other antique chair if not for the girl who sat on it. The site of her was more than enough to attract attention. She was naked, squirming and soaked in layers of sweat. She had fallen into a trap and now she was being forced to suffer for it.
She felt herself slipping, second by second, not knowing what she could do. Every joule of energy she put into resisting was another one that she could no longer use, another wearing down of her
body and spirit. She pulled at the bonds, the metal bands that held her wrists and ankles against the smooth ancient timbers of the chair. How foolish she had been. How naïve.
But it was too late for that. Much too late.
Her mind wandered, trying to escape her reality, trying to find strength in the past. She thought back to the beginning, back to when this had all started.
***
Katie Holmes was being watched.
She didn't know it at the time, at least to specifically. Undoubtedly she knew that some people were watching her. The moment she had stepped out of her car she realised that unseen forces observed her. She was far away from the big city, but the power of television knew no bounds. But there was one positive aspect. She knew that the people of Ratterson Creek weren't going to make a big deal out of her fame. They wouldn't risk her not spending valuable celebrity dollars at their shops. At first she'd been opposed to coming here. The last place she wanted to spend a weekend retreat was anywhere ending in Creek. In the end she decided to give it a try. And as she stepped out of the car she didn't regret it. Plenty of trees, open air and not a freeway in sight. Just right for getting away from it all. Everything here seemed perfect.
Well almost everything.
"Booked out?" Katie repeated for the third time, still not having fully absorbed the unexpected turn.
"I'm terribly sorry Miss Holmes." The elderly hotel owner replied glumly, his wrinkled brow furrowing even further. "If you'd booked in advance it might have been fine but.."
"But you told me I wouldn't need to book. You said the hotel was empty this time of year."
"It was. At least until a car rally dropped in for the weekend. They filled up every room to overflowing. I really wish I could offer you something."
"I understand." She mused for a second. "You said to overflowing. Well.. where did the overflow go?"
"Many of them are staying in their vans and cars."
Katies hope dropped again.
"But.. I suggested that they try up at Miss Van Dynes."
"Who?"
"Miss Van Dyne. She runs a seasonal boarding house. Follow me."
He moved over to a window and pulled open the blinds. "That," He pointed, "is the boarding house."
A mile or so out of town, perched on top of a barren hill was what looked like an old English mansion.
"All the charm of a haunted gothic mansion." Katie mused.
"That's what scared the rally people away. They didn't even go up there. But I suggest you do. It isn't nearly as old and decaying as it seems."
"Okay.. I will.. thanks.." she nodded and headed out for the car.
It was only a short drive to the open gates of the house. The drive itself was fairly long, winding it's way up the hill until pulling up in front of the large doors. Katie exited and looked up at the looming building. It was certainly the text book haunted house alright. Hopefully the insides
wouldn't be quite as eerie. She walked up the steps and used the large metal knocker.
About ten seconds later the door was answered, not by a misshapen hunchback, as she had almost expected, but by a dark haired woman, seeming about her late twenties. She was dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, not at all the sor of thing she expected to live in such a building.
"Um.. Hello.. Are you Miss Van Dyne?" Katie asked.
"Yes. And you're Katie Holmes. Sorry. I won't make a thing of it. I take it you've found the town booked out?"
"Uh huh." Katie nodded.
"Well this is the place to stay then. Come in, have a look around."
Katie stepped through the door and found herself in neat foyer, well painted in a pastel tone with soft carpet on the floor.
"I know what you're thinking, It doesn't match the exterior right?"
"Well it wasn't what I was expecting."
"I used to be the family home. My grandfather was born in this house. He lived here all his life. It goes way back. Of course my father had to make his name in the big city. I only met Pop once when I was sixteen. But for some reason he left the house and everything in it to me. It didn't seem right to change the outside but the interior needed a good clean. So now it's a bed and breakfast. For those that dare venture to the house on the hill" she finished with a mock tremble in her voice.
Katie smiled.
"I'll take a room for the weekend."
"I thought you might. Guest rooms are up on the top floor. Right now there's no one else here. I guess the rally drivers are all superstitious. So I can give you the main suite if you like."
"That would be great Miss Van Dyne."
"Oh call me Lucy."
"Lucy it is." Katie smiled as she went for her bags.
Katie packed the last of her clothes into the set of draws in her room. It was fairly large with attached shower and bathroom. The view, overlooking the town below, was breathtaking. Katie flopped back on the bed and exhaled, feeling the tension of stardom melting away already. She had nothing to do for the next three days. No business, no media, no public appearances. She had promised her agent that she would take a couple of scripts to read over.
They were at the bottom of her suitcase and they were staying there. She looked up at the roof.
It was blank, plain white, but that was good enough for her. Peaceful. That was the sort of weekend she was looking for.
Dusk came. Dusk went.
Light gave way to darkness.
Katie enjoyed a delicious meal, part of the accommodation package, and found conversation with Lucy remarkably easy. So often she'd had to grease her way around conversations, either to attract needed attention or to deflect that which was unwanted. Here she could simply talk, mostly about nothing at all. Topics didn't even steer towards stardom. They discussed the history of the town, their opinions on the Rally drivers and the nearby scenery, much of which Katie had explored that afternoon.
The actress offered to wash up the dishes but Lucy was adamant that she was already paying for her weekend, and that no further service was necessary. She retreated to her room. Lying back on her bed and ignoring the brief of being in Dawson's room rather than her own. At some times during shooting she wondered if she spent more time in a bedroom set on camera than she did in her own.
She thumbed a remote, flicking on the T.V across the room. A vampire burst from the closet, throwing the girl across the room.
"Buffy." Katie sighed, not changing the channel just yet. It was always hard to image what she would have been like in the role. She simply couldn't picture herself leaping tombstones and thrusting stakes, bra strap visible in every other shot. She seesawed on the idea, sometimes
wishing she'd taken the part, sometimes glad she'd accepted it. Dawson's Creek was probably more satisfying as an actress anyway. It was teenage soap, but it offered good acting ability. At least that was what she told herself. Sarah Michelle Gellar probably told herself similar things.
Katie opened her eyes, looking up at the black ceiling. A voice. She could have sworn she had heard one. Perhaps in a dream. But she couldn't remember that dream whatever it was. She shuffled out from under her sheets, swinging her legs over and sitting on the side of the bed. There wasn't a watch nearby but she knew it was late. The moon, which had been in the sky when she had gone to bed, was now gone, leaving the land to darkness.
Her eyes darted to the darkness. That time she was sure she heard a noise.
Distant but clear, somewhere out there, somewhere in the house. She leant over and fumbled through her bag, pulling out a small pen torch. She didn't rally want to seem like she was snooping about the house, but she felt as if she should at least check on the sound. She slid into her slippers and cautiously walked out of her room, slowly moving the door and hoping that it wouldn't creak to loudly. The night was warm, but not hot, her singlet and boxers offering enough protection from the dark.
She heard the sound again, unsure exactly of what it was. Down stairs, it was definitely downstairs. She walked down slowly, cutting through the dark with her thin torch beam. She stopped upon reaching the floor, standing silent, waiting for another sound. After a second it sprang up again. It certainly wasn't a creaking of boards or an animal. If it was a voice she couldn't figure out what it was saying just yet. She entered the lounge, passing through into a smaller room she hadn't been into before. It was fairly plain, perhaps once a small study. She swept the torch about the room, stopping on an ornate wooden panel. Tentatively she crossed the room, reaching out a curious finger. She traced the carved lines, trying to make out the figure.
The panel slid aside.
Katie exhaled in wonder, peering into the darkness through which her torch gave shed little light. A wave of cool air struck her, rising goose bumps on her exposed flesh. She almost turned, not wanting to descend into the darkness. But then the sound came again, deep from within the earth and she knew she couldn't turn back, not just yet. Holding down the torch to see the ground before her, Katie Holmes entered the darkness.
The staircase twisted and turned, burrowing into the earth. After a hundred or so steps Katie wondered if she should turn back. No, she was determined to locate the source of that sound. She touched ground, feeling a slight dampness through her slippers. Refusing to let a little discomfort bother her, she pressed forth, ignoring the cold wetness that forced it's way up between her toes. She was in a small passage, some sort of natural cave. And if there was a staircase then it had to lead to something.
Katie screamed as a slimy tentacle slithered down the back of her spine. She jumped, catching a breath and reaching a hand over her shoulder. It was not a tentacle. It was nothing more than a drop of icy water from the damp roof above her. Katie kept walking, wrapping her arms about her. Goose bumps covered the skin of her arms now and two particularly prominent bumps pressed through the fabric of her singlet.
Katie stopped, looking at a metal door in front of her. She reached out, taking the handle and pulling the door open.
What she found was nothing like she had expected.
It was a bedroom, even more plush and decorated than her own. It was a suite, all this way underground. There was a large, perfectly made bed, a thick carpet, even a hot tub in the corner. It should have been on the top floor, not so far below ground. She walked forward into the room, slippers sliding over the carpet. A look of bewilderment covered her face as she tried to reason just why this was all here. Nothing came to mind.
A noise came from through another door. Hastily she crossed the carpet and opened another steel door. This room was far less cheerful. It was a dull grey cell, walls stone as was the floor. It was little more than a few metres in length. Void of any decoration save one. In the middle of the room sat a large, stunningly ornate, wooden chair. It looked like an ancient antique, looming ominously in its display case. The decorations made it look a thing of beauty or would have if not for more sinister additions. On the legs and armrests, thick metal restraints gleamed in her torchlight. A similar metal band at waist level mad it clear that the chair was anything but beautiful. And worst of all there was nothing, nothing at all, that could have made the sounds she had heard.
Katie turned, anxious to get out of this place as quickly as she could.She met eyes with Lucy, standing in the rooms centre. Katie began to speak. She heard a crackle, saw a blue spark, felt a shock surge through her and then there was blackness again.
Katie groaned before she fully regained consciousness. Once she had, she groaned again. Her body ached a little, as if she'd done too much exercise the day before. She shook her head, memory flooding back to her. The noise, the tunnel the chair, Lucy with a stun gun. Katie's mind caught up with the present.
She screamed at what she saw.
She was sitting on the antique chair, wrists and ankles locked tight, waist encircled by the steel band. Her slippers, boxers and singlet were all gone, naked flesh illuminated by a single dim bulb hanging from the roof. Katie shivered in fear, realising that her captor, Lucy Van Dyne, knew of this chair, had used it before. Katie knew that she was naked for a reason and she shuddered to think what that reason might be. She waited, unsure of the passing of time, unsure of what was to happen next. Somehow she felt something wrong, something about the place that had meaning, deeper than what she knew.
The door opened and Lucy Van dyne entered.
She wore a slim singlet and tight shorts, both small enough to show that there was nothing beneath them. In her hand she carried a small stool which she placed on the floor sitting directly before her helpless victim.
"Well Katie, you seem to have stumbled upon my little secret. I was still debating whether I would bring you down here but you seem to have made the choice for me. I don't know what possessed you to go creeping about but I guarantee you'll find this discovery very.. stimulating."
"What are you going to do to me?" Katie mustered every ounce of her acting talent to try and appear unafraid. If her act worked then it made no notable impression on the woman.
Lucy laughed slightly, as if she had heard the question so often before.
Katie suspected she had.
"You ask what I will do to you? Perhaps you should ask what you will do to yourself. Or what you will ask me to do to you. No need to look so confused my dear girl. I will explain it all in detail. I believe it is time for a history lesson."
Lucy leant back on the seat, assuming the pose of a storyteller about to begin a tale.
Katie was offered no such luxury of motion yet still was capable of absorbing every word.
"I am sure you are aware of the figure of the Marquis de Sade. Certainly an infamous figure in history. Sadism is named after him. He derived sexual pleasure from inflicting pain. But fear not child, this is a mere reference.
I refer not to him but to one Antoine Hume. He was lived in the region at the time, something of a protégé of the Marquis, though I assure you, no history book will give mention of him. For Antoine the fascination lay not so much in the infliction of pain, but the infliction of pleasure. I assure you it is not a paradox or poor choice of words.
Pleasure can be inflicted just as pain can and this was the art which Antoine sought to refine. He came to realise that there were limits, limits at which a lust was sated, at which a liaison must end. Thus a true excess of physical pleasure could never be experienced for the participants would quit their actions. He sought a way to overcome this problem, to reach past these limits.
Through a contact of de Sades, Antoine had himself made a chair, the very chair Katie on which you sit. He demanded that it be made of the strongest wood he knew, oak imported from England. The oak was crafted and treated to stand the tests of time. The restraints were to be pure silver, perfectly moulded to the contours of the human form. And thus the chair was made.
But you see there was a further strange fact to be noted, one that may or may not bear relevance to the facts. It is said that when the chair was varnished, de Sade himself demanded that a virgins maiden blood be mixed into the lacquer. Antoine apparently had no knowledge of this addition and well so. Some rumour say it was the blood of Antoine's own daughter that finished that coat.
When it was done it found a home in Antoines, deep basement, surrounded by enough stone to silence the cries of those that would be treated there. Then Antoine began his experiments. His subjects were exclusively female, perhaps due to the lack of sexual stamina in men, never cared for them myself, perhaps because Antoine was reported to be quite androphobic, keeping near exclusive female company.
Thus one by one these women descended into his private dungeon, bound to the chair, engaged in a liaison they could not hope to escape. For hours, often half days, their cries of passion and exhaustion, lust and desperation would echo off those stone walls. Antoine kept exquisite journals of his studies, his research into sexual pleasure accumulated from across the world. If there was a method of stimulation to try then he would attempt it. His subjects seldom emerged unscathed though none died within his chambers.
Some became sullen recluses, no longer dealing with society. Others were deemed raving lunatics, placed in asylums for no doubt the rest of their days. A few committed suicide, in Antoine's explanation no longer willing to live in a world were no pleasure could ver equal what they had known. Thus it went on, Antoine uncaught. Yet one day he noted a profound discovery.He had only just strapped his victim to the chair when a notable society member came to visit. Unable to conceive a credible excuse, he left her and socialised.
When he finally descended hours later he found her ranting, not in fear or anger, but in unrestrained lust. The girl, a timid creature before, was now raging with rampant sexual desire. Remarkably he was able to reason with the girl, making her promise that if he pleasured and released her she would speak nothing of her imprisonment. Willing to do anything to alleviate her passions, the girl agreed and in fact kept her word.
Antoine was intrigued. He acquired another subject and this time observed her as she sat. At first she was abusive and fearful. But as time passed her mood seemed to calm. Then she began to squirm, discomfort setting in. Her breathing increased and she began to heat up. Something was
sexually arousing the women. Antoine took this as a blessing, allowing him to continue his experiments with even greater success. Now the women were not only enjoying his attentions, but begging for it. Anywhere else in the dungeon would not do, only those that sat in the chair became irresistibly aroused. He came to realise what occurred.
Each girl that he had pleasured in the chair had left an imprint on it. Perhaps psychic, through her mental desires, perhaps physical, by the body fluids absorbed by the wood. The chair itself was like a battery for sexual desire, those that were locked into it invariably became absorbed by lust."
Katie stared in terror at the calm women as she told her tale.
"I know what you're think Katie." She smiled. "You think I'm crazy and you're scared. But what scares you more is the chance that I'm not crazy. You're sitting in the chair Katie. How do you feel?"
Katie didn't answer. The room did seem hotter but it was a small room and that made sense. Her slight sense of discomfort could come from her posture as much as anything. She knew the woman had to be lying, trying to make her edgy, to use the power of suggestion.
"Never mind Katie, I'm sure you'll feel it soon. We have plenty of time."
"After he died, his son inherited his estate and with it his passions for experimentation with the gifts his father left. Jerome Hume possessed neither the analytical skill or patient discretion of his father, thus his uses for the chair were to gratify a carnal desire. Needless to say his wanton use of the chair lead to a megalomania of sorts. He began to treat women like slaves and pure sex objects, even in social settings. After an unfortunate altercation with a high standing lady he was sentenced to prison, his goods to be auctioned off.
Thus they were and the house was brought up by a wealthy landowner who lived there for many years without any clue of what rested beneath his floorboards. The house passed from owner to owner, none of them realising it's hidden secret.
This was until it was brought up by a lecherous woman known only as Marie. She had made her fortune running brothels in Paris and had retired to the estate. In her renovations she accidentally
discovered the chair, and along with it, Antoine Hume's well preserved journal. She was fascinated with the chair, soon beginning her own experiments with nubile young girls of the city. But once again her acts caused displeasure among the townsfolk, displeased at her new brothel like abode. She was forced to move on and this time she settled on heading for the Americas. She was rich enough to take her belongings with her and along with them was this chair."
Lucy took a break, leaning back and smiling at Katie. The actress was definitely uncomfortable now. She could feel an itchy heat running over her skin. But she believed it was her sweat more than anything else. The room was heating up quickly and her body was reacting. She flicked her damp fringe from her eyes, trying to keep her mind of the sensation.
"Go on." Katie demanded but it came it badly, halfway between a gulp and a cough.
Lucy obliged with a smile.
"She found a perfect little town, a developing backwater settlement called Ratterson Creek. It wasn't anything special but it was a prime stop on the way from one place to the next. She built her new mansion on the hill top, looking over the unwashed masses who would come to be her best clients. There was no end of new business passing through town and no end of girls that weren't willing to work for her after a few sessions in the chair.
She never told her secret to anyone, at least not to anyone but her own son, my grandfather. I don't know whether he ever made use of the thing but he kept all the notes, even the old diary of Antoine Hume. He knew he had to pass it on, pass it on to one who cared. Not his son. My dad wouldn't care for any of this.
But then I came along. One anti social, aggressive, teenage lesbian. Pop only met me once but he knew. He could tell that I'd be one to enjoy tying people down, making them beg me. You see Katie, I still get plenty of custom, just like my great grand mother. Only I'm not in it for the money. I'm in it for me. Can you feel it Katie? Can you feel it creeping into your body, into your mind?
The lust, the desire? The need Katie?"
Katie gritted her teeth, not saying a word.
"Alright then. Maybe I'll be back in a little while."
Lucy stood, taking her stool with her and closed the metal door.
Only once she heard the parting sound of footsteps did Katie let out her breath in a gasp. She hadn't wanted the woman to see her weakness.
Could she feel it? Of course she could. The energy was surging through her now, the wood itself hot with her own body's energy. Sweat dripped from her, pooling, soaking into the antique wood. She gasped for air, no breath seeming to quite satisfy her burning lungs. She tried to sit still, regulating her breathing but slowly a shaking would spread through her, limbs quaking against the metal straps, chest heaving more and more. Then she would thrash wildly, wet hair flailing through the hair, plastering itself to her neck and face, breasts bouncing up and down, droplets of sweat flying from flushed skin and perfectly erect nipples. She felt the tingling filling up her body, the need for release building within her. Wetness and heat met at her centre, further soaking the wooden seat she squirmed on.
She grunted and moaned, trying to find a release, trying to rub her thighs together enough to create a pressure. But the leg restraints were precisely placed, hold her legs just far enough apart to prevent such action. She bucked her hips, squelching against the wet wood but again to no avail.
Now she could hear voices in her mind, speaking to her, whispering words of lust and desire. The voices of those that had sat there before, the succubus spirits of past centuries, all speaking to her now, arousing her, seducing her with their soft words. Katie heard a voice, distant yet distinct, unknown yet infinitely familiar.
Among the cacophony, the myriad of sensations, the heat, the pleasure and the insanity of her situation, Katie could not help but listen to the soft single voice.
Katie screamed.
Then she surrendered.
Lucy cautiously opened the room, bringing her stool and placing it down. There was no denying that it had worked, the smell of the room permeated sweat and desire. Katie sat on the chair, soaked head to toe in her own sweat, head drooping over her bosom, tangled hair covering her face. She breathed in and out evenly. Lucy considered the girl before her. Once or twice the effects of the chair had been so great as to induce a coma like state in the subject. Eventually they would wake up, their minds repressing the entire event. It was a shame that those subjects would never be used but then again there were no problems with such issues. And they boosted the power of the chair of course.
The woman sighed. It would have been nice to have Katie Holmes on a string. But things had gone against her. She turned to the door, ready to get a bucket and sponge to clean the actress up.
"I guess It wasn't meant to be." Lucy opened the door.
"Oh but it was." Katie said from behind her.
A white hot surge hit the hostess and she toppled to the floor.
Lucy awoke sharply, as if something had stung her. The feeling was gone in an instant but what she discovered was no less pleasant. She was sitting in the middle of the room, in the chair, straps holding her tight. She was now equally naked, her nude body firmly pressed against the still wet timber.
Before her sat Katie on a stool. The actress wore her bed attire, though the singlet seemed to cling to her body tightly. Oddest of all she was smiling.
"What's going on? How did you escape?" Lucy demanded, pulling at the metal bonds.
"I'm sure you want to know and I certainly will tell you. Oh don't worry Lucy, the chair doesn't work anymore. I'm sure you'll want to hear this lovely story, it will be quite an eye opener I imagine."
Katie leant back against the wall, apparently ignoring the cold stone.
"Catherina Hume was Antoines first and only daughter. Her innocence was destroyed by the Marquis de Sade in his production of the chair on which you now sit, the finish mixed with her own virgin blood. When Catherina realised what had been taken from her, and for what purpose, she left her fathers home and never spoke a word to him or his family again. She departed and travelled to England, finding a lover and becoming pregnant. Her partner was fated to die before the birth
of their first son thus she kept her own name and gave it to the boy. Time passed, the boy grew up and moved away and Catherina died.
But she found her soul trapped on earth, trapped in the object which had taken her innocence and her blood, trapped in that chair. She was not alone for a part of every woman that sat here became trapped to, a mass of voices trapped within it, searching for escape. Catherina was the strongest among them and she called out constantly, waiting for someone to hear her.
Catherina is derived from the Greek name Aikaterina. The Romans derived it from the Greek 'kathearos' : pure. But there are some that believe it comes from the Greek aikia. That means torture. It has numerous derivatives through various languages as do many names. When Catherina moved to England she did not wish to call herself Hume any longer thus she switched to the Celtic variant. Which she names her son. And this it became a family name, passing down through the generations until it reaches a descendant. By this time language has changes.
Hume has become Holmes. And Catherina has become Katie.
And at last her voice is heard, deep within the mind of the one who bears her blood and her name. I follow her voice to Ratterson Creek but I don't know why. I hear her voice at night and follow it down to the basement. But it wasn't until you put me on that chair, merged my mind with hers, my body with her blood, then you opened the link, the knowledge of the past. And I became the means of freedom Lucy.
That is why your chair will never work again. The power of those souls is not there any more. It is within me."
Lucy shivered in terror, believing every single word that had come from the mouth of the actress.
"W.. what are you going to do to me?"
"Well Lucy, I want you to think. Think about all that lust. That need for release, that desire. Do you feel it Lucy?"
"You.. you said it was gone."
"Oh no Lucy. I never said it was gone." Katie leant forward on the stool.
"I said it was in me."
Lucy felt a white hot wave flow over her, pure desire burning through her every nerve. She moaned in tormented delight. Another wave hit her, then another, each as powerful as the last.
She felt herself slipping, second by second, not knowing what she could do. Every joule of energy she put into resisting was another one that she could no longer use, another wearing down of her
body and spirit. She pulled at the bonds, the metal bands that held her wrists and ankles against the smooth ancient timbers of the chair. How foolish she had been. How naïve. But it was too late for that.
Much too late.
THE END
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