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The Sound RevolutionAlexandra Rasputin, teeth dug into a ball gag as she breathed through her nose, was hung from the ceiling of the Rumpo Room. She was wearing a white lace bra and panties, hold up white stockings and killer heels. Her hands were bound, not too tightly, behind her back, and she was suspended from the ceiling by a rope, weighted to cause mild discomfort in her arms. A spreader bar was attached to her ankles, her idea. She enjoyed the strappado and found it stylistically pleasing, the sense of helplessness was both thrilling and frightening, but she derived a perverse comfort from Conan’s attentiveness. He checked with her all the time to make sure there was not too much pressure on her arms. Yet he grew distracted and just plain weird. He’d muttered cryptically when they’d walked in it was ‘a very special anniversary’ but wouldn’t elaborate. He paddled her arse now and again. She found the pain cleansing. Conan, naked save for bottomless chaps, circled her and took pictures on his phone. They did this often. She liked looking at the pictures later. Conan would tell her she looked beautiful on them and she believed it. They were aesthetically pleasing. It was a wet and humid summer evening and the atmosphere in the Rumpo Room was stifling and oppressive. They were both Fatih escort bayan dripping with sweat and outside of their breathing the only audible noise was the rain beating on the roof. Raising her head risked dislocating her shoulders so she stared at the floor, her long flowing locks just inches above the bare cement floor. She could not see what Conan was up to but could hear him in the background, rattling around as he arranged things. She heard the clink of a bottle catching a glass. Then rustling, the scrape of a table being pushed near her. Suddenly Conan dropped to the floor on his knees and pressed his face against her. Alexandra smelled the whisky on his breath and in short, she was afraid but she could not scream, all she could do was press her tongue helplessly against the ball gag. She raised her head and a sharp hot pain shot along her arms into her shoulder blades. Conan threw the glass he had been guzzling from against the wall and stepped onto the sharp fragments. He left a bloody trail as he shuffled aimlessly around for a few minutes, draining the bottle of scotch. When that was empty it too was flung against the wall. “Death day” slurred Conan, giving her two hefty whacks on the arse with a studded paddle. His phone flashed. Escort Fındıkzade Alexandra hit the floor after he untied the rope tethering her to the ceiling. “You can watch me, cunt but I don’t want to hear you speak. Understand me, cunt?”Furious but realising she was unable to repel his advances Alexandra assented with a nod. Conan had a cinerary urn in his hands.“It’s her death day.”Alexandra was trying to undo the leather strap binding her wrists but it was hopeless. Conan was irked by her attempt to cast off her restraints, “Don’t move a muscle bitch. See the evil in my eyes.”His cruel eyes were black and fathomless and she ceased her struggle, hoping that the amount of booze he had sunk would render him senseless.“When you’re all alone,” Conan spluttered, convulsed by sobs, his face streaked with tears, “Here’s what you’ll keep saying.”He walked over to the table he had set up and cranked the ancient gramophone into life. The spectral echo of My Mammy filled the bunker. Hugging the ashes urn tight to her chest Conan mimed out of sync with the crackling 78.“Mammy, mammy, the sun shines east, the sun shines west, I know where the sun shines best…” Conan rolled Alexandra over so she was face down on the concrete and felt her arsehole and pussy Gaziosmanpaşa escort bayan roughly through her panties. Despite her fear and discomfort she found it a turn on and was soaking wet. The charade had to some extent humanised Conan. He was more flesh and blood and fucked in the head vivid for Alexandra. Conan stuck his thumb in her anus and two fingers up her pussy. Then something seemed to go in him again.“Slut…”Alexandra watched him stagger towards the exit clutching the urn. He didn’t even give a backward glance as he extinguished the light and slammed the door shut behind him. At first, Alexandra worried that he’d wrap his car around a lamp post and kill himself then she was worried about herself, when the fuck will he come back for her. She was alone in the darkness with only the sound of a crackling stylus for company. Head full of creepypasta, Alexandra had got the fear. La Regle du JeuAlexandra was sat bolt upright on the sofa in Conan’s living room in his dressing-gown, a glass of brandy cradled in her hands, numbed and staring into space. She had showered and was without makeup with her hair scraped back. Conan had never seen her looking so beautiful. There had been a tangible shift in their relationship. Alexandra regarded him with cold fury, barely able to conceal her revulsion while he was repentant to the point of abjection. After he had abandoned her in the Rumpo Room she had listened for the sound of his car pulling away but it had never come. Initially, she had been relieved but then she realised he could have passed out drunk at the wheel and she could be there hours.

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