Talia's Misfortune

Talia's Misfortune

In the handful of months since Madame Talia's encounter with Chance at her studio, her dreams had slowly but steadily transformed from lascivious and tawdry visions of rape that woke her up soaked and fingering herself to mildly suggestive fitful sleep that left her feeling edgy and horny most of the day. She understood in her more lucid moments that it wasn't all that uncommon for women to have orgasms during rape, unwanted and embarrassing to say the least. Chance hadn't actually raped her, merely mentioned the letter she initially wrote to his address wherein she inferred that she did not want any sexual attention from anybody there and suggesting that she would contact police if it happened. The premonition of sexual assault that gave birth to the letter was prevalent in her mind when he accosted and trussed her up in what could best be described as a half chair, half goddess yoga pose. He had left her there for hours in the darkness alone with her vulnerability and her fevered imagination wondering if he would come back and perform the sexual assault from her precognitive warning. Her frenzied mind had worked her up into a hyper-sensualized and excited state. The vividly erotic dream of being raped and sodomized the same night it happened had deeply unnerved her. Back then she wondered if she secretly wanted to be used against her will.

Tonight her subconscious mind was no longer at war with her conscious mind. It had convinced her that the kidnapper should be brought to justice. She settled down to bed firmly resolved that she would find a way to do so. It was unfortunate that when it happened she had felt such an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and nobody knew what had happened at the studio. Nobody but Talia and her nemesis knew. The lack of police report currently seemed insurmountable. Tiredly she yawned and snuggled her one extra pillow while sleep overtook her.

Talia awoke panting and the discomfiture of her fingers buried in her vagina, sleep wear wrecked and torn and sticky from her juices. Her unkempt long sandy brown hair pulled at her scalp while coils spooled underneath her shoulder. She moaned as she realized that her overpowering and suddenly resurgent dream of rape and sodomy had kindled a strong premonition that something was dreadfully wrong. It dawned on her that the latest letter she had written to Chance still existed. She knew in her heart that she would need to destroy it in order to feel safe once again. Frenetically, she dressed to head to her studio with plans to burn the missive.

In the small kitchenette at the back of the bungalow, Janice poured a freshly boiled kettle of water into her mug with tea bag. She turned toward the small refrigerator to get some milk when Talia rushed by toward the studio. Janice had never seen her boss in such a hurry before, so her curiosity flared up. Forgetting about her cup of tea, she trailed after being filled to the brim with interest. She found her boss in the studio with the empty waste basket in her hand, rummaging round and peering in all the possible hiding places. Janice asked, "What are you searching for boss?"

No answer came forth for the present until Madame Talia dejectedly stopped, stepped over the desk and dropped the waste basket. She looked pale, and tremulously queried, "Do you know what happened to the letter in this basket?"

"I picked it up. I thought it fell in accidentally, so I picked it up and put it in the mail."

Talia grew even paler and her eyes blinked the excess water down her cheeks. Janice, believing she needed to justify her actions added, "I can count on both my hands the number of times you put things in that waste basket since I've worked for you. Of those, I can count on one hand how often you've accidentally dropped something in there. When you wanted to get rid of some mail, you either ripped it in half or crumpled it up. How was I supposed to know? What is this about? What did I do wrong?"

Janice watched in awkward silence as a half dozen tear drops fell to the carpet while she waited for answers. Not knowing what else to do, she eased up to her boss and reached out to comfort her. It caught her by surprise when Talia jumped as Janice's hand touched her shoulder. Janice was about the same height as Talia, but wearing heals compared to the flats Talia wore gave her the feeling she towered over her boss. She took Talia protectively into her arms attempting to comfort her, and noticed her boss trembling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What was so bad about that letter?"

Talia sniffled, took in a ragged breath, "It's not your concern." There was no possibility that she would overcome the embarrassment of what happened during Chance's appointment, so no explanation would she utter even if she were on her death-bed. Like a fox being chased by a pack of hounds, her thoughts flittered about trying to think of where she might hide and get away from Chance. "I'll take my morning appointments, but you should start cancelling all the rest."

"Okay boss. Should I reschedule? Customers are going to want to know when they can come back."

"You've got vacation time Janice? About three weeks if I remember? Take it all, and then we'll see about rescheduling the rest. Just take your pay out up front when you go by the bank."

Talia assessed herself in a mirror down the hallway, decided she would not have time to go back home to change. Fortunately, she kept another outfit to do readings there at the studio. She would just take a quick sponge bath, put the fresh outfit on and brush her hair out.

Returning to the reading room, Madame Talia thought she would still have time to get the reading room straightened out. She nudged the waste basket back closer to the desk, smoothed out the table covering, and spritzed water on the couple of house plants near the stained glass window. It was overcast outside, so Madame Talia tweaked the lighting to brighten things up just a tad and changed the angle of the room divider. She looked around the room to assess its readiness for the client. The chair at the reading table had been shoved aside earlier while searching for the letter that should have been burned to ash.

As she set her hands to the top back and arm of the chair to move it, a veil descended over her eyesight and all background noise immediately became muffled. Talia again felt herself drooling around a ball gag in her mouth as she did when she encountered Chance the first time. Instead of morning, it was suddenly late evening and lightless outside and in. She felt her wrists press upon the metal handcuffs and lacking the strength to lessen the weight of her upper body dragging down against the zip-tie. Fear and shame clawed up her back and slithered over her shoulders quickening her breath and slicking her skin with perspiration. Her ankles once again tethered to the heavy legs of the chair, her torso bent forward while her shins were barked by the chair's seat eliciting groans of terror. As it happened on that night, this time she again felt the tickle against the back of her thighs as though her skirt were being lifted slowly toward her embarrassment. Mewling moans reverberated against her cheeks.

Here her premonition altered drastically from her memory of the past with hands wrapping around the waistband of her panties. Her eyelids rocketed up in shock. There was a sudden yank and a stinging sensation from the fabric of her panties parting at the seams as they became history. Heat and shame erupted and radiated alternately from the epicenter of her sex. Her body tensed when a feather light touch slowly traced from her clitoris toward the parting center of her labia minora. Something plunged into her vagina and ground up against her g-spot. Talia squealed and blacked out.

As Janice came through the door from the reception area to let her boss know that the client was waiting, she heard the squeal. Madame Talia's body shook briefly with spasms and came down on her rear end unceremoniously, ankles straddling the chair legs. She teetered upright for a moment and then rolled bonelessly along her spine until prone. Janice gulped and gawped. Collecting her wits, she approached hoping she had not just witnessed death throes. She spied a stray hair as it fluttered shallowly from Talia's breath, so that appeared to be a good sign. Cautiously she reached out and touched Madame Talia's shoulder, grasped it and lightly shook it.

Talia awoke with a start, a panicked look and appeared to want to scrabble away from the touch. She blinked as if the light was blindingly bright but then relaxed upon becoming cognizant it was Janice that was kneeling next to her. She covered her eyes and visibly trembled.

"Should I call for an ambulance boss?" Janice queried softly.

A minimally intelligible croak of "No," and Talia brought her knees up placing her feet as flat as she could and grabbed Janice's arm above the elbow. "Help me up. I've got to get out of here." She made her way out of the studio thinking she would have to get that chair out of the bungalow altogether. She walked gingerly down the hallway, uncomfortable with the slickness along the crotch of her panties. She resisted the impulse to check the back of her skirt to see if her juices had soaked through.

An hour later, a handyman stopped at the front desk after Talia called. He relayed her request to have the chair moved to the curb for waste disposal pickup later in the week. Janice watched as the chair was carried out, mind abuzz with unanswered questions. Events had suddenly gotten strange around here. She dreaded that she would not have a job after the three weeks were up. But she hadn't been to visit her baby sister in a good long while, so that settled her destination in her mind. She went throughout the bungalow and made sure the lights were all turned off. As she did so, she tried to remember the address on the envelope that appeared to be the nexus of chaos. The only thing she was certain about was the lack of a name on the correspondence. It was another itch that she couldn't satisfy.

Chance exited the front door of his grey brick ranch house and walked out to the mailbox at the street. There wasn't a lot of mail waiting for him, a couple of bank advertisements, one for a funeral home, and one with the address hand written excluding a name. It just had his address, a return address and postage. Seeing the return address though, he had no doubt that this hand written note was definitely for him. He walked back inside. He stared at the envelope for a few moments. He considered long and hard as to whether he should rip it to shreds without reading it. The first note from Madame Talia had annoyed him. It had goaded him to make an appointment to see her. He had wanted to quash any notions she might have had about him. It hadn't worked and he had unfortunately lashed out in response to her behavior at the meeting. It was irrational and after he had subdued her and strapped her to her chair, he left her in the dark and brooded about it and stewed over whether to leave her like that or let her go. To make matters worse, he was rather ham-handed about setting her free as well and stupidly threatened her to keep her quiet about it.

So the choices were, ignore it and hope everything would blow over, or find a different way to resolve it. Ignoring it might be a risk. Small risk possibly, but it could be time consuming. Resignedly he opened the envelope and read the note. He stared at the content, his fury rising, coloring is brow and making the veins stand out on his neck. How could this woman so affect his rational thought and so draw out his emotion. He was usually so even tempered. And yet with each new encounter she pushed his buttons. He managed to gather his wits temporarily and refrain from driving straight over to her studio. If he saw Talia now he would probably throttle her. Better to wait until tomorrow and hopefully be able to reason with her. His appetite gone, he poured himself a glass of bourbon. He swirled it around in the glass for a moment and let it breathe. In one motion he downed it, set the glass down on the counter with an audible thump and went back to his room to sleep.

With the new morning, Chance called into work to let them know he would be late due to errands that needed to be handled. After showering and shaving, he dressed and grabbed a cup of coffee on his way out to his pickup truck. He deliberately took his time driving to the bungalow where Madame Talia performed her readings. He was still trying to keep his emotions in check and stay in a rational state of mind. He fished around for ideas on how to approach the charges she leveled in her note. Technically yeah, he had kidnapped her. Technically yeah, he had assaulted her. Maybe he could convince her that it was a big misunderstanding and he didn't actually intend to do the things he did. He scoffed at his thoughts. Yeah, she'll never go for that. He sighed, not really seeing a way through this, but he intended to at least attempt it.

He turned the truck onto the street in front of the bungalow and shut the engine off. It was after the normal opening time, but the place looked like it was still shut. He slowly stepped out of the truck and walked to the door. As he arrived in front of the door, he spotted a sign. It read -- Closed temporarily. Be back in 3 weeks.

"Ha! She rabbited."

Did this mean that Madame Talia had second thoughts about the note she sent. He decided he could live with that outcome. But what if she was just in hiding long enough for him to relax so that he could be caught off guard? It might be better to assume that he needed to keep his guard up. He looked around. There weren't any clues available here on the stoop. He made his way back to the truck and spotted the chair that had been in her reading studio that day. Chance inspected the chair. It was made of sturdy hardwood, and exquisitely carved. The stain was slightly worn but serviceable. It was older, perhaps antique though not discernably so. It seemed a shame to set it to the curb discarded and waiting to be hauled away like so much refuse.

"Okay. If she doesn't want it, I do. If she can't appreciate it, I certainly can."

Nobody heard, and even as he said so aloud it sounded more pyrrhic victory than actual triumph. He picked it up anyway and set it carefully into the bed of his truck. It would make a good chair for reading in the study and add atmosphere compared to most of the utilitarian furniture he tended to purchase.

At Talia's meager residence, she tossed a small suitcase on the bed and took a handful of outfits from the closet and under garments from the dresser. As she loaded the suitcase she was still lost in thought, wondering where to go from here. He has said he would find her, and she believed him. She was frantic, but decided against making reservations anywhere. She guessed he would find those and those would lead him straight to her. Zipping the suitcase, she picked it up and headed for the door. She locked it up out of habit though she didn't have any clue whether she would be able to come back. She tossed the suitcase in the back seat and dove into the front upon hearing a vehicle approaching. Slinking down in the seat, she waited for the automobile to pass. She waited that way for at least three others before gathering the courage to sit up and start the engine. Scanning for any more vehicles on the street, she backed out of the driveway when the coast was clear. She drove a meandering path for hours. It was dark by the time she pulled into the hotel parking lot. She waited in her car watching the entrance to see if anybody might be following. Ten minutes later she exited and pulled her luggage out. After checking in and going to her room she fretted about her situation. She hadn't stopped to get cash on her way out of town. He might be able to track her by the credit card she used to check in. The fear kept her awake that night.

The next morning, Talia checked out and drove to the bank to withdraw some cash. It occurred to her that if Chance followed the trail she left with her credit card, he would believe she was headed east. So with cash in hand, she backtracked and headed west back through the city without the meandering from the previous day. She would have made it farther west without the exhaustion of the sleepless night behind her. Believing she had made a more rational choice, she decided to stop for the night but pay cash for the hotel instead of using her credit card again. The unfortunate fact about having to use cash was that she would not be able to stay away as long. Food and fuel would shorten that even more. Frustrated and tired, she had just enough energy to change into a night shirt before falling into bed. She slept a fitful and restless sleep awakening every couple of hours. Without a doubt in Talia's mind she believed she was not cut out to live on the run. But what did that leave her she wondered, being a victim of sexual assault? Slowly her brain wound down and she drifted off to sleep.

Madame Talia opened her eyes and saw it was still dark in the reading room at the studio bungalow. Everything ached from having been strapped awkwardly bent over her chair for hours. Her wrists from the handcuffs zip tied to the top back. Her knees hurt from the chair seat barring her legs from moving due to her ankles being tied to the legs of the chair. Her jaw cramped from the ball gag that prevented her from closing her mouth. Of course, her back from the fact that her arms could not provide enough support for the angle she was leaning. This was a part of her recurring dream, or rather nightmare she wished to escape. She moaned in her sleep, struggling to wake before the nightmare continued. She felt the heat starting in her nether region. The heat that made her question whether she really indeed fantasized about being used against her will. She struggled against the bondage as if breaking free would wake her from the dream, but it was to no avail.

With the recurring dream she usually would relive the last half hour of their encounter and then wake up. Tonight's dream felt different though. When it reached the point where she thought she could feel her skirt being lifted, it felt more real than usual and then the dream departed from the norm. Reminiscent of the premonition she had recently experienced in her studio, hands entwined themselves in the waist band of her panties. Renewed panic flared up in her. She thrashed at her bondage not knowing what more was to happen. When her panties were ripped off she felt a flood of juices in her sex and she blushed to the greatest extent she could ever remember as they dribbled down her legs. Around the gag, her screams of "No!" were transformed in a drawn out "Nnnnnnnn." The hands then fell onto her hips once more and she knew for certain what would happen next. She wriggled attempting to throw off the hands that drew unwanted responses from her suddenly exposed flesh.

The next few moments were a blur of rising terror, shame, tension and lust. Then his erection speared her vagina sinking to the very depth of her sex. He growled, "Why... do... you... make... me... do... this... to... you?" Each word punctuated with his rock hard penis stabbing her yet again, ramming deep until it felt like it would also penetrate the cervix. Each word followed with his hip bones slamming into her buttocks driving her forward and bruising her knees with the seat of the chair.

She awoke, still in the hotel room, night shirt soaked in sweat and orgasmic fluids. When Talia was finally able to stop panting and catch her breath, she saw that it was only just before 4 AM. She couldn't decide whether to cry or try masturbating to relieve the tension that remained. She stared at the ceiling and wondered if she would be able to continue have such dreams without going stark raving mad. Could she survive being raped and rebuild her sanity and self esteem?