Awakening Ch 01 A Good Day

Chapter One: A Good Day

It was cold, dark, and I was naked. There was no light to speak of, save an overhead light that illuminated a circle in the darkness: Me and the chair I was tied to. My mind was racing. How long have I been here? I couldn't tell. Time seemed to move strangely; I had been here for minutes, days, years? I couldn't remember but I had this overwhelming feeling of Déjà vu.

I looked down, moving the only part of my body not bound tightly to the chair. My penis had been tied as well—a thin silk ribbon wrapped around the base of my shaft, then again around my balls. The other end of the ribbon disappeared under my chair; I had no idea where it went. The silk was soft—tremendously soft—but constricting. I could feel the ribbon hampering blood flow to my flaccid shaft.

Bang.

A door shut somewhere in the darkness and I heard what sounded like heels beating the concrete floor of the room.

Clip, clip, clip.

Someone approached. I gasped as a tall, leggy woman in heels stepped into the light.

She had the look of a businesswoman: Dark heels, long skirt, and stockings, with a white blouse under a buttoned jacket. Her hair was up in a bun, but two parted lengths of auburn locks framed her oval face. Intelligent eyes studied me from behind a pair of smart, black glasses. Her full lips drew a line as a single eyebrow arched quizzically. Was she studying me?

"This will not do at all," the woman pouted. "He is not ready yet?" She stepped closer and leaned down, gazing into my confused eyes. "But there is so much potential!" I gulped. She sounded like a hungry predator. She flashed a brief smile that contorted into a bemused smirk.

I could feel her breath on my face, sweet smelling like peppermint candy. My flaccid unit twitched. What the hell? I was disoriented, confused, terrified... and turned on? The small spark of libido was snuffed out as soon as it was struck. I was too scared by the situation.

"Where am I?" I asked timidly. Though my tone had not been assertive, I could tell the woman was displeased.

"Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no!" she said, voice rising. "He doesn't get to talk. He doesn't get to ask!" she was shaking her head. "No. You are not ready. But soon. Soon." She cupped my chin in her hand and squeezed my face hard. "He will be punished, punished now, for speaking out of turn!" She jerked my head from side to side and then let go, slapping my chest hard enough to leave a handprint. "Cock!" the woman screamed. She slapped my face so hard one of her fingernails scratched me, setting my face on fire, then turned and walked away, once again vanishing into the abyss outside my little circle of light.

From the shadows around me, I heard rustling. I could not pinpoint where the sound was coming from. I jerked my head back and forth but saw nothing. The rustling grew louder.

Zzzippp

. The drawn-out echo of a zipper filled my world. My heart beat faster and faster, as a nervous excitement rushed in me. Slowly, the head of a penis revealed itself from the void. Cock, I thought. That was what she had said! That was the monster in the darkness. The cock continued its approach, never exposing with it the body it was attached to. It just kept coming! It was long now, a few feet and growing. As it drew closer, I saw it was thick as well. By the time it was a few inches away from me, the head was the size of a fist.

I turned my head away in horror, screaming. It was oozing translucent fluids—warm fluids that were dripping on my chest and running, pooling, in my lap. I screamed... just as two hands, well manicured with long fingernails, grabbed my head from behind and turned it towards the monster. The head shot towards my mouth—

I awoke with a start, sitting up in the night. My body was covered with rivulets of sweat that had soaked into my shirt and boxers, dampening my bed. It took a minute to remember where I was. Curtains gently rose as cool night's breeze drifted through the window beside me. I was in my room. And... and what had I been dreaming? I couldn't remember. A woman? No, no matter how my mind tried to grasp it, the memory of my nightmare faded.

I looked over to my side table and grabbed my phone. 4:50 a.m. It was still early but part of me was afraid to fall back to sleep. I started my day instead.

I flicked a switch on the wall and there was light. I was in the basement of my parents' house. I was eighteen, it was my senior year of high school, and I yearned for independence. It had taken a week to convince my mom and dad that this was a good idea.

"I don't know, Sweety. Why would you want to live down there anyways? It is dirty down there."

"I'll clean it up," I told her. "Besides, Mary is getting older now. I am sure she doesn't want to share a room with Chelsea when she comes home."

Mary was my younger sister, a brat at thirteen. She had finally made it to the awkward teen years I had so recently left behind—not as recently as I would have liked—and had become a moody, angst-ridden pain in my ass. I now knew why Chelsea had despised me when she was still living here. Though I doubt I was as bad as Mary.

"Well," my mother seemed to relent. I had her on the ropes, now if I could just—"ask your father." I visibly sank, shoulder slouched. I knew what that meant.

"I have tools down there," my father said as if that was a real answer.

"we can put those in the garage," I replied.

"The garage is pretty full."

"I will clean the garage out." Your move old man, I thought. My father had not expected that.

"I'm not sure..." His face scrunched up in thought, making his mustache skew to one side.

"Look," I told the old man. "This is my last year under your roof. The independence will ready me for the outside world." He didn't seem quite convinced. "Chelsea is coming back this semester. You don't really think she is going to share a room with Mary—because I know I'm not going to again."

"Well," my father spoke. "I guess you both are too old to share a room... okay."

"Please—wait, what?" I couldn't believe it.

"I said, 'okay'. But you will have to clean the garage and the basement—to my standards—before I allow you to move your stuff down there."

I could hardly contain my excitement. I spent the next week cleaning the garage and basement. Then when I failed inspection on the garage I cleaned it again, but it was worth it. I finished moving my furniture in just in time for Chelsea to arrive. She had been happy about the room arrangements but not overly so. In my head I had pictured her giddy and jumping up and down, maybe hugging the family. Two years of college had changed her.

Since I could not get back to sleep, I quietly began cleaning my room. It was part of my deal with Dad. I picked up the clothes from the concrete floor—I would have to buy a rug or two soon, the floors were freezing in the early morning—and threw away the few scatterings of fast food wrappers and soda cups from my coffee table. The only thing I couldn't do was vacuum; none of the other occupants of the house would be pleased if I woke them this early. Having finished my chores, I walked up the wooden steps that led to the kitchen upstairs.

The sun had just rose to throw soft, amber light through the kitchen windows. The grass was wet with dew as the hazy fog outside lifted. I poured a bowl of cereal and sat down at the table to eat.

"What time is it?" a voice half-said and half yawned. It was Chelsea.

"Early. Morning." I said between bites of cereal.

"No shit. I meant the actual time, asshole." It was too early for there to be any real anger in Chelsea's voice. She was barely conscious, moving like a zombie towards the cupboards. Her blonde hair was somehow both matted to the side of her face and sticking up.

"Six," I grunted. She yawned a response and turned to make a bowl of cereal.

I glanced towards her, but my eyes strayed from the back of her head to her sleepwear: An over-sized tee shirt that hung leaving one shoulder exposed and almost covered her boy shorts. It almost looked like that was all she was wearing. As I was appreciating her legs, I came to my senses and looked away. She was my sister, for heaven's sake. I had looked at her before but never like that. I shook my head. Maybe I was not fully awake yet either.

I knew growing up that Chelsea was pretty. She was short and petite, a gymnast throughout her school years. She had sandy blonde hair and large, emerald-green eyes. I had always known she was attractive, objectively. I had, however, never looked at her and felt that attraction.

I explained the moment away to myself. It was early, the light was soft, she had her back turned. That was it. With her back turned, I had simply forgotten she was Chelsea.

Chelsea sat down across from me and began shoveling a spoonful of cereal into her mouth. Her full-lipped, wonderful mouth—No! I felt my cock twitch and knew I had to get out of there. I jumped up, excusing myself from the table with a, "Got to get ready for school." Chelsea nodded, eyes staring forward unresponsively.

Halfway back to the basement I realized it was still too early to actually get ready for school. If Chelsea wasn't brain-dead in the morning, she would've known something was up. Well, dodged a bullet there, it would have been embarrassing had I stayed any longer; my dick was at half-mast already. I had to relieve some tension and figured a shower would be the best way to go about it.

Luckily, the downstairs bathroom was just near the kitchen. I ran back past the zombie and down the hallway that connected the kitchen and den. In the middle of that hallway was the bathroom.

The water felt glorious; the downstairs bathroom used a separate water heater than the upstairs, which my parents would be using anytime now. I soaped up and shampooed before rinsing off. The shower part was over, now to enjoy the hot water. As I basked in the wonderment that is hot, pressurized water, I heard the door open. I froze. The door closed again. Hmm, I thought, must have been Chelsea who opened the door and closed it when she found the bathroom occupied. Ha, she was so out of it in the mornings.

Thinking about Chelsea had me picturing her sleepwear from earlier. My cock once again began to stir. No, bad boy. Down. Her legs, shaved so smooth they had a silken sheen, I remembered. I shook my head, then put it under the showerhead. Her bare shoulder, hinting she was braless. Fuck. That was it. I was at full attention. I grabbed some soap and soaped my dick up, stroking the head. Those cupid-shaped lips smirking with those green eyes that looked hungry.

That was not how she looked but my imagination—and libido—had taken over. I soaped my balls up and worked my shaft with slow, tight strokes. And then I hear the sound of someone urinating next to the shower. I think I shrank two inches at that very moment. I carefully peeked out the side of the shower curtain.

There she was, Chelsea, still half-awake with her boy shorts around her ankles, urinating. Her too-large shirt was hiked up to her hips, exposing her thighs fully. I couldn't make anything else out, as she was leaned forward slightly, elbows propping up her drowsy, lulling head. Her hair was covering her eyes. I was hard again immediately.

I don't know why I started stroking again but the sensation was life-changing. As my sister rose up and wiped herself with a piece of bath tissue, I was treated to the most erotic sight of my adult life: Her neatly trimmed strip of pubic hair, near-translucent in the light; an adjacent small, black rose tattoo that's vine traveled down her inner thigh, framing the mere hint of her slit.

She flushed the toilet. I ducked away from the curtain and grabbed the head of my cock in a two-handed vice in an attempt to stop the explosion of my own orgasm, all the time my sister's body bare lower body burnt into my mind. I stifled my grunts as I painted the inside of the curtain with thick, pearlescent ropes of cum, shuttering as the Chelsea exited the bathroom unaware. It was intense.

After, I tried to catch my breath but was forced to end the shower as the water grew cold. I toweled off and got ready for school, unable to look Chelsea in the eye as I ran out the door.

It's a rare day when I am not late for school. Today I was early. I parked my ancient station wagon at student parking—a sad gravel lot across the street from my high school—and sat in my car until my buddy Jared arrived.

Jared was the kind of guy who would unabashedly ask a girl he found attractive the kind of questions that got people slapped. He had been slapped a lot. But according to him, "every now and then, you will meet a girl who is good to go." That's how he phrased it... "good to go". I was much more selective in my tastes. Since middle school, there had been only one girl for me: Kayla.

Oh sure, I had had a few girlfriends from time to time, I had even fooled around with one or two of them—getting as far as third base with Sandy; sadly, she moved to Utah and I had been woefully single the entire year, a year that was coming to an end soon, along with high school in general. No, Kayla was the girl for me. She wasn't the girl most guys went for, she wasn't Chelsea.

Kayla was tallish at five foot nine, with red hair and a plain, freckled face. Her body type wasn't overtly curvy, but she did have long legs and what could be called a "shapely figure" hidden under her baggy clothing. She was the artsy type, choosing to wear a slew of colorful jumpers most days rather than clothing that would accentuate her build. Most guys wouldn't look twice at her. I found her lovely. There was just one problem: She had put me in the "friend zone" the first year I met her and had shown no interest since. When other girls had begun to notice me, she had remained unaware at my physical changes—or didn't care.

At fifteen till the first bell, Jared arrived in his equally antiquated Metro. I waved him down and we walked across the street together. Homeroom would be starting soon and we both had Mrs. Fancy (yes, that was the woman's real name, having chosen to actually take it from her husband).

"So," said Jared nonchalantly, "Is Chelsea back?"

"Yeah, and no, she hasn't mentioned you or even thought about you," I said preemptively.

"That's harsh, you think I am your friend just because you are her brother?" I nodded. "Well, you are right, but that doesn't mean I don't find your company slightly entertaining."

"Oh, I know that's why you became friends with me, I just assumed you stayed friends with me despite having finally realized you will never sleep with my sister."

"Shoot me, I'm an optimist," Jared said. "Besides, she is super hot. A gymnast Darryl!"

The talk of my sister brought me back to my morning shower show. I shook my head, "That's my sister, man."

"She's not mine," he chuckled as we shut our lockers and headed to Mrs. Fancy's class. I passed Kayla and her heavier friend, Grace, and chanced a quick look back.

"You, my friend, are pathetic. Truly pathetic," Jared laughed. "You should ask her out."

"What if she says no?" I asked.

"I don't care what she says, as long as you stop acting like a puppy every time we pass her."

"Easy for you to say. When's the last time a girl gave in to your so-called charm?"

"Thanksgiving break." Jared sniffed.

"Really?" I asked unaware of any escapades over the holidays.

"Yeah, I took Julie Belford to the movies and she let me slip a finger—"

"Shh," I chided as we entered the classroom. "Later."

The homeroom was dull. We were forced to stand and recite the pledge, before going through a checklist of students who hadn't finished all the exit exams. I had but Jared still had to take the math exam before being able to graduate by state law. I snickered when his name was called.

The rest was about a basketball pep-rally and a bake sale to benefit the Kiwanis club. I didn't give a shit frankly, as I was glad to be rid of this whole experience. Homeroom ended (thank the gods it was only one day a week!) with a bell that promised first period was waiting. I scooped up the various literature handed to me by the teacher and deposited it in the hallway trashcan. I turned to Jared. "So, a finger?"

Third period found me in Gym, an elective I had taken well past the credit requirements. It was also one of two classes I shared with Jared. As seniors, we didn't have to dress out, so we roamed the gym's upper deck. The girls shared a gym with the boys but were forced to stay away. Their time would be spent heading outside to run the track, or at the opposite side of the basketball court if the boys weren't shooting that day. As luck had it, today was weights. This meant the boys, save seniors who could choose to do nothing, were at the field house outside. This was lucky because the girls did dress out.

Jared and I watched a pack of senior girls, stretching in their white tee-shirts and dolphin shorts. "Abby, Abby, Abby," Jared said to no one. "When did she get so... so..."

"Stacked?" I helped.

"Eloquently put. Stacked. I was going to say, 'blessed with breasts the size of a sixteen-pound bowling ball."

"Classy."

"Not the things I would do to her." Jared always did this. He saw the attractiveness in most women. "I wonder why she won't speak to me?"

"Probably because you use to call her 'Flabby Abby' on the playground." I jibed.

"She was flabbier then," Jared said as if it were an iron-clad defense.

"Also, you crashed her eighteenth birthday party," I added.

"I had an invitation," he sniffed.

"You

made

an invitation. There were no invitations. It was for friends only."

"You were there."

"Our parents are friends and we went to the same church," I said.

"You went to church?" Jared asked.

"Once... she was there."

Abby leaned forward with her legs split, unable to touch her toes due to her massive breasts.

"She can't reach, too blessed, too touched by the angels of ample airbags. I going to ask her out again."

"Won't Julie Belford get jealous?"

"She won't speak to me either. Not in public, at least."

My eyes moved on from Abby—now on her back with her legs up in the air—down the line to Kayla. Yes, I must admit, Kayla was the focus of my attention. She wore similar garb as the other girls, only instead of dolphin shorts, she had track pants on. Allowed, but unfair. All the same, the tucked in white shirt was doing numbers for her silhouette. An hourglass form had taken shape. Her hair was scrunchied up in a ponytail, revealing an elegantly long neck.

I tuned out of the conversation, choosing to give the occasional "yep" and "I bet" in place of listening; Jared wouldn't care, as long as he could still hear himself talk and look at the senior girls. I spent most the period glancing at Kayla. Near the end of class, I noticed that Jared and I hadn't been as stealthy in our looking as I imagined. Grace, the raven-haired scene girl, and friend of Kayla was staring at us.

"Shit, Grace saw me," I said trying to act casual and occupied with other things.

"Who cares?" Jared replied.

"I do. What if she tells Kayla that I am gawking at her like a pervert?"

"Again, who cares? She's a slut."

"Dude, that's Kayla's best friend!" I scolded.

"Slutty friend, and besides, I didn't say "Perfect Kayla" was a slut... If anything she's the biggest ice queen here."

I punched Jared in the arm half-heartedly. I knew the rumors swirling around Grace. I had no idea why Kayla would want to hang around with her. Grace was rude, a drama queen, and yes—I heard often—easy. Though, being a bit overweight, few guys admitted to having been with her but where there's smoke... well, there's Grace. She obnoxiously smoked cigarettes and smelled like too much perfume. It gives me a headache to be around her.