Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 4

“This is a joke, right?” she said uncertainly. “Who are you, really?” “It’s no joke, Jessica,” the voice whispered. “I know you don’t understand, but soon you’ll learn what I mean.”

“What’s going on?” said another voice from behind her. David came walking up, a concerned look on his face. “I thought you were working on your lines over here, but…”

“There’s someone on the other side of the scrim,” said Jessica quickly, gesturing toward the spot where the whisperer stood. “He’s saying weird things to me… I think he might be batshit!”

David eyed the scrim, his eyes ficking to each side. The thing was sixty feet wide, hanging from the overhead rigging and weighted at the bottom with an iron pipe. “You go left, I’ll go right,” he said suddenly, and dashed off to the right. After a second’s hesitation, Jessica ran to the left. When she reached the end of the scrim she peered around behind it, but all she saw was David rounding the other end. She met him behind the screen, in the approximate place where she had seen the mysterious fgure, but there was no one in sight.

David casually put his arm around her waist and drew her up against him. “That was a pretty novel way to get me to meet you behind the scrim,” he said half-jokingly.

She smiled, but pulled away from him. “You’re funny,” she said, “but I’m a little creeped out. There was a guy standing right here. He knew my name, and he said he’d been watching me.”

“Damn,” said David, looking around at the hodge-podge of shapes and shadows around them. “I’d be creeped out, too. I don’t see anybody now, though. You want to look around or anything?”

“No,” said Jessica with a last glance into the dark. “Let’s get on back.”

That night, Jessica again heard from the mysterious fgure she had come to think of as the Whisperer. She was in bed in her shabby little room. It was a hot night, and she lay partially covered by a sheet, wearing only a soft cotton tank top that didn’t quite reach her navel. Diffuse light poured in through the window, so that it never actually got dark, even in the dead of night.

She’d gone over the things the Whisperer had said, but hadn’t really made sense of them. She considered it much more likely that he was out of his mind than that he could actually look at her and divine some secret of her psyche, anyway. Still, the encounter had left its mark on her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

As she lay there, suddenly she heard his voice again.

“Jessica,” he whispered, and it sounded as though he were standing right beside her bed!

She sat up violently, looking around her, but there was no one in the room. The door was locked and dead-bolted, and there was no piece of furniture in the room large enough for a man to hide behind. Where had the voice come from?

“Soon you will be mine, Jessica,” said the voice. “You cannot fght it. Your soul cries out to me. You need what I offer, deep down inside.” The voice had a strange, echoing quality to it that made her think of spectral voices from beyond the grave.

“Where the fuck are you?” Jessica cried, frightened. “When you are with me, you will not use such language,” he said, the intensity of his rasping whisper growing ferce.