Bondage story - The Phantom of the Roxy - 34

It happened late in the afternoon on the third day. The cast had been called in, one at a time, for costume fttings throughout the afternoon, and when Jessica’s turn came, she had no choice but to break her personal rule and traverse the darkened theater alone. The seamstress had set herself up in one of the wardrobe rooms, on the opposite side of the building from the one where Jessica had endured her ordeal.

Hesitantly, the frightened young actress walked alone down the long shadowed hallway. It was narrow, with a fickering ffteen-watt lightbulb providing the only illumination. There was a right turn at the end, but to reach it she had to pass several closed doors, two of them with missing doorknobs. She could feel the Whisperer’s presence, even though she hadn’t seen or heard him. Each time she passed a door, she expected it to open, and a gloved hand to drag her suddenly through it. Her heart was pounding by the time she reached the end of the hall, but she made it without incident. Relieved, she turned the corner and headed toward the lit doorway where she could hear the seamstress shuffing papers and humming to herself.

The seamstress was an old woman no taller than Jessica’s chin, yet she was a surprisingly disturbing presence. She wore a shapeless black dress that was made up of layers of netting and lace, each layer a different length. She wore a lot of makeup on her severe, bejowled features, and her hair was a thick, black, laquered mass, pinned to the top of her head by long, protruding ebony chopsticks. Her black shoe-button eyes, peering over thick, narrow glasses, regarded Jessica as she entered without a hint of a smile or any sign of a greeting, though Jessica had been told the woman was called Mrs. Crow.

“Up on the box,” she said sharply, indicating a large old wooden box about eighteen inches high.

Jessica moved quickly to obey, stepping gracefully up onto the box and turning to face the old woman. She was still a little breathless from her passage down the hallway, and her bosom rose and fell strongly beneath her snug gray cotton halter-top, straining the fabric and revealing the full size and shape of her remarkable breasts. The seamstress eyed her breasts with undisguised appreciation for a long, uncomfortable moment before she advanced on her, measuring tape in hand. The woman’s manner gave Jessica a creepy feeling, and she folded her arms over her chest nervously.

“You are Jessica, yes?” said Mrs. Crow as she pressed one end of the tape against the actress’ bare belly button, leaning down to measure the distance to her heels. Her accent sounded vaguely Russian.

“Yes,” said Jessica, shivering at the touch of the cold fngers on her naked skin.

“Spread your legs, Jessica,” Mrs. Crow said commandingly, as though she were a drill sergeant, and again Jessica obeyed immediately, without thinking, shuffing her feet as far apart as the box would allow. The old woman measured her inseam, running her measuring tape up the inside of her thigh and pressing the backs of her fngers tightly and unabashedly against the actress’ soft, warm crotch. She lingered there a full half minute, her bony knuckles moving roughly against that intimate spot as she stretched the tape taut again and again, somehow unable to get a clear measurement. Jessica blushed deeply at the prolonged contact, but she wasn’t sure whether the creepy old woman was actually copping a feel, or simply couldn’t hold the tape very well in her old arthritic hands. She could feel the coldness of the woman’s fngers through the thin, tight denim of her jeans, and she knew the woman could feel the heat of her pussy, as well.

At last Mrs. Crow fnished the inseam measurement, and moved her fngers out of Jessica’s crotch. There was no apology or acknowledgement of what Jessica considered a very awkward and unprofessional moment. In a business- like way she reached around the girl and wrapped her tape around her waist, then her hips, and then a little lower to measure her girth at the very crown of her round, frm bottom. Then she shuffed over to her table again to write down her measurements. Jessica stared at the strange old woman, wondering if she was a lesbian.

When Mrs. Crow returned, she commanded Jessica even more sharply than before, this time to raise her arms up over her head. Again the girl obeyed instantly. The old seamstress chuckled to herself as she wrapped the tape around Jessica’s upper back and brought it around the circumference of her bust, snugging the tape directly across her nipples and holding it there.

“You are a very obedient girl, Jessica,” she said, glancing up at the girl owlishly. “That is a very desirable quality.” She jiggled the tape back and forth unnecessarily, agitating Jessica’s nipples with it before fnally letting it fall. “Don’t lower your arms yet, I’m not done,” she said as she trundled back to her table to write down her measurements, and Jessica was left standing uncertainly with her arms raised over her head, wondering if she should lower them until the woman came back and try to maintain some dignity, or obey her and stand like that until she was told to lower them. When Mrs. Crow returned, her arms were still up. The old woman took several more measurements, somehow managing to rub the backs of her hands against the girl’s soft breasts several times in the process.

Jessica was starting to get angry now, but just as she was about to make a scathing comment concerning the old seamstress’ preoccupation with touching her tits, Mrs. Crow made a remark that sent a chill right up her spine and made her forget all about her outrage.

“A girl like you would be a choice tidbit for the Phantom,” she said. “He likes them young, pretty and especially obedient. Have you made the acquaintance of our Phantom yet, Jessica?”

Jessica dropped her arms, staring at the old woman with wide eyes. “The Phantom?” she echoed numbly. The woman cackled as she waddled back to write down her measurements. “I see you know who I mean,” she said.

“We call him the Phantom because of the way he lurks about the theater, just like the Phantom of the Opera in that old movie. But ah, what he does to the girls…” She turned back and looked Jessica up and down as though she were made of chocolate, a crooked smile quirking her thin lips. “I’ll bet he latched onto you as soon as you got here, didn’t he? Has he shown you his dungeon yet?”

“Yes… I mean, I don’t know, he took me to a room and he… he tortured me and raped me…” Jessica’s eyes burned with tears suddenly, her throat clenching and making it hard to talk. She had been keeping her secret for so long, and here was someone who knew about her tormentor, someone to whom she could fnally talk about her ordeals! How she needed to tell someone!