Evocation

Evocation
, n. A calling forth; especially, a calling forth of an imaginative re-creation.

By William Vitelli

Chapter 1

Eileen lay on the bed for a long time, breathing hard. Sounds came through the door—suitcases being put away, the floor being swept. It felt strange, after the weeks spent in London, to be lying on the bed without being chained to it. In some small part of her mind, she missed those chains. She burrowed under warm, soft, clean-smelling covers, savoring their feel on her skin, and let the stress of travel drain away from her.

That night, vivid images swirled behind Eileen’s eyes. She dreamed that she was at an elaborate art auction, surrounded by wealthy men in formal suits. On the stage, the auctioneer presided over the sale of many beautiful things—paintings, statues, enormous vases with intricate designs on them. Anthony sat beside her, watching closely.

Precious things were bought and sold. White-gloved waiters in tuxedos moved through the audience bearing champagne glasses on silver trays. The auctioneer spoke faster and faster. Eileen felt confused and slightly out of place; something seemed wrong, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. He announced the artwork by lots, describing the paintings and sculptures in flowery language. The bidders seemed to pick up energy; the bids came in more and more quickly. The air buzzed with excitement.

“And now for the final piece of the day!” the auctioneer called. “The one you’ve all been waiting for!” Tension crackled through the crowd. Two large men walked down the steps from the stage, heading directly toward her. A lump rose in her throat. She tried to stand and run away, but some strange force kept her in her seat.

They drew closer. The men loomed over her, muscles bulging. They reached down and seized her by the arms. She turned toward Anthony, looking for help, but he only smiled at her.

“No! No, you’re making a mistake!” she cried. Her cries went unanswered; the men dragged her onto the stage, their grips like iron. Somewhere far overhead, a spotlight came to life, shining down brightly on her. A sea of faces looked up at her, expectant.

“Gentlemen, the next lot in our sale is a very beautiful item indeed. This is a filthy whore who loves to be fucked. There is nothing she won’t do! Take a look at this dirty tramp who wants to perform vile and unspeakable acts for you.”

The two men grabbed her dress on either side and tore it away, leaving Eileen naked under the spotlight. Hundreds of eyes looked at her.

“Yes, this little whore is so dirty, there is no depraved delight she will not provide for you. Come on up and take a look! Inspect the merchandise.”

Someone Eileen couldn’t see brought a chair onto the stage behind her. The men pushed her down onto it. She tried to cover herself with her hands, but someone took her by the wrists and pulled her arms up over her head.

The audience started pouring onto the stage. Strange men crowded all around her, jostling at each other. Eyes glittering with avarice looked down at her. Rough, indifferent hands squeezed her breasts.

“That’s right, step right up. Check out this fine whore.” Someone grabbed her ankles and lifted them up to the chair. More hands pulled her knees apart, spreading her wide. Men in expensive suits groped and fondled her, shoved questing fingers inside her. Fingers tickled her clit. She moaned.

“See how she accepts whatever you do to her. Watch her get off from any violation. What am I bid for this fine sex slave?”

Fingers prodded and stroked. Something pressed into her breast, and she felt her nipple harden. Her breath came in short gasps. She struggled to move, but invisible bonds held her still, helpless.

“See how hard she comes!” the auctioneer crowed. His voice was Anthony’s. “Yes, that’s right. Just like that. Show me how much you like it. Come for me, little whore! Come for me!”

She woke in the throes of a deep, wrenching orgasm. Anthony was somewhere below her, encouraging her. “Good! Good! Come for me!” Something moved around her clit, sending shock waves of pleasure through her. She gasped and screamed in ecstasy.

The feelings subsided slowly. Eileen tried to move, but something held her fast. She was lying on her back in a strange, awkward position. One leg was straight, the other bent, with her knee pulled up almost to her breast Her hands rested on one of her shoulders, her arms pressed tight against her body.

She opened her eyes and saw Anthony leaning over her smiling. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Good morning, little whore! It’s time to wake up!”

“What—why can’t I—?”

Awareness seeped into her. Slowly, Eileen realized that she was bound in place. One ankle was tied with a length of rope that snaked under the corner of the bed. Another rope held her other leg bent, heel touching her ass. Her wrists were bound together. A long piece of rope, slightly rough on her smooth skin, wrapped around her body and between her breasts, pinning her wrists to her shoulder. More rope bound her bent knee to the side of the bed, preventing her from turning.

“What did you do to me?”

“I tied you up while you were sleeping!” Anthony said brightly, with the pleased tone of a boy who had just won first prize at the fair. “It took about forty-five minutes. I had to be careful not to wake you up. Had to tie you just the way you were, because I was afraid that moving you around too much might wake you. Then I ran my finger over your clit until you came.”

Eileen tried to turn, but the ropes held her in place. “Anthony, can—”

“Hold that thought.” He ducked down, disappearing from view. A second later, she felt something wet touch her clit.

“Anthony!”

He pressed his face further between her legs. His tongue danced lightly over her most sensitive spot; the feeling made her gasp. Butterflies danced in her stomach. “Anthony! Stop!”

His tongue—that magnificent, skilled tongue—moved faster. Heat and tension grew in her belly. “Anthony!” she cried desperately. “Anthony, no! Stop! Please stop! ANTHONY!!”

The second orgasm hit her with the force of a tornado. She screamed and shook while uncontrollable pleasure tore through her. “Anthony!” she shrieked. “Anthony!” Her body spasmed and her back arched. “Oh, God, ANTHONY!!!”

And then, as fast as it had hit, it was gone. She lay panting, drenched in sweat.

He crawled up on the bed to kneel beside her. Softly, sweetly, he stroked her hair. “I love seeing you like that. Watching you when you’re in ecstasy excites me.” He drew closer, kneeling beside her head. “Can you feel how much I like it?” He closed her fingers around his cock, throbbing and hard.

She made a soft whimper but said nothing. Her hands squeezed, drawing a quiver from Anthony’s body.

“Wait.” He reached over to the night stand and picked up a tube of lubricant. “Here.” He uncapped it and squeezed it over her hands, sending a generous quantity of thick slippery jelly over her fingers and down across her palms. She made a noise of distaste, but the ropes prevented her from moving her hands away.

Anthony slid his erection back between her hands. “Squeeze,” he said. “The head and underside are most sensitive. Close your fingers more tightly.”

His hips began moving, slowly at first. Eileen felt his slippery shaft sliding through her hands. Her heart beat faster. “Anthony, please don’t!”

“Giving handjobs is part of a sex slave’s job,” he said. “Don’t be afraid to squeeze; you’re not going to break it.” His fingers closed over hers. “There. Like that. Good!” He moved faster. “Hold it just like that. Move your fingers over the head.” His cock seemed to swell in her hand. “Oh! Just like that…oh!”

She turned her face away just as he came. A thick stream of semen jetted across her cheek and splattered on her neck. She closed her eyes and recoiled in disgust. He kept thrusting. More come gushed across her cheek, splashed onto her shoulder, and ran down into her hair. Another thrust, and come spurted across her chin and her face. “Anthony, no!” Lube and come dripped from her fingers.

When he was finished, he straightened up with a pleased expression. Eileen felt wetness dripping down her cheek and squirmed in distaste. “Anthony, that’s disgusting! Untie me!”

He kissed her forehead again. “A sex slave can’t be squeamish about having come all over her. You need to get used to it. Stay here, little whore.” He left her there, bound to the bed. Water ran in the bathroom.

She heard him whistling to himself while the wetness dripped down her cheek and leaked into her hair. Sticky slime dripped from her fingertips onto her breast. A large drop of the gooey liquid rolled down her wrist. Her entire body shuddered in repugnance.

Long minutes went by. Wet goo ran down her cheek, and she couldn’t move to wipe it away. When he was finished with his shower, he came out, toweling his hair. She struggled against the ropes. “Anthony, that’s enough. Let me go!”

He leaned over the bed with a grin. “This really grosses you out, doesn’t it? We have to work on that.” He scooped up some of the come from her cheek and ran his fingertips over her lips, leaving a wet trail smeared across them. Her face twisted in revulsion. “You can’t be a good sex slave if you don’t love come!” he said.

Straightening, still whistling to himself, he pulled on his bathrobe left the bedroom. Semen cooled and dried on her skin. The come on her chin itched as it dried, but she couldn’t quite reach to scratch it.

From far away, she heard the front door open, then close. A new kind of fear trilled through her. Where was he going? Why had he abandoned her like this, tied to the bed? He was only wearing his robe; why had he gone outside? That made no sense to her. How long would he be gone?

The minutes stretched out. She opened her mouth to call for him, and tasted semen. Her body shuddered. She struggled hard against the cords binding her, but succeeded only in splattering little flecks of slippery goo from her hands across her neck and shoulder. Long ropey strands of come dried in her hair.

Used and defiled, Eileen sobbed softly. Her tears made salty tracks through the stuff dried on her face. More minutes ticked by. She could not understand why Anthony was doing these things to her, and understood even less why her body responded the way it did. How could it be possible that these things that so sickened her also excited her?

She thought about what had happened in London. Her mind wandered back to the time he had raped her in that alley. She thought of damp brick at her back, the cold bright hardness of the knife on her breast. More tears rolled down her cheek. A familiar tightness curled up inside her. Her nipples hardened against her arm. She remembered how it had felt when he entered her…

A sudden loud hammering sound from somewhere near the front door jolted her out of her thoughts. Was someone knocking? Where was Anthony? Her mind raced. What if someone came in and saw her here like this?

Panic seized hold. What if it was someone she knew? He had mentioned a party. Could people be showing up already? Had he invited her friends? What if they tried the door when nobody answered? What if they walked in on her this way, bound and splattered with semen? She fought against the rope and called out for Anthony.

The rapping came again, longer, more insistent. She held her breath, heart pounding.

There was a long pause, then more hammering. The tension uncoiled fractionally inside her. It didn’t sound like someone knocking on the door, and nobody seemed to be coming into the house. She shifted uncomfortably and tested the ropes. They felt tight and slightly coarse on her skin, and they had been tied with a cleverness that confounded her attempts to escape.

The loud noise stopped. She heard the front door open. Her heartbeat picked up. Footsteps sounded in the living room, coming closer. Her breath caught, and she squirmed, desperately wishing she could pull the sheets up to cover herself.

The bedroom door opened, and Anthony’s head appeared. “Hello, little whore! Would you like me to unite you now?”

Eileen jumped, startled. “Anthony! Where were you? Was that you making all that noise? What were you doing?”

“Oh, you’ll see.” He grinned conspiratorially. “But first, let’s get you untied, shall we?”

Eileen glowered resentfully at him while he worked on the knots. So complicated were the bindings that it took him several minutes to unfasten them. The ropes around her body left deep marks in her sides. He moved down to free her legs, then finally turned his attention to the ones binding her arms. Finally, she was free of all save a single long rope binding her wrists together at one end. She moved to stand. Anthony placed a hand on her arm. “Oh, no you don’t. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Anthony, finish untying me! I have to clean up!”

“Not just yet, little whore. I’m not done with you.”

She pulled away and tugged at the rope with her teeth. “Let me go!”

“No. Besides, I want to show you what a beautiful day it is outside. And you asked what I was doing.” His voice was calm but carried a hint of sharpness. With one quick move, he scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She felt the muscles ripple in his back as he carried her naked through the living room.

Anthony brought her to the front door and opened it wide. She gasped in shock, then began struggling with all of her strength, helpless to prevent him from carrying her out onto the porch. Her hands beat ineffectively at his back. “Anthony! What are you doing? Take me back inside!”