The Cellar Ch. 01

Part One:

Sleep was not a gift readily afforded those spiraling down the rabbit hole of heroine withdrawal. So it was no surprise to Jo that she had awoken several times, her mind beleaguered by voices and her body sodden with a persistent sweat no cold shower could subdue. The first night was always the worst.

But as the days progressed, the physical pains waned and things settled back into a more normal state of being. But the voices, however, did not stop and seemed intent on driving her insane.

If Jo had learned anything during her three years of addiction, it was that you should never waive your Miranda rights and rehab was just like high school, complete with idiots who had nothing better to do than fuck with people. So it was now imperative she discern the target of this ongoing prank. Find the victim, find the culprit. It was a simple equation.

With rapt focus she strained to isolate the words, pulling apart the syllables, concentrating on the vowels, parsing and reconnecting the components, until the pieces fell into place.

"Jo," she repeated, "come find me." Jo tossed the covers from her legs and shot up from her pillow. "Me? What the fuck did I do? I just got here!"

This is precisely why jail doesn't work, she thought to herself, see what happens when you toss a bunch of miscreants together.

"You can't mush people of the same ilk into one place!" derisively she snarled, pounding her fists against the mattress. "It breeds chaos!"

There was no denying that rehab was boring as hell. But driving people bat shit crazy didn't seem an appropriate way to quench one's thirst for entertainment.

"Seriously? Do you have nothing better to do? This is fucking ridiculous!" Jo rolled from her bed and scudded across the tatty wood floor, throwing open her door. "Where are you?" she hissed. "Stop fucking with me!"

She honed in on the chatter, following it down the vaulted corridor to a garishly carved door at its conclusion.

Fucker, she thought mindlessly as she shoved it open, intent on finding the joker responsible for keeping her up.

"Where are you?" she barked, her fists clenching to the point of numbness, her fingernails digging deep into her palms. "I swear, you are so dead when I find you!" she snarled as she skittered down the wide stone steps to the cellar.

No sooner had she reached the bottom, than she noticed something stir within the shadows and when her eyes shot up, the chatting abruptly stopped. The figure of a man loomed steeped within the darkness, his face obscured by the charcoal cowl of a short crinoline coat, and he made no effort to reveal himself.

"Was it you?" she demanded, jabbing an accusatory finger through the air.

"Was what me?" he asked, the warm dulcet tones of his voice momentarily quelling her agitation.

Jo's shoulders relaxed as she watched his long fingers twining together in hypnotic repetition. "Was it you... calling my name?" her voice softened.

A soft chuckle escaped his unseen lips. "I can assure you, I haven't heard a thing."

Her eyes narrowed as the anger resurfaced. "So why are you down here?" she clamored.

Ignoring her demand, he continued without pause, "I recommend you go back to your room. But if you're intent on your pursuit, then perhaps you should try down the hall... the lights will guide you there." Genteelly he tipped his head before disappearing fully into ebony shadow.

"'The lights will guide you there'," she mocked as she pattered down the corridor, the lights leading her deeper into the belly of the cellar. "Who says shit like that?"

The voice began again and with each passing step it grew stronger, drawing her toward a tall oak door at the very end of the wide, arched corridor.

"Come out you coward!" she barked, while pushing purposefully through the door. But the room appeared empty. Nothing adorned it vastness but a dimly lit chandelier, trickling from the high domed ceiling and a stone cathedra, centered squarely beneath the apex of the room's arched ribs.

"This is ridiculous, I'm ridiculous," she muttered, plopping into the colossal seat and sweeping her bare feet across the cold slate floor. "I'm crazy."

That was the only alternate theory. Insanity. Strange shadow man didn't hear anything, no one else was pacing the halls wracked with frustration and she was now sitting alone in a room after chasing a voice that concluded there.

So this was life, she assessed. Her mind was now driftwood in a wasted sea of perpetual delirium, no doubt induced by years of junk.

"You came," the deep, gravelly voice ricocheted throughout the room, bouncing against the unclad walls and clattering against her ears.

"Where are you?" Jo demanded, her eyes panning the empty room.

With a voice as calming as Xanax he answered, "Beside you."

She flailed her arms through the empty expanse of air. "Bullshit," she spat, "there's no one there, where are you?"

Fluttering heat, like the caress of fingertips, traced the length of her arms, creating ceaseless waves of goose bumps.

A whisper of fabric brushed first her left shoulder and then her right. Jo glanced and noticed the thin straps of her nightgown slipping down her arms as her gown spilled easily to her waist, nestling in soft pools of cotton against her thighs. There was a moment of panic, a fraction of a second in which she felt flooded with terror, yet she sat frozen and made no move to reclaim her gown.

The delicate hint of a sweet, earthy breeze swept her cheek, bringing with it a soothing calm that washed over her tensed muscles, relaxing her rigid body.

It was amazing how detached she now felt, as if the fear was lingering somewhere beyond her, still there yet completely inaccessible, leaving only physical sensation.

For reasons that made very little sense, Jo slipped her arms from the fetters of her gown, no longer harboring any desire to conceal herself. The remnants of fabric were quickly replaced by the unmistakable warmth of hands, sliding beneath her breasts and she watched in awe as the flesh of her nipples grew taut, perking shamelessly between unseen fingers.

"What are you?" Jo marveled as she felt an arrhythmic flutter climb like ivy up her thighs, slowly peeling them apart. "Seriously," she gasped as her hips jerked to the edge of the chair. "Who are you?"

"I promise I'll be kind," the voice purred.

What? Who says that?

A pulsing heat insinuated itself between her thighs, pressing hard against her pelvis. An unseen weight bore down against her stomach as the feel of velvety lips swept against the soft flesh of her breast. A supple tongue slowly laved her nipple, followed by a delicately teasing nip against her skin. She could see the traces of saliva against her flesh and yet its origin was still unclear.

"I can't see you." This was utterly insane, there was no one there. "I'm crazy, that's it. That crap rotted my brain and I've completely lost my mind. They all told me this would happen. And my mom always said it was better to be a drunk than a junkie," she gasped, as the weight lifted from her body.

"You're not honestly going to prattle on about that are you?"

"I won't prattle if you tell me what you are," she blurted.

It must be the drugs, it simply had to be. What normal human being straddles an invisible man, completely aroused, while having a nonsensical debate about whether or not they're crazy?

"You are, aren't you? You're going to prattle away incessantly."

"I just need to know, I won't prattle, I promise," she pleaded.

"So much for prolonging the moment," the throaty voice growled.

A violent tug of her hips found her thighs resting against the undeniable musculature of shoulders. Is this what crazy felt like? So far, crazy didn't seem all that bad.

Jo struggled to prop herself on her elbows. Even in the dim light of the room she could see the soft pink blossom of her labia flush violent red with arousal. Three years in the sex trade and she'd never witnessed that before.

As if in tune with her thoughts, her legs fell open, hooking around firm forearms as a warm breeze flooded the delicate flesh between her legs. There was a moment of absolute stillness, a tick of uncertainty, and then perfect calm poured through her body.

It was now without thought or hesitation that she tipped her hips forward and welcomed him in. But still he made her wait, blowing warm teasing promises against her florid flesh as her body twitched between powerful hands.

"Please?" she squeaked, hoping she had chosen the correct response.

Glorious acquiescence followed in the form of a tongue. Though she could not see it, there was no questioning what it was. Her eyes snapped shut as it gently played along the tender folds of her most delicate treasure seeming to delight in her taste. He took his time, swirling in slow deliberate circles around her clit, yet never touching it. Gingerly it slipped between her parted lips and sank deep inside. With tremendous focus it twisted and rolled with her walls, collecting the first deluge of orgasm before slowly withdrawing.

Jo felt her head roll back as she succumbed to the sensation and gasped sharply when her body shuddered in a coalescence of pleasure and surprise.

The warmth of his tongue lingered at the base of her clitoris, taunting and coaxing it between a set of soft, full lips. A rush of heat flooded her loins as he teased it into his mouth, gently rolling his hot tongue around its sensitive edges. Jo gasped again as his tongue flicked tenderly across her engorged clitoris, tickling it with soft, vibrating strokes. His mouth now seemed to hum against her swollen flesh, allowing her a slow progression of pleasure as opposed to the all-out assault to which she had grown accustom.

Something pressed against her labia, a finger perhaps, slowly parting her and easing gently inside. For a moment it played alone, but was quickly joined by another. Their rhythm, slow and methodical, was perfectly in tune with that glorious tongue in a symphony of pleasure between her legs.

She felt herself spread wider as a third finger joined in the explosive harmony, its rhythm quickly joining that of its companions.

The roll of her hips signified complete submission, it mattered not who or what he was, that was an inconsequentiality she'd concern herself with at another time. What mattered now were the tickle of fingertips against her g-spot and the ever-present glory of his masterful tongue.

Lost in sensation, Jo thrust her hips forward, working him deeper, absorbing every inch of his fingers and delighting in the fevered pitch of his tongue. And, as a wave of pleasure arced through her body, she felt herself release fully against the stiffness of his hand.

Seeking better leverage, her hands firmly gripped the edges of the armrest and pulled hard against it, bearing down against his long fingers, begging them deeper still.

His response was immediate and he added the fourth, slamming them ruthlessly against her g-spot as his mouth worked to consume her. Only this time, he did not withdraw. This time, his fingers stay lodged deep inside as they played against her most sensitive spot while his tongue returned to the task of toying with her clit.

With his free hand he pressed hard against her pelvis, seeming to join forces with the other. In concert they worked mercilessly to drive her over the edge, one hand manipulating her from the outside while the other from within.

Her pelvis rocked between them as orgasm roared through her core. And when her abdomen fluttered in response to this explosive new sensation, his hand pressed harder, forcing her muscles against the fingers lodged deep within her loins. As ceaseless waves of orgasm crashed through her core, his tongue responded with renewed vigor. He drew her clit deep within his mouth, locking it there, holding it hostage as his tongue played mercilessly against its engorged flesh.

"Fuck!" she screamed as spasm tore through her loins, consuming every muscle and spilling her like jelly against the chair.

He lingered there, unmoving, seeming to delight in the feel of her pulsing contractions as her abdomen twitched between his magnificent hands.

A hint of breath blew warm against her ravaged flesh, beckoning her legs to open wider, and she readily consented.

His hand withdrew from between her legs, immediately replaced by his mouth which consumed her whole. It seemed he was intent on collecting the spoils of the war he had waged against her and she surrendered every ounce of what he sought.

But when the spasms stopped he withdrew, his presence simply disappearing into the ether.

"Do you intend to return here?" he asked, his voice now far away.

What a question. How does one answer that? "I don't know," she stammered breathlessly.

"I would prefer if you did not," he chided, his voice flat and unaffected.

"Why?" she asked with marked shock, her voice cracking under the strain of disappointment.

"I am not certain I can restrain myself next time."

"From what?" she asked meekly, now feeling a glimmer of hope.

Curtly he replied, "Please do not return."

Jo collapsed against the cold, unforgiving stone, completely spent and yet alive with sensation the likes of which she had never felt. She lay crumpled, unable to move, an occasional spasm reminding her of the ecstasy she'd endured. It took her body forever to respond to her commands, seeming to override her brain in the hopes he might return.

Finally, she stood and collected her twisted nightgown from the floor, slowly encasing her tingling skin in its alien grasp as she staggered into the corridor.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Mr. Shadow Dweller asked as she mindlessly toddled past.

He'd shed himself of his cowl, exposing his exquisite face. His sharp, angular jaw melded beautifully with a perfectly squared chin. Crisp green eyes, like brilliant emeralds, softened the ruggedness of his features, creating a harmonious balance under tussocks of raven hair.

"I... I have no idea," she stuttered, wildly shaking her head.

"You shouldn't come down here again," he reminded.

"That's what I keep hearing," she mumbled as she climbed the stairs.

* * *

Jo's fingers tapped impatiently against the counter, its scarred ivory linoleum, inset with anemic gold flecks, mocking the beautiful marble which slathered the walls.

"Hi Mom," Joelle chirped as soon as her mother's voice slurred its introduction.

"Jo baby, how's things?" her mother garbled. Jo could practically smell the bourbon seeping through the phone.

It'd been nearly six months since they'd last spoken. Her mother had been riding the perpetual wave of rehab and relapse, and it had become nearly impossible to keep track of her. But before Jo herself entered rehab, her mom's most recent loser boyfriend, Sam, sent her a text with his home number and asked her to call. Though the reason was never made clear, she took the hint and called.

"Things are okay. How about you?" Jo asked, feigning interest.

"You know, no complaints. Any new men in your life?"

"Only every night," she joked, knowing her mother was already hip to her licentious behavior. It was only last year that she'd called from the Sheriff's barracks and asked for five hundred dollars bail, which her mother flatly denied.

"No one special?" her mother stammered.

Jo wondered if her orgasmic invisible man counted. "No."

"Well you should settle down, find a man, let him take care of you."

"I can take care of myself. How'd rehab go this time?" she asked, already knowing the answer but desperate to change the subject.

"Left early, too many stupid rules," she snipped. "Listen baby, take my advice, get yourself clean, find a nice man and let him take care of the rest. You're young yet and twenty ain't too young to go gettin' yourself married either. I have to go, Sam needs his breakfast."

The phone clicked.

"I love you too mom." Jo slammed the phone into the cradle and flipped it off. "And I'm twenty one, so go fuck yourself!"

* * *

He'd kept his word, the insolent pest pleaded for her every night, begging her to visit, imploring her to descend the stairs so he may taste her again. She resisted, though on more than one occasion found her feet planted at the door to the cellar, wondering how she'd arrived there.

By the third night he was a near constant thought, the feel of his mouth, his tongue, the delightfully agonizing pleasure of his fingers. Every dream was consumed by passionate memories, playing in a never ending loop of ecstasy.

On the lonelier nights, she tried her best to remember his technique, placing her fingers deep inside and gently tickling them around. And tonight, was just such a night.

"This is ridiculous," she huffed, feeling unsatisfied by the meager endeavor between her legs. "I suck," she sighed, resigned to dissatisfaction.

Instead, she tried counting sheep, reciting what she could remember of The Declaration of Independence, solving basic math problems and singing every Zeppelin song she could think of, but all roads led back to him. After hours of futile exercises and pointless recitations, exhaustion finally took hold and the weight of her lids pulled her into sleep.

The room was still dark when the shock of stirring sheets jolted her awake. When the warmth of a body settled beside her, Jo flung the blanket from her bed, revealing the intruder.

"Don't make a sound," a sultry voice cooed through the darkness.

Her eyes strained to adjust, taking in the muted shapes of his face.

Immediately she recognized the disturbed man from the cellar. Though he was stunning, she still didn't want him in her bed. Who the hell did he think he was? Rapist freak. "You!" she hissed.

"Did I not just ask you to remain quiet?" he smiled.

"Get out!" she snarled.

"That's no way to treat an old friend, I thought you'd be quite pleased to see me," he purred as his hand travelled the curve of her neck.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, slapping away his hand. "Why would I be 'pleased' to see you?" Okay, so he was beyond sublime, but that still didn't give him carte blanche to sneak into her bed, however rousing he might be.

"We had such fun together, I presumed... perhaps I was mistaken, my sincerest apologies."

"You?" she gasped, still trying to reconcile the pieces of the puzzle. "Bullshit!"

"I'm afraid so. Do I no longer appeal to you?" he sounded confused.

"No... what I mean is... you," she sputtered. Had she missed something? Or was this simply part of being crazy? Delusions are known to manifest in many different ways, she considered thoughtfully.

"I appear to have frightened you, I'll leave you now," tenderly he relented.

He slipped from the bed and recovered her blanket from the floor, laying it softly across her body.

"Wait," she blurted as his hand met the doorknob.

Coyly, he smiled in return. "Yes?"

"Is it really you?" Her eyes strained against the darkness, studying his face. The voice sounded the same, she recognized that now, but that night... there was no way he could have made it down the hallway before her. Besides, he was visible. Mr. Mysterious was not... visible.

Wow, was she really having this conversation with herself? Had she vaulted beyond the walls of disturbed and into the realm of sheer lunacy?

"Yes," he afforded, "it is most certainly me."

"Then stay." Okay, this station stop was definitely Crazytown and she was now gleefully hopping off the train.

He strolled slowly to the edge of her bed, awaiting an invitation. "Do you no longer wish to know my name?"

"No, I mean yes... I do... please, tell me," she fumbled awkwardly.

"You are more than welcome to call me by my given name, Lucien."

"And what are you Lucien? Apparition? My wild, depraved imagination? Shape shifter? Voodoo Priest? Hallucination? What?"