Drowsy Demo

[SVerberghe]

A story about a young girl waiting for her big breaktrough and a manipulative guy with a sleepy fetish.

I worked a lot on the manipulative entrapment, about halfway trough is were the sleepy stuff starts. Again I'm not a native english person, i don't even live in a country were people are speaking english. So my apollogies in advance for any stupid spelling or grammar mistakes. Feel free to correct me if they are too grave or it makes a sentence un-understandable.


Drowsy Demo

Using the sleeve of her white blouse she wiped the sweat from her face. She squinted into the lights beaming down on the stage, trying to look into the audience. The pub she performed in tonight was only halfway filled. Smoke irritated her throat, she coughed and grabbed the slightly warm beer from the ground. She put her leather boots on the edge of the stool and rearranged the guitar strap.

‘The last song is called Good Girl.” She put her fingertips against the strings. Her breasts firmly forward, a sultry look into the audience. Smile at the men sitting alone. Men sitting alone could be talent scouts or agents. Or serial killers of course. She shook her head and smiled to herself. She had watched too much Dexter these past few days. Her toughts shifted to the syringe filled with some sedative or tranquilizer and she missed a fingering. Concentrate, she told herself, otherwise you’ll never be scouted.

When her performance ended, she left the stage. An old man with an accordion already standby. She gave him a quick smile, put her guitar away and buttoned up her blouse a bit more. At the bar she ordered a new cold beer.

‘Hi there.’ A soury smell of sweat. She looked over her shoulder. There stood a man with three-day-stubble. She planned on rejecting him, kindly but firm.

‘You’ve got a nice voice, you should do something with it.’

‘That’s what I intend to do, yeah,’ she snarked.

He squinted and gave her an inquisitive look from beneath his dark eyebrows. A shiver ran down her spine. She grabbed the glas full of beer the bartender had just served her. The glas wet and cold against her fingers, her nose dipped into the foam. His stern face suggested he wasn’t trying to hit on her. Then what did he want?

‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘No. Nevermind.’ He turned around and left. ‘In my Agency I only work with kind hardworking artist, if there’s diva behavior already I’ll pass.’

‘I’m not a diva,’ she said indignant. She put a string of sandy blond hair behind her ear and slipped of of her bar stool. She ran after the man. ‘Who are you then?’

‘I’m André, from A-1 Records,’ he said. He was leaning indifferently with his hand against the door.

‘I’m Brooke,’ she said.

‘I know. I just saw you on stage.’

‘And you liked my voice?’ Filled with hope, Brooke looked up into his gray eyes. Ze straightened her shoulders and pushed her boobs forward.

‘There are a thousand girls with a beautiful voice,’ he said. ‘Only a few have the will power to work had and the endurance needed to become a star.’

‘I do have endurance and willpower. I would do anything to become a star. I swear.’ Brooke listened to her own begs and pleas. Her face flushing with shame. This was an opportunity that couldn’t slip away from her. She had spend enough nights of her life in shifty pubs. She didn’t care about humilliating herself by begging. This was her future. This guy with his shiny black shoes was her future.

‘Fine, if your that enthusiastic I think we can arrange something.’

‘Arange what?’

‘First we record a demo and then we’ll she where that takes you.’

‘Yes,’ Brooke nodded. She found it hard to believe that her future was finally here. It would happen. It started all with a demo but before she knew it she would be in front of a 50.000 person audience, with her own band and fireworks spatter from the sides of the stage.

‘I have a studio room at home,’ André said. ‘If you like we could record the demo right now. what’s done, that’s done.’

Brooke was in doubt. She rubbed her lips together and stared at his shiny shoes. It was in the middle of the night. Her grandmother had always warned her for strangers.

‘Yo... either you want it or you don’t.’ He pushed against the door and left. It wasn’t long before Brooke made up her mind and followed him outside. It was dark, the cold autumn wind was blowing right through her thin white blouse. Her leather boots tapped on the sidewalk. Where did he go? There! He was getting into that black car. She ran after him and grabbed the door right before he would close it.

‘I can record a demo right now,’ she said.

‘Well, get in the car then.’

‘I need to... my coat and my guitar are still...’

‘Get in.’ André commanded.

She slid into the passengers seat. The cream colored leather soft and smooth against her bare legs. It even smelled new.

André grabbed a bottle of water from the door and removed the lid. With a pipette he dropped some milkywhite fluid into the water. They clouded into entropy. ‘Drink this,’ he said.

Brooke felt unease. With the bottle in between her fingers she stared at the radio. It played a Frank Sinatra song.

‘Drink,’ André said. ‘Rule number one. If you want to work for me you do as you are told. Rule number two don’t be drunk in the studio. Now Drink!’

Brooke didn’t dare to dissobey after that speech. She poured the water into her mouth and tried to see were they were going. Were they on Bedford avenue or on Websters? André turned op the radio. The bottle was empty now, she tapped it against her bare knee in the rythm of the song. She didn’t feel worried anymore. What could go wrong now? Finally someone noticed her, scouted her, and now she was on her way to record a demo. Every little fear and doubt dissappeared from her body. She jawned. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. It had been a long day after al. Hang in there, she said to herself, you have to show your will power and your endurance. The lights of the oncoming traffic blurred together in long stripes. She couldn’t focus on any of the flashing neon signs. She was just so terribly tired all of a sudden.

She noticed she was nid-nodding and janked her head upwards. Her eyes rolling around. No matter how hard she tried to keep them open, she kept on feeling how her pupils rolled up into her head, how her eyelids sank down. She was fighting the sleep with all of her abilities. Slithers of white.

‘So. Here we are,’ André said.

Brooke once again pulled her chin up. Dazed. Her eyes rolling. She couldn’t focus. André opened the door on her side of the car and squated down next to her. His hand on her leg, his thumb sliding under her denim skirt. ‘Are you a bit sleepy, love?’ he asked tenderly. Brooke just melted. She didn’t know why. There was so much more love in his voice than earlier tonight and his touch was just so arrousing.

‘Come along then.’ He pulled on her elbow and lifted her out of the car. She was wobbling and barely understood what was going on. Where were they? In a garage? André took her with him, through a door, a hallway, a living room, and he helped her sit down on the couch. He sat down next to her. Very close. His knee touching hers.

His fingers stroking her hair. His touch so warm and nice as if al these little sparks came from his hands. Brooke rubbed her face, hoping the heavines would leave her eyelids. It didn’t work, her eyes kept on closing, her pupils rolling up, her head sanking to her chest and with a little twich she pulled it up again.

André’s hand slid down, his fingers pushing her knees apart and along her thighs he stroked her slowly moving in until he found her muggy panties. His fingers pressed into her labia, he pulled away the silk, and entered her.

Brooke was still fighting the sleep. Besides the drowsiness, also arrousal was pumping through her vains now. Warmer and warmer, throbbing even more, her breathing became shallow. She fell into his arms, her head against his shoulders, she kissed him on his stubbly jawline in search of his lips.

Her chin rested on his hand en he pressed his thumb into her cheek. Then he kneeled in front of her. ‘Just close your eyes and relax. Let go now,’ he said. He fiddled with her tightly laced shoes until he could slide the boot of of her foot. Her nylon socks stuck to her sweaty feet. She didn’t want someone touching her feet. She had always been selfconsious about them. Even though the silvery gray mist was lurking on the edge of her thoughts she kept on fighting the daze. What was he going to do?

He took her heel into the palm of his hand and started to massage her instep and toes. ‘Just give in. Hon.’ He said, unlacing her other boot aswell. His fingers running over her other foot now. ‘Go to sleep,’ he said moments later in a grim voice.

Her eyes weren’t more than rolling slithers of white, but she just wasn’t ready yet to let herself sink into the twirling dreams. What are you doing, she wanted to ask, but she didn’t produce anything else than some soft mumbling.

He craddle carried her to the bedroom. Kicking away the clothes on the floor. The bed wasn’t properly made. He janked the blankets of the bed and threw them on the floor. Then he rearranged her position on the bed. ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ he ordered.
The sheets cold against her face. Now she was lying down she had even more difficulties staying awake. The room was spinning and wavering. But her fear of what he would do to her gave her some new energy.

‘Arms upwards, legs spread apart,’ he snarked, ‘and don’t you dare move.’

She didn’t even notice he was tying her down until he was working on her last wrist. Consentrate, she said to herself. But moments later the drugged haze had conquered her rolling eyes again, turning them into little white slithers once more.

His fingers on her breasts, in between her legs, holding her feet. How many hands did he even have?

‘You need a hand falling asleep?’ he asked?

Brooke barely heard what he had said and she shook her head. Moments later a very distinct smell reached her nostrills. A wet washcloth was placed against her nose and mouth. A drop seeped from the cloth, it crawled down her neck. She wanted to wipe it away but couldn’t move. The sharp smell made her eyes tear up. The gray mists grew thicker and thicker enclosing her thoughts. She felt as if she fell backwards, as if she just kept on falling and falling endlessly. Her eyes fluttering, her ears buzzing. Breathing in more and more of the chloroform. Tied down. No escape. Too drugged and dazed already tot resist breathing. She lost all control and fell limp.

‘Good girl,’ he said.

[larrydude]

Continue.................

[CBiscuit]

Yes continue! Very interesting.

[BC999]

Thanks for sharing. Look forward to the continuation.