Rituals
by Spookyboogy
It had been a long, long day, and one that ended up far more tiring than Erik had expected. A slew of upsets, unfortunate happenstances, and “could you just”s had left him utterly exhausted as he stepped through the door to the apartment he shared with Lily, his partner. He called out his usual “Hello?” as he entered, in a voice dripping with fatigue, but didn’t receive a reply – no one home? That wasn’t too out of the ordinary, he supposed, Lily was often back from her work after him. A glance at his watch told him that he was two minutes later than usual; another little annoyance grinding him down. Slipping his shoes off and putting them in the place they always went, he ventured into the entrance hall, only to stop short.
There, hanging from the coat hook, he saw an old cassette player, along with a note taped to the side of it. That hadn’t happened before.
Furrowing his brow, Erik picked up the pair of items, looking over the player for a moment. It had clearly been well used, a clear imprint over the play button where it had been repeatedly pressed, but he didn’t recognise it. He assumed it must be Lily’s, and flipped open the note. There, written in her trademark purple, was a message – Be a good boy and listen! That explained it, she was doing the whole ‘Mistress’ thing again. Well, there would be no harm in playing along, so he clipped the cassette player to his belt and slipped the headphones on, before clicking play.
“Rituals are powerful things.”
A shiver went through him, a tingle running from the soft pads of the headphones all the way down to his toes, as the soft, smooth voice of his partner drifted out of the player.
“You don’t even notice most of them. They’re just something you do, patterns you’ve settled into. But. If you know someone well enough, or unfold their inner workings in just the right way, you can twist their rituals, or implant your own. Like what’s happening now.”
As she spoke, he had hung up his coat, padding through to the living room, planning to listen to whatever plans Lily had concocted while sitting in his usual spot. He could already feel the exhaustion draining from him as he leant down to-
“Not there.”
The sharp interruption froze him in place.
“See? A ritual, interrupted, leaving you drifting for just a moment. That flash of vulnerability, that’s how I worm my way in. That’s how I found out your pattern.”
Her voice was having too much of an effect on him, more than he ever remembered it doing before. Goosebumps erupted on his skin as he heard her breathing closer to the microphone, almost feeling her breath tingling on the back of his neck.
“I left you something, Erik. In the bedroom. See if you can find it, for me?”
The lilt in her voice was teasing, sparking up another shiver of lust in his body. It was like he was on autopilot as he paced through to the bedroom, barely even thinking about his movements. The atmosphere in the dim room was charged, somehow, even though he was the only one home. He could smell Her.
“Do you still remember the first time I gave you a task? The time I told you to kneel in front of your door before I arrived, at 6:30 every day? Oh, I know you don’t, but I do.”
Dimly, he dredged through his memories, but his thoughts were somehow slurred and slowed, and tracing through them felt like wading through thick mud. Kneeling in front of the door…
“The first time I saw you there, I knew what I would have to do. I just had to have you, make you totally, utterly mine. And now, here we are…”
Erik looked around the room, setting what was left of his mind to the task of tracking down this surprise. His eyes drifted towards Her jewellery box, he stepped closer, reaching out-.
“Cold.”
As she said it he instantly felt a chill seeping into his bones, like a flood of ice crashing over him, almost enough to make his teeth chatter. His mind was shocked into motion, skipping over the question of how She could have possibly known what he was looking for, and instead desperately trying to escape that bitter cold. He stumbled away, moving closer to “his” side of the room – maybe it was in the wardrobe?!
“Warmer, but not there…”
Heat slowly began to return to his body, but he quickly realised it wasn’t just warmth, it was lust, burning up through his skin. He let out a low groan as he let his hand fall from the handle of the wardrobe, looking around again, desperate for another reason now. He saw it; the top drawer, skewed open just slightly. There!
“Warmer, warmer, hot~!”
Lily’s, Mistress’ voice pushed him closer, every step reverberating with a pulse of impossible pleasure through his body, every fibre of his being agonisingly aroused. He pulled open the drawer to reveal, sitting atop a delicately folded, purple handkerchief, a small puddle of slick, black latex. His hands trembled as he picked it up.
“There we go! Perfect timing, just like every other night, well done…”
The praise was like a lightning bolt as he unfolded the hood. He had never seen it before, and yet somehow he knew what it was. What it would feel like. What it would make him feel. There were no visible eyes, but he knew he would be able to see, leaving him as a faceless-
“Drone.”
The word from his Mistress made his knees tremble, even as the thoughts started to leak out of his mind, an inky, black, rubbery void overtaking everything that used to be Erik. How could She have-
“Rituals are powerful things, and I’ve tuned this one to perfection. You know the rest of it. See you soon, Drone.”
Erik stood there, frozen, as the click of the cassette player marked the end of the tape. Slowly, mechanically, he reached down to the player, and pressed the rewind button.
As it spun back, preparing for tomorrow’s recreation of the dance that had been going on for months, Erik stopped existing. The drone took the headphones off, reverently placing the pair of items down on the handkerchief. It held the hood up, opened the neck, and slipped its head inside.
Thirty minutes later, exactly on schedule, the drone found itself kneeling at the entrance to the house, a pot of tea steeped to perfection resting on its lap, wearing only the slick, featureless hood that denied it even the approximation of an identity.
The lock on the door turned. It opened. Another ritual began.