Chapter One: The Brothel

In the back of her mind Susan thought she must be dreaming so she  willingly succumbed to the experience that called her. 1

At first she pictured herself swaddled in a white terrycloth bathrobe. It was one of the seventy-five-dollar kind she liked to window-shop at the "expensive" stores in the mall. She ran one of its luxurious sleeves against her cheek and, like a nursing kitten, kneaded the material in her hands. She purred out loud but went unnoticed by the extras her unconscious cast as anonymous co-shoppers. It didn't even occur to her to feel embarrassed. 2

She had always wanted, but never owned a garment such as this. Her meager earnings were spent on necessities and in discount stores. Still, she routinely admired the robes as she transited to and from the mall parking lot. Apparently this trip, she had tried one on without realizing. Now, as she wore it, she could feel its heavy softness penetrate her soul with a happy warmth and peace. She felt secure, relaxed, almost sleepy.3

She strolled to the glass exterior door of what looked like a genetic bond between McRae's and JCPenney. Outside, the day was cloudless. It looked like summer, yet she was strangely disconnected from the blistering heat that surely would have soaked her fluffy robe with sweat. Instead, she felt perfectly comfortable, but the parking lot she expected had been replaced with a boundless swimming pool. Its crystal water glimmered and smelled faintly of liquid chlorine. 4

Looking around, she was pleased to find that this magic oasis was reserved just for her. No one swam or sat in the lawn chairs which lined its edge. Even the mall faded to nothingness behind her. She approached the water calmly and began to descend the concrete stairs in what she thought to be the shallow end. With each downward step the robe slid further down her body until it floated, abandoned, behind her.5

She felt the warmth of the water rise slowly like a giant tongue. In a single smooth motion it licked her thighs, her genitals, her stomach. Her breasts bobbed momentarily as she paused before diving in. Her nipples stood suddenly erect, eager to volunteer for further lapping.   6

With a deep breath and a tippy-toe hop she touched her fingers together above her head and plunged to the bottom. Billions of minute bubbles fizzed against her hips, down her legs, to her feet. She coasted toward the drain to touch it before resurfacing. 7

She neared the drain, not surprised to see that its grid cover was the kind of brass circle used to enclose a floor drain in a tiled restaurant kitchen. She made no mental note that it was only about eight inches in diameter. She stuck her fingers through its bars and wrapped them briefly. As she did so, the cover came off in her hand. She stared at it incredulously for what seemed to be several minutes. She hovered effortlessly, forgetting she was supposed to hold her breath underwater. Peering into the drain itself, she grabbed its edge to pull herself in for a closer look. 8

She stared into the portal curiously. Inside was a vast, dark room. She could tell from the strength of the steady hum that it must contain hundreds of blacklights. It was pitch black inside except for the dim purple hue that swirled up out of the hole like fluorescent smoke. Its myriad of wispy arms twisted around her and coaxed her inside.       9

She found herself there; naked, suspended, enveloped by the amorous mist. It shaped itself into hands and stroked her lovingly. The touch of it tingled. Long, sensual fingers teased and tickled her openly and shamelessly. As her body began to respond, she sensed somehow that she was on display. She couldn't see any audience, but their presence was absolute. She was fearfully excited at the prospect. 10

Waves of sexual hunger began churning inside her. They rhythmically washed over her, retreating each time with the same gentle tugging as the backwash of a tide. They sucked ecstacy from between her thighs like the sand that gets dragged back out to sea. She saw herself from above, writhing in a purple haze. Her knees were lifted and bent. Her back was arched into gymnastic proportion. Her expanse of yellow curls performed its own version of some erotic trapeze act. As she thrashed and tossed, her hair splayed above her head, then swung downward to be caught by the perspiration on her skin. It hung wetly across her handsome face, reaching down with graceful fingers to caress her shoulders or cup her feminine, yet barely protruding bossom. It stroked the swell of her toned belly and tickled the indent of her delicate waistline. Orgasms crashed against her insides, breaking again and again. 11

In the midst of her passion, she again became aware of her audience as they approached her one by one. She couldn't see their faces. They had no faces. They were shadows of faces. As each neared, the ecstacy she experienced turned to agony...    (gotta go to work now. will finish later. the story is written, just gotta type it in.) 12