Song Lyrics

[freddie_clegg]

If “music is the soundtrack of our lives”, is it the soundtrack of our fantasies as well?...Why is it that lyrics like these get my brain working? Is there really “nothing as potent as cheap music”? Here’s a series of short vignettes, each inspired by a line from a song. Credits at the end…


“ Try as I may, I could never explain, What I hear when, You don't say a thing …. You say it best when you say nothing at all…”


It’s been the most pleasant of evenings. I always enjoy your company. Now, as the fire dies back to orange embers I sense that the cabin is starting to surrender its heat to the night outside. I wonder if you feel it too. You are lying quite close to the fire, stretched out on the fur rug. You are naked, of course, except for your collar; and the ropes, and the gag. You must feel the warmth begin to fade.

You stretch against the ropes; not attempting to free yourself, more delighting in their restraint. You give a sigh of pleasure muffled and distorted by the ball that fills your mouth. You see me watching you. Your eyes smile, knowing how pleased I am to share your delight.

You know that soon I will free your ankles and lead you away from the fire to the bedroom. You know that I will unbuckle your gag and remove the ball. You know, too, that then you will still not speak. You will not speak but your mouth will bring me pleasure. Silent and submitting, gaining your pleasure from pleasing. I cannot doubt that I know what you feel.

[freddie_clegg]

“Tall and tan and young and lovely the girl from Ipanema goes walking and when she passes each one she passes goes, ‘Ahhh’.”

Her long black hair cascaded down her back. It was hard to avoid watching as she strode by, but my attentions were hidden by my mirror sun glasses. The rest of the guys at the street tables made no attempt to hide their appreciation, calling her back to join them. She ignored all their pleas. I smiled but she didn’t notice. She was still wearing the lime green bikini that she had been sunbathing in on the beach. Her own sun glasses perched on top of her head like a strange, black, butterfly. She carried a canvas beach bag, a scarf trailed loosely from it. The straps from her high heeled sandals wound their way up her tanned calves. She was heading back towards the Copacabana Beach.

I tossed a couple of coins onto the table to cover the cost of the beer and headed off around the block in the opposite direction. By the time I got to the street at the back of the bar she was just emerging from the alley, following the route she always took. I followed her. She had to squeeze past my truck, I’d parked it with the wheels on the sidewalk. As she drew level with the truck I closed up behind her, grabbing her from behind... I spun her around and got the chloroform pad over her nose and mouth, one arm around her shoulders, the other trapping her arms against her sides. She was struggling and starting to kick. She was squealing a bit but nothing that anyone was going to hear over the noise of music spilling out from the backs of the seafront bars. She landed a couple of kicks on my shins but the cork wedge heels of her sandals didn’t really make much of an impact. I slammed her against the side of the van. She gasped and as she did so took on a good belt of the chloro, From then on it was all down hill for her. She was young and fit but the drug did its job. I soon felt her go limp in my grip. I kept the pad in place for a little longer but it was pretty clear she was out of it for a while.

I propped her against the side of the van as I slid the door open. She was no weight, even unconscious, it was easy to lift her into the back. I tossed in her beach bag and then climbed in after her and shut the door. I set to making her secure and got the ball gag on her first, there wasn’t much chance of her waking up for a while, but you can’t be too careful. I put the handcuffs on her wrists and her ankles and some ropes around her arms and her knees. I used a scarf from her beach bag to blindfold her. I reckoned that I had about forty minutes before she woke up. That was plenty of time to get her down to the cabin where we would have a much better chance to get acquainted.

I looked down at her unconscious form. Her skin was perfect, even this close. Her tan dived beneath the fabric of her bikini with no sign that it stopped. There would be plenty of time to explore that later. She looked every bit as beautiful as when I had first seen her on the float in the carnival. Even in unconsciousness her body had the same sinuous sensuality that made me think of music whenever I saw her. How can I tell her I love her?

[freddie_clegg]

“There may be trouble ahead, but while there’s music and moonlight and love and romance, let’s face the music and dance.”

The orchestra stopped playing. The dancing stopped. I let go of her, she stepped back from me and we applauded. I smiled. “It’s a beautiful night, why don’t we take some air?”

She smiled back and led the way stepping through the tall doors that gave onto the terrace. The long train of her white dress scattered the few leaves that had blown there with the start of autumn. Her long white gloves and the silk stole that she wore gave her no protection from the weather but it was still warm. The boned bodice of her dress gave her body a stunning, almost Edwardian, silhouette.

We were the only ones there. We stood staring at the moon’s reflection in the great lake that stretched away from the house. I could not say which sparkled more, the floodlit fountain in the courtyard before us or the diamonds and sapphires on her tiara, choker and bracelet. “It’s such a beautiful night,” I said, “It seems so great a shame to have to spoil it.”

“Oh, don’t say you have to leave. How can you abandon a princess? You know that the palace guard will come after you if I so much as shed one tear?” She laughed.

I smiled in response. She was a princess, of course, even if only from a tiny, landlocked, mountain whose main role was as a tax haven. But these days there was no palace guard. It was just as well.

“No, I’m not going to leave. In fact, we’re going to be together for quite a while; much more than this evening.” She looked puzzled. I pulled her close to me and kissed her firmly.

She giggled. “Oh, kind sir,” she laughed. “And at the risk of a cliché, is that a gun in your pocket or are you having a good time?”

I gave an embarrassed cough. “Well, actually it is a gun in my pocket.” I pulled it out and pressed it against her belly. “Now, please keep quiet and come with me.” I hustled her from the balcony towards my waiting car.

One of my henchmen, a violin player with the band, was sitting in the front seat as I pushed my captive princess into the back. Clouds closed over the moon as we pulled out of the gates of the castle. By now she was already helpless, her evening gloves wadded up into her mouth as a gag and taped in place, handcuffs on her wrists, her white, silk stole providing an excellent blindfold.

[freddie_clegg]

”Please allow me to introduce myself, I’m a man of wealth and taste…”

The girl gave a groan and tried to sit up. I watched in fascination as the effects of the drug wore off. It took some time before she realised what had happened to her but eventually realisation dawned and she began to struggle against the ropes. The duct tape that held the pads over her eyes was still doing its job; it was amusing to stand there, unseen, watching her struggle on the floor of the stables. The tape I’d used to gag her was secure as well. Perhaps I’d wadded a little too much cloth into her mouth, judging by the way her cheeks were bulging, but she was quiet and that was the main thing. All she could manage was a muffled grunt as she struggled.

She was still wearing the shirt, jodhpurs and riding boots that she had on when I first met her earlier today but now her shirt was gaping open from her efforts in trying to wriggle free. I wasn’t complaining, it gave me an excellent view of her breasts.

It was good to be able to take the time to see how well my techniques worked. I’d been a bit worried about roping her ankles while she still had her boots on, for example. In fact it wasn’t an issue, there was no sign she was making any progress on loosening them. The same was true of the ropes around her chest and arms and the short length of rope that linked her wrists and ankles.

All in all she made an attractive package. The only down side was that in wrapping the tape around her head for the blindfold, I had plastered her long auburn hair to her head and that didn’t look too good.

She’d rolled over onto her front as she continued trying to free herself. Now she was trying to kick with her legs, hoping that she might jerk the ropes at her wrists free. She gave a whimper of pain and then a groan of frustration. She rolled back on to her side. Mud from the stable floor now streaked her white shirt.

“Good afternoon, Lady Angela.” She started at the sound of my voice. I reached down and plucked a piece of straw from where it had worked itself in her cleavage. A more animated set of grunts came from behind her gag. “Ah, splendid, I can see you recognise my voice.” She tried to twist around towards me but only came up against the unrelenting restraint of the ropes that bound her. She did, however, manage to pull her shirt open a little further, so improving the view as far as I was concerned.

“Now,” I said, “I was hoping that you would reconsider my offer for your splendid string of horses. However, since you evidently failed to recognise my determination to possess that which takes my fancy, I fear that direct action has been needed on my part. As a result the beasts in question will shortly be speeding towards their new home. I do hope you don’t mind but I took the opportunity also to acquire the collection of paintings by George Stubbs from your long gallery – I thought they would go so well in my own new establishment – a memento of a very pleasant afternoon. Good day to you.”

She was still grunting and wriggling as I left the stables, got up into the cab of the horse box and drove off.

[freddie_clegg]

“On a morning from a Bogart movie, in a country where they turn back time, you go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime. She comes out of the sun in a silk dress, running like a watercolour in the rain...”

It might have only been 8 a.m. but already the heat was stifling. The wind was in from the desert, driving sand between the buildings and in through every door. Ugarte stood on the corner of the Souk and tossed the remains of his cigarette into the street as the Chief of Police’s car sped past, scattering traders and squawking livestock. He turned towards the Blue Parrot edging his way through the throng. A cat sat inscrutably in the window of Mahmoud’s carpet shop. It reminded Ugarte of his problem. Somehow there had to be a way of obtaining the statue of Bast that the archaeologists had discovered in their excavations at the Egyptian New Kingdom tombs on the edge of town. The two foot high statue was reputed to be of solid gold, heaven only knew what it would fetch from some of Señor Ferrari’s associates.

He turned the corner, emerging from the shade of the shop canopies. As he squinted in the bright sunlight, he saw the girl hurrying towards him. He watched as she passed him by without stopping, rushing into the offices of the British Consulate. As he watched her blond hair streaming out behind her, he realised who it was. Dashing past, in a hurry, evidently late was Jacqueline, the daughter of Lord Segontium, sponsor of the excavations. He hadn’t recognised her in a dress – she invariably dressed in shorts and a shirt with her hair tied back and spent much of her time helping at the dig. Carrier, the chief archaeologist viewed her as a dilettante but she was keen to learn.

Suddenly Ugarte saw the solution to his problem. The Bast statue might be difficult to get hold of but Jacqueline might prove much easier to acquire. Then Lord Segontium could chose between his daughter and the statue. Ugarte smiled and stepped out towards the Blue Parrot, his problem solved. .

------------------------
“On the other side of town a boy is waiting, with fiery eyes and dreams no one could steal. She drives on through the night anticipating; 'cause he makes her feel the way she used to feel.”

The car stopped at the lights. She looked down at the passenger seat beside her. There were the two envelopes, each inscribed with her lover’s writing. “Meet Me” one said, it held a small card with the day’s date and 19:00 on it and a plastic key card for a motel room. “Wear Me”, said the other. Inside was a key from the lock of a suitcase. Meet Me, Wear Me. She felt like Alice in Wonderland. Actually that was exactly how she felt. That was what she loved, the sense of surprise and wonder at every encounter. The sense of exploring a world where every turn revealed a new sensation.. All she needed was the white rabbit.

Turning up at the Motel wasn’t a new sensation but it was one she hadn’t had for a long time. It was pretty seedy, the sort of place she’d been when she was first dating, when she’d first discovered… Yeah, well, appropriate really, she thought.

The room was at the end of a block, next to an ice machine that coughed, grunted and rattled as it tried to keep pace with the heat outside. The bed clothes were shabby but at least they were clean, better than she’d expected.

There was a suitcase standing in the closet. She didn’t need to try the key, of course it would fit. She looked around, switched on the room light and pulled the curtains. She turned on the TV. MTV was running an Eagles retrospective. That really took her back. She hung the “do not disturb” sign on the outside of the door and picked up the case.

She turned the key in the case. No surprises, she thought as she opened it. Handcuffs, a ball gag, a blindfold. She’d half expected some clothes but that was all there was. Did he want her naked? He would have said, wouldn’t he? How was she supposed to know? What if she ….?

She stopped and smiled at herself. This was all it took, she laughed, the absence of his command was as much of an order as any spoken word. Even the thought of his intent was enough to turn her inside out.

And there she was when he found her. Still in the suit she had worn to the office, still in the button through skirt, the pantyhose and heels that he had known she would have on. Sitting on the bed. He hadn’t told her but she had known. Handcuffed, gagged and blindfolded. The instruction had been explicit, “Wear Me” and she knew what this meant.

She heard him enter – at least she assumed it was him. He didn’t speak but she felt him sit beside her on the bed.

One finger. That was all. He traced her lips around the ball of her gag. He ran his finger across her forehead above her blindfold. He traced the line of her skirt hem around her thighs. He traced the v of the lapels of her shirt, the line of her breasts beneath her shirt,

She hardly moved but each single light touch seemed to propel her onward. His finger ran down the length of her arms, each in turn following the line of her fingers. Her excitement rose until she was sighing softly into her gag. He ran his finger up from her cleavage to her throat, stopping beneath her chin and exerting the slightest pressure. It was as if he lifted her bodily to her feet. Even though there had been the least pressure now she was standing.

What next? she thought. There was a click. She felt the sharp edge of a knife against her cheek. Then each fastening was cut from her clothes.. The buttons of her suit jacket, it fell open. The buttons at the front of her skirt, the fabric belt, the fastenings at the waist; each went in turn until the skirt fell around her legs. The buttons on her shirt and then those at the cuffs, each were sliced away in turn. The ankle straps of her shoes. The straps of her bra, her bra itself where the cups joined between her breasts. With each cut he touched the knife to another part of her body reminding her of the power she had given him, with each cut she became more aroused, her head was now held back, she was breathing erratically, sucking air around the edge of her gag as well as through her nose. She shuddered as she strove to remain still, fearful of the knife. Not fearful of him, just fearful that she might fall or stumble.

She felt him turn the knife and then, as he held it by the blade, he drew the handle between her legs, tracing the lines of her sex with its hard form. It brushed her lightly but now, after all she had experienced, it was enough to send her into an orgasmic shudder and then falling forward on her knees.

Another click, the sound of the blade snapping back into its hasp, and then the sense of her wrists being freed as her cuffs were unfastened. Still she did not move of her own free will, waiting for his command.

This time it did not come. She heard the click of the door as he left and felt the loneliness as she knew he had gone. Still she did not move. She stayed, kneeling for some time, holding her wrists behind her, not touching the gag or the blindfold, drowning in the desperate longing for his return and the certain knowledge that for now he had gone.

[freddie_clegg]

“Walking through the terminal, I saw something beautiful You left for your duty call. Next I’m getting on the plane, that’s when I see you again - I can’t get you off my brain. That uniform you’re wearing - so hot I can’t stop staring, you’re putting on an awesome show. The cabin pressure’s risin’, my coke has got no ice in. Air Hostess I like the way you dress… Gonna see you soon, in my hotel room, for a holiday romance – Air Hostess.”

Karen felt consciousness returning slowly. Her head was throbbing – that wasn’t too new after a night in a hotel bar but she’d only had one or maybe two. Oh yes and the drink she’d had with the passenger that she’d bumped into from the flight out. But oh, this was bad. She felt she couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, and her mouth felt foul.

Then, slowly, she realised. She really couldn’t move. She was spread like a star fish on the local beach. Her arms were stretched out and her legs. And she couldn’t move them.

And it wasn’t just that her mouth felt foul, something was stuffed into it and no matter how she tried she couldn’t push it out with her tongue. She became fully aware of her situation. She was tied helplessly. She could feel she was naked. She was blindfolded, She was gagged. Feeling panic, she tried to pull herself free from whatever held her. She groaned and heard her own muffled cries coming back to her.

Then she heard his voice. “Please don’t be afraid, you’re quite safe.”

She stiffened as she heard him and then recognised his voice. It was him. The passenger from the flight. Seat 23a. The man in the bar. She turned her head to the sound of the voice and whimpered through the gag in response.

“No really, it’s all right. I can explain this. Please don’t struggle I am sure that you will only hurt yourself and I would hate for that to happen.” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the blindfold. “Oh don’t do that. Here. Let me.”

She felt him reach behind her head and loosen the knot that held the blindfold in place. She blinked as the cloth was pulled from her eyes and tried to focus on the source of the voice. She could see that it was him, even though he was wearing a mask – a silk scarf of some description tied to cover the lower half of his face. Above it, his eyes were darting back and forth watching as she struggled against – against what? She looked up to where her wrists were tied and down to her ankles – ropes fastened each to the bed frame. He stood impassively as she looked around. She didn’t recognise the room; she didn’t think they were still in the hotel. She struggled again, looked towards him again and gave a muffled grunt.

“Oh, don’t be angry. I’m very grateful that you’re here. It’s good of you to contribute to my collection.”

Another grunt; of puzzlement this time. The man gestured towards the other side of the bed and Karen turned her head.

The sight was at once bizarre and terrifying. Lined up along the opposite wall of the room were five mannequins, shop window dummies, four of them wore flight attendant uniforms from different airlines; the fifth was naked. Karen screamed into her gag.

“No, no. Please don’t be upset. Look, I’m very selective. You see – no charter airlines and none of the ‘no frills’ carriers either. I don’t think that treat they their staff as well – do you? I think the uniforms are much lower in quality. Look,” he said reaching for the hem of the first mannequin’s skirt, “this is properly lined. You can tell by how it hangs. You just don’t see that sort of care from the low cost operations.”

Karen wriggled and squealed again.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, gesturing towards the naked dummy. “I didn’t mean to offend you with her – she’s for your uniform and I’m just so pleased.” She watched as he crossed the room and pulled a trolley bag – her trolley bag – out from the closet.

He began to unpack it. “I guess you must be quite new to the job,” he said, “I can’t always get all the pieces at one go. I mean there’s your gloves and your scarf and your hat and the blouse and the skirt and the jacket. That was really good. The proper shoes too – so often the girls seem to have their own, even though it’s not supposed to be allowed. But I was so glad to have your staff handbook as well as all the pieces of the uniform. It just makes it that much more authentic, I can get things just right. I mean I know I can dress Karen here, just as she should be,” he waved to the dummy as Karen gave another gagged scream.

Karen watched still struggling ineffectually, scarcely believing as he dressed the mannequin. “I want you to know,” he said, “how much I like this uniform. I really like the retro look - this white blouse and the straight navy blue skirt. Neat short sleeves on the blouse, simple collar – not one of those fussy necklines so many of them have now. You must have been pleased with how you looked?” |The rhetorical question earned a moan of complaint. He ignored it. “It just harks back to the ’60’s for me. That was the golden age I guess. You’d have been an ‘air hostess’ then not a ‘flight attendant’. Doesn’t that sound more welcoming? I mean ‘hostess’ - someone that looks after people; ’attendant’ - someone that just stands by waiting is what it says to me. And this cap is really great,” he perched it on the mannequin’s head. “I mean its right back to Pan-Am in ’64. Would you have liked to fly on 707’s? Maybe not I guess the wide body jets are easier for the crew.”

Karen realised where he had got his mask from – a uniform neck scarf from Trans European Airlines – and at the same moment remembered that one of their fight attendants had gone missing only one month before. She renewed her struggles against the ropes. He looked at her, unconcerned. He fastened Karen’s name badge – ‘Hi, I’m Karen. Let’s have fun flying!’ to the left breast of the mannequin’s blouse as prescribed in the handbook. “There, finished. Although I think that badge is rather more flirty than would have been thought proper back in the early ‘60’s ” he said. ”Now the girls can watch us.”

Karen bucked against the ropes as the masked man sat down beside her. He traced a finger across her naked breast and she shuddered.

“I expect you are concerned about what will happen to you now.” He stroked her belly as she tensed in repulsion. “Of course, I don’t really need you now. I could have just stolen the uniform I suppose but it’s not the same. I like the girls here to see where their uniforms come from I suppose. But I know someone who’ll pay to take you off my hands. It’s very convenient; I have my collection,” he waved again at the dummies, “and I can be sure that you will be looked after.”

He reached forward and squeezed a nipple. Karen squealed into her gag. “But before them, I am afraid there is the question of your underwear.” Karen’s quizzical squeal gave way to a gasp of pain as her attacker squeezed again. “I’ve read these instructions very carefully,” he said, waving the handbook. “They say quite clearly say that your underwear should be white and I am afraid that I find that quite hard to reconcile with the five pairs of black panties that were in your case. Now, two of them are helping to make sure that your cries don’t disturb anyone which is some form of penalty I suppose. The problem is that I was quite looking forward to, err, making use of them, if you understand what I mean. And, of course, these really won’t do.” He waved the remaining three pairs in front of her, before tossing them aside. “I’m afraid the handbook is quite explicit – they must be white. So, I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t use them. It would be a shame to disappoint the girls, though – they just love to watch – I’ll just have to manage without.”

Karen screamed again – her cries stifled by the panties that gagged her– as her captor began to unfasten his trouser belt.

[freddie_clegg]

“Every day I spend my time, drinking wine, feeling fine, waiting here to find the signs I can understand, yes I am. In the days between the hours, ivory towers, bloody flowers, push their heads into the air, I don’t care…
Don’t push your love too far, your wounds won’t leave a scar. Right now is where you are; in a broken dream…”

The view from the window looked out across an open meadow, across the river to the woods beyond. The water spilled down from the weir at the mill cascading across the shallows of the ford where the track from the woods crossed. Beyond the ford the track dived into the darkness of the wood but of the track on the side of the river nearest the window, she could see little.

It was six months now since he had gone, riding off along the track, his lance held high, her favour flying from its tip. Six months since he had left her and she had sworn to be true. He had laughed at the strange devices the others in his company had used to ensure that their wives remained chaste. But she had wanted to prove her faithfulness to him and the limits of her view were her proof.

The window was in the turret room of the highest tower where she had gone the day he left. She had fastened chains about her ankles and wrists and locked them to rings in the wall. She had locked the door, to the room leaving only the grill through which her constant maidservant passed to her the food and wine that sustained her in his absence. From her place by the wall she could see through the window to the ford where he had crossed as he left along the track and to where she knew he would return.

And the keys? The keys to the locks at her wrists and her ankles? The key to the lock of the door? They were already long gone; carried away by him, unknowingly, in his pack; tied with a silken ribbon in a pouch embroidered with the simple message “Semper Fidelis”.

And so she waited; her skin pale from the absence of sun; her hair lank from lack of attention; her clothes, once fine linen, richly embroidered, colourful and fresh, now faded, ragged and torn. Her limbs no longer ached or she no longer felt the aches. The shackles brought no new sores where they closed about her limbs, though their circling was mirrored in the purple bruises and callused flesh that she bore. And her room no longer held her. Only able to see the ford, she was still closer to him, she felt, than if he was there. For now there was nothing in her life but him. Somehow he was more present than ever in his absence.

[freddie_clegg]

Music Credits

Performer / Writer

“When You Say Nothing At All” : Ronan Keating / Ronan Keating

“The Girl From Ipanema” – Stan Getz & Astrid Gilberto / Antonio Carlos Jobim : Vinicius de Moraes :Norman Gimbel

“Lets Face the Music and Dance” – Sinatra, Diana Krall, Robbie Williams / Irving Berlin

“Sympathy for the Devil” – Rolling Stones / Jagger & Richard

“The Year of the Cat” – Al Stewart / Al Stewart

“Lyin’ Eyes” – The Eagles / Glenn Frey & Don Henley

“Air Hostess” - Busted / Busted

"In a Broken Dream" – Python Lee Jackson (Rod Stewart) or, more recently Kathryn Williams - check this version out / Rod Stewart

[StillBehindBlueEyes]

#5 and #6, yummy.

[freddie_clegg]

Thanks sbbe:ty Glad you enjoyed them.

Freddie

[submissivewife]

What a unique why to write...thanks for entering.

[Rabbit1]

What a unique why to write...thanks for entering.


yep and a unique "way" to write too my blonde friend---lol

[maddie]

Ahem. I just have to say:

AAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Sideshow Bob!


Thank you. I'm fine now.

[redhot33]

very nice. I too have had story idea's from sond lyrics. HMMMM reminds me to put some of those down.

[Widget]

Very nice,

I liked #5 and #7 the best. For the last one I keep wondering, does he ever come back, was he worthy of what she offered? It sort of reminds of a print I have "The Meeting on the Turret Stairs" by Sir Frederic Burton

I hope you post some more of these.

[freddie_clegg]

Thanks Subwife, Rabbit, Maddie, redhot33 & Widget.

Bouquets or brickbats, feed-back is always great.

Widget, not sure if there will be anymore for this month's contest (I've been pretty busy on Market Forces on the main board) but I've got a couple of ideas for other lyric based, short tales like these so will post eventually.

Regards

Freddie:bdsmsmile