Dolcett Girls 04: Home Projects (MF mdom magic)

Sonja felt much better after a week of cleaning the house. Her mother had left an apologetic email, but Sonja deleted it after the fifth word. Instead, she just threw herself into the cleaning and organizing, unpacking boxes and stacking up the cardboard remains on the porch.

The sun was starting its slow descent toward a late summer night when she finished the last of the rooms, excluding her mother’s bedroom. Her body shone with sweat, but Sonja managed to push it aside enough to grab some cold water from the fridge and press it against her forehead.

“Oh... yes...”

The soft whisper of pleasure filled the kitchen and she closed her eyes with a sense of contentment. When her head grew cold, she lowered the ice-cold water bottle to her cleavage and slowly opened her eyes. Clean, shining cabinets and counters greeted her sight and the smile grew wide. Slowly, she trailed her gaze along the kitchen, a lover’s caress of sight, and focused on the incredible stoves. Each one shone with an inner light, steel and iron formed into an elegant and powerful device. She even managed to find most of the fixtures, the pig spit, the turning motor which still worked to her surprise, and even a thousand dollars worth of utensils. She never knew what someone would need with fifty different types of forks, but over a thousand different types of blades, each one still sharp and stored in satin-lined boxes? Whoever owned the house before them was obsessed with blades.

A tiny shiver of some emotion rippled through her as she remember finding the closet in the basement, behind her room. From floor to ceiling, each one stored in what looked like hand-carved rosewood boxes. Each box had exactly one blade, one knife. And each one had a matching handle and fitted in perfectly in its box and no other.

And they reached the ceiling, hundreds upon hundreds of boxes, each one labeled with a woman’s name on the edge facing her, a litany of uniqueness... or something else. There were a few dozen missing, empty holes in wall of drawers.

She slowly closed the door and walked away, calm but slightly disturbed. She came back the next day, to pick up a nice selection to fill a rosewood block she found under the kitchen sink. Her eyes focused on the block and a strange hunger to reach out and caress the soft wood rippled through her.

Holding the water bottle in one hand, she stepped closer, her fingers reaching out for the block. At the first touch against her fingertips, she felt a tiny shiver of pleasure course up her spine, filling her with a strange embrace of heat that brought a new sweat to her skin. Shivering, she pulled her fingers away and turned to look at the empty door leading into the empty room that used to have the walk-in freezer.

“I wish that was still here... it would complete this place.”

Sonja froze, trying to think about the words she just said. But, even as she tried to think of why she said them, the feeling was gone, as fleeting as a moth in the night. Unwilling to move further, she made herself a quick dinner of chicken and vegetables, nothing fancy or difficult to make. She ate it standing up and washed the dishes before stopping to stare out into the backyard.

The brick oven dominated her vision, despite the fact it was half-hidden in the shadows of the tree. And behind it, like an angry child, the shed stood there, disappearing between the leaves but the memory of the hot metal spits scattered on the ground sent a shiver through her body and she looked away.

The house creaked slightly as the summer day cooled slightly. Sonja stared at the insides of the kitchen for a long time before tugging open the door to the basement. It opened easily and the cold blast of air brushed against her. She shivered again, this time from the temperature, and took the stairs two at a time. Reaching her bedroom, she closed the door behind her and looked at the changes.

She managed to steal one of the nicer television sets for herself. The large one, almost five feet across, was dedicated to the living room; her mother bought it because it would impress one of the male executives that made a pass at her. Nothing came of it and the television set sat there, ignored except when Sonja invited friends over.

The harshness of the basement room was muted with the soft colors, pictures, and other baggage of her life packed in. One wall was almost dominated with stuffed animals, something she never had the heart to toss out. An array of candles and lights dotted the room, the switch bathed the room in a soft, multicolored glow instead of the bitter, angry light of a naked bulb.

For a moment, she considered going to bed early, but quickly dismissed the idea. Stripping out of her top, she stood there, trying to find something she could do, besides crawling into bed and hoping for the next day. School was only a week away and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Tossing her shirt into the corner, she turned back to the door.

“I hate new schools.”

Her voice was plain in the confined room, almost cold. She felt her body tensing, the cool air perking her nipples. Grabbing a dry t-shirt, she yanked it on and threw herself out of her room.

Her foot touched the bottom step when she caught sight of the workshop on the other side of the basement. Her eyes slowly trailed up, but there was nothing up there. Hesitantly, she worked her way into the workshop. She only made a passing attempt to organize it, at least before she found the closet of knives. The smell of aged sawdust piqued her interesting. Idly, she shifted rusted tools around a surprisingly solid and immobile workbench.

Screws in baby food jars found their homes on the shelves, despite the fact she couldn’t find any rhyme or reason to the side or types inside. Finding a wire rack, she sorted out the screwdrivers and found that most of them were not as rusted as she thought. Everything had a thin layer of rust and corrosion on them, but were solid underneath.

Most of them were Makelike tools and she remembered some sort of replacement policy on broken ones. Setting aside those tools in a box, she sorted out the worse of the rust and threw it in the garbage can. Underneath the table, she gasped as she stared at more boxes. Instead of hand-carved rosewood, they were plain wood. Pulling one out, she found a circular saw, a skill saw as her father called them, in surprisingly good condition.

Not that she would know what good condition was.

But, it was free of rust and still had that silly black wrench that seemed important. Pawing through the others, she found an impressive selection of power tools and other devices.

And none of them even hinted at darker purposes.

Sonja liked that.

She happily sorted and organized the workbench until she was panting from the effort. The power tools that she had the courage to start up were nestled in their shelves, as were the tools that still looked good. The broken and badly rusted ones overflowed one toolbox, next to a pile of power tools that had frayed cords and other dangerous-looking conditions, like bent blades.

By the time Sonja finished, she still didn’t want to sleep or go upstairs. The safety of simple tools appealed to her and she wanted to keep going. Soon, she found herself looking at the wood pile, wondering if there was something she could piece together. She barely remembered her father building things, but she was only six when he left.

Thoughts of her father spurred her on. She grabbed two random pieces of wood, then tossed one aside for another. Setting them down on the board, she awkwardly grabbed a hammer and a nail. The point dug into the soft wood before she carefully rapped it with the hammer. It punched through the wood and she felt a strange twist in her stomach before she pounded it completely in. Looking at the disjointed connection, she frowned and levered the nail out. Trying again, she fitted the two pieces of wood together. This time, it felt right. Finding another piece of wood, she fitted it against the others and pounded it in. A slow smile crossed her lips as she found herself enjoying pounding wood together, almost randomly.

Sonja crafted for a couple of hours until exhaustion finally hit her. She had no purpose at first, but by the time she was done, she managed to have a square frame, large enough to put someone’s head through it. She was already working on a second, almost identical one, despite the fact she had no reason to do it.

She was just enjoying herself. It made her feel good.

Reaching down to pick up another piece of freshly-cut wood, Sonja was wracked with a powerful yawn. Setting down her shaking hand, she stopped and realized how bleary her eyes were. Unplugging the saw, she flicked off the lights and managed to find her way to her bedroom. Stripping off her clothes, she watched a few curls of sawdust drift from her hair. As it drifted down to the harsh carpet, another yawn grabbed her until she shook from the effort.

Deciding that a shower was too much work, she brushed her hair out briskly and just crawled into bed. With her exhaustion, she was sleeping as soon as she was comfortable. She even forgot to turn off the lights.

The dreams started as soon as her eyes were closing. In the brief moment where dream intersects with reality, she looked up to see a dark shadow of a man, standing next to her bed. Gasping, she tried to wake herself up, to prevent the nightmare, but unconsciousness reached up with powerful claws and ripped her deeper into the darkness.

Sonja screamed out in her dream, but the man still stood there. His face was darkened in shadows, even as she strained against invisible bounds. Hands, hundreds of hands punched out of the darkness, spreading their fingers before grabbing her. She whimpered and jerked as she tried to escape, but they caught her from all directions, pressing their palms against every inch of her body. She even felt the fingers digging into her skin. One hand, a large rough one pressed hard up between her legs and Sonja squeezed her thighs tightly, trying to prevent it from traveling further.

Her efforts manage to stall the invading fingers, but the others were grabbing her tightly, fingers wrapping around her nipples and pulling uncomfortably but not painfully. She screamed out in phantom surprise and the fingers at her lips plunged into her mouth, prying her jaw apart. Suddenly gagging, she twisted against her captures, trying to forcing out the fingers that pulled open her jaw, spreading it until the muscles screamed out in agony.

Panicked, she threw everything she could into escaping, straining to pull her hands up to her mouth. More fingers wrapped between hers, like a lover’s, before pulling them out from her body. Her arms quivered with her efforts to hold them tight against her, but the hands were too strong. More phantom people grabbed her ankles and she let out a gurgling screaming as pressure built, threatening to pull her legs apart.

Too many hands were too strong for her and she felt her legs being slowly levered apart. Inner thighs screamed out in agony as she felt muscles tearing and the thick hand between her legs pushing up, sliding up her smooth skin to press tightly against her naked sex.

Helplessness poured into her, a black syrup that flooded her lungs. Tears splashed down from her eyes as she tried to fight against the hands, but they continued to pull her further apart, stretching out her limbs until her hips and shoulders screamed out in pain.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she felt fingers, thick pudgy fingers forcing their way into her, stretching up the tight tunnel as they started to finger her. She tried to call out, but the fingers inside her mouth reached back down her throat, almost choking her. She could feel her throat spasming, trying to throw up, scream out, anything, but the terror froze her in place.

Then, the shadowed voice spoke out, over the phantom screams that ripped out of her body.

“Don’t fear me, Sonja.”

Sonja, on the other hand, was too lost in trying to escape to respond. She felt a burrowing finger stroke along the line between her ass and pause right at the opening of her anus. Real fear sliced through her limbs as she spasmed, trying to rip her arms and legs out of her rapists, or their sockets, in an effort to escape what was coming next.

“Stop...” the deep, rumbling voice finally broke her fear as the scent of cologne, the same smell from the oven, drifted across her senses. Sonja spasmed again, her muscles straining and tightening in an effort to keep the fingers out. With incredible effort, she tried to stop moving, as the voice implored her.

“Just stop... don’t fight, my little butterfly.”

To her surprise, the hands relaxed slightly and even the fingers raping her slipped out, leaving a burning sense of violation in its wake. It was easier to stop fighting when the fingers were no longer inside her. The pressure of her arms and shoulders relaxed and even the fingers slipped out of her mouth, trailing tiny streamers of saliva as they hovered against her lips.

The dark voice spoke up again, in soothing sounds that echoed in her head.

“That’s it... little moth, just relax a little and it won’t hurt.”

Sonja gulped hard to speak, but when she did her voice was filled with spite. “Don’t fight? So you can rape me even easier!?”

Her scream did not echo, even against the hands. It sounded like she was in a massive cavern, despite being surrounded and held by hundreds of hands. She gave them a questioning twist, but they tightened in warning.

“No... don’t fight, little Sonja.”

Whimpering, she shook her head, “No... no, please don’t.”

The shadowed figure moved closer, his hand reaching out to press a very warm, smooth hand against her stomach. It was a shock of sensation as his fingers spread out across her stomach, almost hot and powerful as he leaned over her.

“No... I won’t hurt you, butterfly, you are too precious to me for something as simple as rape.”

“W-why are you doing this?”