The Chair

Macy said she bought the chair because the man at the secondhand shop had claimed it was haunted. Being superstitious and into the phenomenon of the unexplained, it was right up her alley. Plus, it was only ten dollars, and it would fit in with our annual Halloween parties. She'd throw a blanket over it the rest of the year...or something.

But I knew it was mostly because I'd said it was the ugliest thing I'd ever seen. And me being her younger sister of two years as well as her roommate, she was apt to take advantage whenever she could to irritate me.

With the beast secured in the back of her pickup, I tuned out my sibling as she rambled on about the assumed history of the chair. I tried to think instead about what decorations we still needed for this year's party, which was only a week away. That, and how we were going to get her impulse purchase inside once we got back home.

###

"I still don't understand what you see in the thing," I bemoaned from the lobby of our building while two guys from upstairs maneuvered the chair in through the front door and down the hall to our first-floor apartment.

I studied the wooden frame that looked like someone had built it out of weathered two-by-fours. There were no rounded edges, though it appeared to have been sanded smooth on some surfaces. It had a squared-off seat that looked the standard width but was just as deep; a tall straight back that was formed like a steeple; and the obligatory four legs. The two armrests were half the width of the rest of the planks and laid with the inside edge butted up against the outside edge of the back. The front edges slightly overlapped the two vertical boards that also served as the front legs of the boxy piece of furniture. Four narrow strips had been secured between each of the legs like a heel rest. None of it was stained or painted, and there were visible cracks along the grain in several places.

A worn, leather piece was attached to the seat by hammered upholstery tacks, a couple of which were missing. And three spiked, metal cones that looked like miniature caps to a castle turret were affixed to the top of each of the three innermost vertical boards that created the back. The outer board on each side had a smaller—but still substantial—tarnished bronze ball. All in all, I would have said the whole thing looked like something from a church in medieval times...or a prison as an electric chair. The only things missing for the latter use were the leather straps to secure wrists and ankles, the electrode connectors, and the device up top to place on the victim's head.

"It has history...and charm," Macy smiled, crossing her arms and leaning back against the metal mailboxes embedded into the wall opposite me.

A chill ran down my spine. There was definitely something about that chair. But I wouldn't call it charm.

"It has cobwebs and rusty nails," one of the guys said, grunting. "You couldn't have cleaned it up first?"

The other guy let off a string of curse words. "And this shit on top? Seriously? I'm not up-to-date on my tetanus shot, just so you know."

"We're giving you both a six-pack for your troubles," Macy said.

"There is no 'we' here." I stood from where I'd been sitting on the bottom step and mentally noted that the manual labor was going to cost her more than what she'd paid for the piece of junk itself. "This is all your doing, big sister. Leave me out of it."

She gave me a one-armed hug while we followed the guys. "Remember the plastic skeleton we used last year? I think it would look perfect propped up in the chair with some other accessories. Just you wait and see. It will be the centerpiece to our party. Everyone will love it."

"That's what you said about the costume you picked out for me."

Macy stopped and gave me a wicked grin. "You lost the bet fair and square. It's not my fault you can't run a 5K as fast as I can. If you didn't trust me, you shouldn't have accepted the wager."

"I trust you. I just don't like that look on you, sis."

Her grin only widened.

In our twenty-five years together, of course she'd embarrassed me, as siblings do. And we'd hedged bets before, with me as the winner usually...but sometimes not. Never had I felt a sense of foreboding, though, like I did now for how she was going to make me fulfill my end of the bargain. Just because I'd finished the race five seconds behind her.

"Macy, can you at least give me a hint?"

She screwed up her mouth and squinted, saying, "It is...fitting...for a hostess."

###

With work, I'd forgotten about our deal all week until I came home early Wednesday afternoon and found the Princess Leia slave outfit lying out on my bed, complete with collar and mock chained leash.

I groaned, cursing my sister loudly. A cackle from the other room was the only response.

I'd hoped her choice would be something sexy yet tasteful. But this? As much as I loved Star Wars, I had never envisioned myself being as exposed as Carrie Fischer had been. Though we had the same genes, Macy was the model-skinny one. She could pull off a costume like this a hell of a lot better than I could. At least the party's theme was "Masquerade"; I could disguise my face even if I couldn't hide my body.

Since I'd made a deal, I psyched myself up for all the jibes that were bound to come tonight and went to help Macy with the rest of the preparations. During such, I noticed the massive, cloth-draped chair in a corner of the living room. Every time I tried to peak, Macy found something else for me to do. Damnit.

Three hours later, I stood in front of my floor-length mirror, frowning at my pale arms, legs, and midsection. Wishing I'd gone tanning. Praying this night would be over soon.

"Come on, Izzy. I want to see it."

I glared at the closed door to my bedroom and turned back to the mirror, adjusting the plastic contraption encasing my breasts which spilled out at the top. I'd put on a G-string just in case due to the fact that the skirt was only two pieces of fabric attached the front and back of the bulky belt that also served as a bottom.

The door handle rattled twice. "Izzy? Let me in."

"Fucking-A." I took a deep breath and turned the lock then went to my dresser. The reflection in the smaller mirror on top showed the door opening slowly and then my sister's head peaking through the space. I refused to look at her face while I put the metal, decorative cuffs on my forearms and attached the collar and chain to my neck.

"Sweet Jesus, you look awesome!"

"You're a horrible liar. I should know. I'm your sister."

"No, Izzy. I'll admit, I did pick the costume to piss you off. But your body in that outfit? Whoa!"

I just rolled my eyes and patted my belly then the plait hanging down my back. "I feel naked."

"Well, you practically are."

"No thanks to you." I snorted and turned to face her. She had decided to go as Cleopatra and had a gold-and-black mask propped up on her forehead. She held out a matching one to me. "Are you all ready?"

"Yep. Everyone should be here soon. Do you need anything else?"

"My dignity. Give it back, Macy? Please?"

She grinned widely. "Not on your life. Hurry up."

The door closed behind her with a click, and I sat heavily on the end of my bed. Was I really going through with this? I looked like a belly dancer cum sex slave.

A loud knock a few minutes later made me jump. "Move it, Izzy! They're here!"

###

It wasn't as bad as I'd expected. There were a few wolf whistles and some crass jokes. But for the most part, I blended in with our guests who were mostly Macy's friends.

We'd been having the party for five years now. It was always the same crowd: a mixture of our friends and coworkers. And while we invited everyone in the building, only a handful of tenants from the upper apartments who didn't feel it was beneath them to be an adult and dress up ever showed. Including one in particular: Devon in 403.

Oh, Devon. Definitely a hot but...strange...guy. He was from the fourth floor and kind of creeped me out while I also felt attracted to him. Whenever we saw each other in the lobby, he'd stare then dip his head and stuff his hands in his pockets, hurrying past. He reminded me of Lazlo in "Real Genius," except that Devon was more clean-cut, better dressed, and was more handsome...like Jake Ryan in "Sixteen Candles." He'd moved in four years ago and drove a beat-up black Volkswagen that you could hear a mile away. And he'd never said a word to me although I'd greeted him on many occasions.

At the first party he'd attended, he had stood off to the side from the rest of the guests the entire night. I'd offered to refill his drink, but he had just dipped his head so I'd moved on. I stopped trying after the second year, although he continued to attend. And he always wore the same costume: Phantom of the Opera. At least he was easy to spot...and avoid.

This year was no exception. I saw him standing in his usual spot, wearing his usual costume, staring into his usual red Solo cup.

Now that I thought of it, I hadn't seen him or heard his car in the last few weeks. For a moment, I wondered where he'd been. Then I went about my duties.

My job was essentially to just play hostess. I didn't mind. I liked that part of entertaining. Keeping everyone happy with appetizers and drinks while engaging in idle chitchat.

I was finishing my first circuit of the room when I came to a dead stop, seeing that Macy had unveiled the chair. What the fuck was wrong with my sister?

The plastic skeleton was seated with its bony legs spread and its knees draped over the arm rests. Above on each of the three metal tips decorating the chair's back, Macy had impaled rubber baby doll heads with fake blood dripping down them. The skeleton's arms were raised up and apart with the wrists handcuffed below the two balls. The eye sockets of the ivory skull were covered with an orange-and-black blindfold decorated like a Day of the Dead mask, the jaw gaping as though it was screaming. Or moaning, because the display was finished off with a black dildo wedged up inside the pelvic bone.

I grunted in disgust and started to turn away when I caught Devon watching me from the opposite corner. He was raising his cup to his mouth but stopped when our gazes met. I blinked, and then I saw he was staring at the floor, his cup held against chest now.

Shaking my head, I continued on, trying to forget the obscene display in our living room. I was not that kind of girl. I was private...conservative, in a manner of speaking. Behind-closed-doors, one could say. Yes, I had a dildo. No, I wouldn't have it on display like Macy had. Which is why the costume she'd chosen for me wasn't something I was comfortable wearing...though not surprising coming from her.

And yet, I couldn't deny the slight skip in my pulse I'd felt at seeing the length and girth of that toy...or the briefest wonder of how it'd feel deep inside me.

Get a grip, Izzy! Or rather, I needed to get laid.

###

The party continued without any incident into the late hours. Just as Macy had predicted, there was a lot of discussion about the chair...albeit primarily about the occupant's position. Someone had nicknamed the skeleton Mr. Boner, which started a whole new round of jokes and the discussion of if it was a male skeleton or a female one.

But it was Macy's retelling of its story that made me pause while refilling a tray of stuffed mushrooms.

"It's an old electric chair that was used for executions during the early 1900s. After the prison closed, the warden acquired the chair and kept it in his home as a souvenir. It was passed down through several generations and was modified over time. Many family members and household staff had said they'd seen ghosts sitting on it. Supposedly people who had been killed by it. Some even claimed they could smell something burning when they were near it, or other phenomenon, especially around Halloween."

I turned away with roll of my eyes—and a deep shudder—then put a smile on my face, wondering how much my big sis had made up. After all, it was All Hallows' Eve.

###

Admittedly, I did have a good time despite my wardrobe. But now, the annual contemplation of why I agreed to participate ensued as I studied the mass of cups and plates littering every flat surface, especially the floor. Was it so hard for adults to pick up after themselves? It didn't help that Macy had passed out on her bed...again, as usual.

I shut and locked the front door after the last guest had left and headed to the kitchen to get a trash bag. When I returned to the living room, Devon was picking up plates.

"Oh! I didn't know you were still here. You don't have to do that." I headed toward him, and he stopped but didn't put down the trash. I opened the bag and held it out. "Here."

He stared at me for a moment and then complied. Was that a hint of a smile? Whatever that mysterious expression was, it made him look damn sexy.

As I moved towards another pile, he held one hand out. He stooped and picked up the garbage before depositing it in the bag. Without another word, he collected a stack of cups and repeated the motion. I ended up following him around while he cleaned up my apartment.

We were both in the kitchen when he kissed me. I'd just washed and dried my hands and turned to tell him thanks. But he was right there, and his hands cupped my cheeks while his mouth descended.

I stumbled back, squeaking softly from both his gesture and the edge of the counter digging into my waist. My moan grew louder the longer his lips pressed to mine. The longer his warm hands held me. The noses of our masks bumped into each other, and then both masks were clattering on the floor.

His kisses seemed desperate, his fingers shaking while he caressed my bare cheeks. And then he took me by the hand.

Mesmerized, I followed him back into the living room. I was going to ask what had come over him when he claimed my mouth again...leisurely...seemingly more assured of himself.

His lips were soft and wet. His fingers gentle with the lightest touch as he dropped them from my face to slide up and down my bare skin above the metal armbands. And when he pulled back slightly, his breath was hot against my cheek.

"Devon," I whispered. My hands skated down his chest over his loose, white shirt. A tremor shook them at the feeling of defined muscles underneath. At seeing the edges of a red, coral-like scar near his sternum when the sides of the shirt parted slightly. "I don't understand. All these years, you've practically avoided me. Now this. Not that I'm complaining—but what changed?"

He pursed his lips, and he glanced toward the back of the apartment. Toward Macy's room.

I nodded my understanding that he was wanting to be quiet for her sake. But that didn't stop the questions from swirling in my head. The only thing that prevented me from voicing any more of them was the back of his fingers caressing my cheek when he pulled me close again and his lips pressing down on mine, his other hand behind my neck now.

My own fingers moved up over his arms, sliding under the edges of the black cape that hung around his shoulders. Gripping his biceps through the shirt's thinner fabric. Squeezing tighter at his soft moan.

His arms were strong as they enveloped me. One hand slid down my backside, his touch practically burning against my skin when his fingers splayed out over my bare spine.

I suddenly wanted his hands on the most intimate parts of my body. His mouth kissing every exposed inch of skin...and then the parts that were hidden by the costume. Without realizing it, I was on my knees, rubbing my face against his groin. A whimper— probably his but possibly mine—and a gentle yank on the chain dangling from the collar around my neck had me lifting my gaze.

Emerald orbs blazed down at me, and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. When my own tongue mirrored him, he pulled the chain tighter. For a toy, it sure was durable. A moment later, he was helping me to my feet and leading me across the room.

A deep groan escaped my chest when we approached the God-awful looking chair. Devon handed me the end of the leash, and I stood there feeling like an idiot holding the lightweight chain while he indifferently removed the skeleton and dildo from their provocative positions. And then I was handing the leash back to him when he turned and sat in the spot Mr. Boner had vacated.

He gave a gentle tug, and I took the two steps toward him to close the distance, trying not to pay attention to the bloody doll heads glaring at me above his. He wrapped the chain around his hand and pulled me down until our mouths met. Only then did his fingertips graze over the rise of my breasts straining out of the top of the costume's bra-like top.

My breaths were ragged, and I had to grip the armrests of the chair to stay balanced. Especially when his tongue pressed between my lips and his other hand fisted around the base of my braid. Our moans combined, and then I was leaning over him, panting while he stared up at me. I must have had too much to drink tonight. I swear the wood beneath my fingers was warm now...though it had been cool to the touch when I'd first gripped it.

A quick dart down between his parted legs and a lick of my tongue across my abused lips had him pushing down on one of my shoulders. I took the hint and got on my knees. He didn't object when I worked at his waistband and unbuckled his belt, lowering the zipper on his black slacks. Then I was gently releasing him from the confines of his pants, swallowing heavily at the sight of his cock.

The man was average in length and width, yet covered in veins like a topographical map. The bulbous head was red and shiny, and I only took a second to catch his eye before I descended on him as though his cock was the only sustenance that could abate my voracious hunger.

I skipped all the preliminaries of licking and teasing. We both moaned the moment my lips wrapped around him, sucking gently. One hand cupping him below, I stroked with the other, bobbing my head and swallowing him whole.

His hands stroked my neck, shoulders, and upper back. Encouraging me.

The longer I consumed him, the more I wanted. His cock was an aphrodisiac in and of itself. Enticing and fulfilling. The warm, velvety hardness against my tongue and lips was intoxicating. And he smelled deliciously musky, making me dizzy.

After some time, I felt movement above my head. But I was too engrossed in sucking the life out of his cock that I didn't pay much attention. Not until he took my left hand from where I was caressing his balls and placed it palm down on the armrest. The heat there was stronger than before, but I ignored the thought and traced the veins in his erection with the tip of my tongue while continuing to stroke.

Something wrapped around my left wrist, and I heard the rattling of a metal buckle before the coolness of it touched the back of my hand and my appendage was rendered immobile. I lifted my head only for him to shove it back down on his cock and hold it there with one hand. The other took my right hand and had it mirror my left on opposite armrest. I realized he was using his belt when the length of it pressed across my shoulder blades and grew taut before he released my head, wrapping the free end of the strap around my right wrist and knotting it.

I coughed, trying to swallow around his thick rigidness. I found that while I could lift my head and arch my neck back a little to catch my breath, I was otherwise secured in a subservient position.

Devon's fingers caressed my chin, lifting it slightly. He smiled down at me when I met his gaze, his eyes a shimmering green now. And then he gripped my hair, nodding until I lowered my mouth down on him to the base of his cock.