You Were Made for Loneliness

This is my excerpt from the twine game You Were Made for Loneliness, which you may play at this link: http://philome.la/Tsukaretablues/you-were-made-for-loneliness

Lucinda hated working as a maid for Lady Annabelle, but of all the chores the lady of the house gave her to do each day, she hated making the beds the most. There were a lot of chores, all of different varieties, but this one stood out. Whether it was just Annabelle’s bed that she had to tend to, or several, depending on how many the guests the dear lady had allowed to stay over, each bed she made annoyed her. It made no sense, her annoyance, because this act was a simple part of her job. Lucinda did her best to keep any emotions she had in check while at work, because Annabelle idealized her employees as servants, robotic and without personality.   

It was the sheets specifically. She had just realized that. When the bed was ready, Lucinda would grab the fabric, standing at the right side of the bed and fling them high above the mattress while holding on to the ends. Her time spent as a housekeeper, maid, whatever the title, allowed for some level or precision. It was this motion that was the crux of her discomfort. Watching the sheet fall so slow and carefree irked her, even if that was hard to admit.

Was that really it? Freedom?  

Annabelle ordered her sheets changed quite often, but most of the sets she owned were some shade of blue or purple, so in the end there was little difference. Today it was the light blue sheets for the lady’s bed, replacing the deep purple ones that had only been used for three days previous. The purple sheets were stripped first and laid over her arm. Now the blue sheets would be placed properly, before the purple ones were folded and sent to be washed. There was an order to this; one Lucinda feared breaking, because sometimes the slightest things could upset her employer.

With the two purple sheets placed snuggly on her left arm, Lucinda set the blue sheets with her right hand, preparing to toss them. They could have just as easily been placed and not tossed up, but this was the way she had been taught. She had performed this fluid motion thousands of times. It had taken her a few hundred times to perfect it, and a few hundred more to realize that she did not like what it made her feel. She had been stressed as of late. A combination of things had set her nerves on edge.

When the sheet was thrown up it rippled outward and expanded, catching the air, cupping it snuggly under the folds so it could glide. As it fell though, Lucinda’s fragile state forced something else up underneath the sheets. The tone of the light was softer here, in this other place, away from the sterile and pristine white walls of the mansion, where Annabelle had the bright lights and off-white curtains. Here though, in this moment, the bed was smaller and the lights were dimmer, kind of a honey color—natural and soothing. That was where she lay, under the falling sheet. The expression on her face confused Lucinda at first. She was gleefully smiling, but could not remember why at first. This had to have been such a long time ago.

Close to giggling, batting her eyelashes under the shade of the blanket, one hand was resting on Lucinda’s bare stomach, while the other rested behind her head. The matching dark blue panties and cut-off tank top were comfortable, and her skin was warm from the foreplay and teasing. It was not Lucinda who had thrown the sheet though, not in this time. A head poked up under the sheet at the base of the bed, followed by a set of hands that helped the body crawl up towards her. Gerald. That was his name. Lucinda had not thought about him in years, and there was little that stood out as memorable, but now she could place the moment.  

Gerald was smiling also, a glow of pleasure about his features as he crawled up to the awaiting female figure, hands almost trembling as they touched Lucinda, anticipation mounting. Everything was at a pitch when Gerald’s fingers gave a long caress upon the spectacle of humble beauty before him. At least, that was what he had called her at one point. The touch, accented with all of his attention, caused her body to shake and her legs to contract tightly around his head, forcing him down to finish what he had started. His motions were soft, meaningful, and deliberate. Lucinda knew that he had been good to her. Gerald was not only an attentive lover, but Lucinda could never attempt to show the level of compassion he had. She had not learned how to love, even all of these years later. It was soon that she would break Gerald’s heart, but it would not happen tonight, and not in this bed that he had made for them.

The excitement was palpable. They both could not wait to get the other’s clothes off, to touch, to sweat, to feel. Gerald’s name was on Lucinda’s lips again, for the first time in so long. Still, something caused her lips to move, even if she felt nothing for him anymore. For the first time in performing this dreadful task, Lucinda had not immediately tucked the sheet underneath after it had fallen onto the bed. This was quickly corrected. She had to pause afterwards though, her brain not able to rationalize what was wrong with her anymore.  

This small lapse had left Lucinda behind on her normal routine, and she still had the purple sheets to properly fold and setup for the laundry. There was a part of her though that wanted to stop and rest on the bed, but she couldn’t. She took those purple sheets from her arm, turning towards the large window to fold them as she normally did. Her motions were almost robotic, practiced, and helped her to lose focus on what was actually bothering her. Her fingers put the exact pressure on the fabric to assure a crisp crease.

Making the neatly folded rectangle out in front of her, that was what set off the next emotional spark, pulling up another memory, triggered by the most glancing of blows. Lucinda held the folded material to her face, covering her eyes as if she were not controlling the motions. The makeshift blindfold was soon turned into a real one that rested above her small nose and pouty lips.

Lucinda was tied to a wooden chair by several men’s silk ties, hunched over, trembling with excitement, anticipation, and a realistic dose of trepidation, naked, but not alone. Lucinda knew immediately when and where this was, where the memory had come from, and also knew that this had been her idea, a dark dream discussed between her and a special partner for months, that now came to life with candles, oils, and some soft appropriate music.

“Between these thighs is where my rhythm lies,” the speakers chanted to the chorus, filling the room with melodic tension.  

Lucinda’s excitement was almost at a boil when she heard him approach her again. The blindfold was really doing it for her. These new sensations, all of it was made better by his dedication to the role. It was not his thing, she knew that, but there was some excitement on his part as well, now in the moment. Lucy, as he liked to call her, needed that excitement more than he did, it kept her from having to worry about if things were getting serious, as well as kept her other wild ideas in check. The temptation to pick up, move, change her name and become someone else, someone worse, an idea that was always in the back of her mind, at least back when she had that freedom. She had never let anyone else call her Lucy after him, not another lover at least.

He was behind her now. There was a pause for effect, right before two cold pieces of ice were placed to her back. Lucinda gasped as her body shook and bounced against the chair. If she had not been stimulated already, she was now, along with her skin trying to crawl away from the cold, she was not pushing against the restraints. That all faded when his hand wrapped around her throat though. It felt good, but Lucinda thought he was not gripping her tight enough to make it feel real.

Lucinda did not like that memory as much as she used to. Not only was she now stopped, daydreaming, and even further behind in her chores, but she had no idea why she was forced to remember this. These thoughts were absurd, but worst of all, they were distracting. It would get her in trouble. Lucinda placed the sheet in her free hand, deciding that more drastic measures would have to be taken. She would ask Annabelle for a day off, ask to go see someone. If that was not possible, there was a particular bottle that had helped her solve problems in the past.