lois333
TMF Novice
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2012
- Messages
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This story has been commissioned in 2 parts and is not finished as of today. The commissioner authorized me to post the story.
Chapter 1 : A mysterious shop
Diane stood before the antique shop's window, her large blue eyes capturing the golden reflections of a pocket watch prominently displayed under the soft light. At 46, she was a vision of beauty and sophistication. Her carefully maintained blonde hair framed a face with harmonious features, lightly powdered with a natural glow after her pilates class.
Diane wore an outfit that highlighted her sculpted figure: black leggings that molded to her hips and legs with enviable precision, revealing years of dedication to her physical fitness. Her fitted white tank top clung to her skin, still slightly shimmering with sweat, accentuating a generous bust and a flat stomach that seemed sculpted by an artist. Her feet, adorned with a perfect pedicure in classic red polish, were nestled in elegant flip-flops that clicked softly with each step, adding a casual touch to her irresistible allure.
Married to Zack, a prosperous businessman often away on trips, Diane led a comfortable life in their spacious home, away from the quiet small town they lived in. Zack, passionate about antique objects and the stories they tell, was often on the lookout for rare pieces. With his birthday approaching and the pressure to find a unique gift, Diane had promised to give him something that reflected his refined taste.
It was with this in mind that she noticed this seemingly new antique shop, with a mysterious aura that contrasted with the familiar storefronts of the main street. She stopped dead in her tracks in front of the window, drawn to the sparkling pocket watch, adorned with a pattern she found immediately captivating without being able to explain why.
However, next to the watch sat a grotesque voodoo doll, misshapen, with asymmetrical eyes and a stitched smile that seemed almost too wide. Diane felt a slight shiver upon noticing it, but the elegance of the watch overcame her initial hesitation.
"Perfect for Zack," she thought, running her hand through her hair, indifferent to the curiosity her appearance sometimes attracted.
With a fluid movement, she opened the shop door, a small bell announcing her entrance.
The little bell above the shop door tinkled softly as Diane entered, her light step and the soft click of her flip-flops on the floor resonating in the dusty air of the antique shop. The dim light inside seemed to bend around her, outlining every curve of her figure with an almost supernatural clarity. The shopkeeper, a man with a face etched by years of secrets and silent ambitions, looked up from his counter to observe this apparition. His thin lips stretched into a smile that held as much covetousness as anticipation.
Diane, paying no attention to his heavy gaze, moved forward with the elegant confidence of someone who knows the effect they have, without seeking it. Her blonde hair reflected the glimmers of light from the glass shelves, and her fitted outfit seemed out of place in this space imbued with a centuries-old atmosphere. The shopkeeper squinted. She was perfect. And the pocket watch confirmed it.
Placed on its black velvet stand, the watch reacted almost instantly to Diane's entrance. The symbol engraved on its gold case seemed to shimmer faintly, a fleeting glow that might have gone unnoticed by an untrained eye. But not by him.
The shopkeeper felt a shiver run down his spine. This was the fifth soul. If this one bonded with the Master, then his own servitude would be over. He would finally be free from the demonic grip that had weighed on him for decades. This demon, this ineffable and capricious force, had always been picky about its prey, and Diane seemed to tick all the boxes.
He watched the watch vibrate almost imperceptibly on its stand, like a predator on the hunt. The reaction was clear: his Master wanted her.
"Good morning, madam," he said, his voice tinged with exaggerated politeness but filled with a certain fascination. "What a pleasant surprise... Come in, take your time, explore..."
Diane nodded in response, a polite and distracted smile on her lips. She scanned the room, admiring the shelves filled with antique objects: porcelain vases, pendulum clocks, jewelry tarnished by time, and of course, that pocket watch which had immediately caught her attention from the window.
"I was looking for something special," she said softly, her tone as fluid and silky as her appearance. "A gift for my husband. He loves antique objects."
The shopkeeper approached slowly, his hands folded in front of him, his dark eyes fixed on Diane with calculated intensity. He could barely contain the shiver of excitement rising within him. Everything had to be perfect. He couldn't afford to make the slightest mistake.
"You have a very refined taste, that's clear right away," he replied in a smooth voice. "And I have exactly what you need."
He reached out towards the pocket watch, his thin, pale fingers brushing its gold case as if handling a sacred relic. When he lifted it, the light seemed to dance on its intricate engravings, and the object shone with an irresistible glow.
Diane took a step forward, her gaze fixed on the watch, fascinated despite herself. There was something hypnotic about the way it caught the light, in the meticulous details of the symbol engraved on its case.
"It's... magnificent," she murmured, instinctively reaching out to examine it more closely.
The shopkeeper couldn't help but notice the line of her arms, the fineness of her fingers, the perfection of her manicured nails. Every detail of Diane seemed to exacerbate his desire to succeed.
He gently placed the watch in Diane's palm, observing this precise moment with almost religious attention. As soon as her fingers brushed the cold metal, a flash of light, imperceptible, shot from the engraved symbol, crossing Diane's mind like a silent lightning bolt.
She blinked, a strange but indistinct sensation crossing her mind. A warm, soft heat enveloped her, accompanied by a fleeting feeling of dizziness, but she noticed nothing more.
The shopkeeper knew immediately that it had worked. The bond was established. Diane was now the prey of his Master. It would be subtle at first: a desire to return to the shop, a growing fascination with the objects it contained.
But for now, Diane saw nothing unusual. She looked up at the shopkeeper, a delighted smile lighting up her face.
"It's exactly what I was looking for," she said. "My husband will love it. How much is it?"
The shopkeeper hid his predatory smile behind an affable expression.
"Oh, madam, for you, I will make a very special price..." he replied, his tone caressing.
As he carefully wrapped the watch in a velvet case, he couldn't help but steal furtive glances at Diane, her perfectly pedicured feet in her flip-flops, her shapely legs, and that figure which seemed almost unreal in her fitted outfit. She was a vision of perfection, and soon, she would be an ideal offering for his Master.
As she left the shop, Diane did not notice the shopkeeper's greedy gaze following her. She was still delighted with her purchase, convinced she had found the perfect gift for Zack. But in the shadows, the shopkeeper knew it was much more than a gift.
Diane parked her white sedan in the immaculate driveway of their home, a spacious and elegant property nestled in an upscale residential neighborhood. The late afternoon sun gently caressed the white brick facade, and the large windows reflected the golden glimmers of light. She turned off the engine and grabbed the velvet case containing the watch, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
The subtle tinkle of her flip-flops against the pavement accompanied her confident stride to the front door. She unlocked it and entered the vast hall with its neutral and warm tones. The space breathed a minimalist sophistication, every detail testifying to Diane and Zack's impeccable taste for design.
She placed her bag on the entrance bench and opened the case to admire the watch once more. The intricate engraving on the case seemed almost hypnotic in the natural light. For a moment, Diane thought she felt a strange warmth emanating from the object, but she attributed it to her imagination and the exertion of her day.
She carefully closed the case and placed it on the marble countertop of the kitchen before pouring herself a glass of cold water. The cool liquid felt good against her throat after her intense pilates class. Diane, still in her fitted workout gear, briefly glanced at herself in the hallway mirror as she passed.
"Not bad for 46," she murmured with a touch of pride.
Her bare feet slid silently on the hardwood floor as she climbed the stairs to change. She entered their bedroom, a room bathed in natural light, dominated by a large bed with immaculate linens. The watch was still in a corner of her thoughts. She had felt strangely drawn to this object since she saw it, a fascination she couldn't quite explain.
After a quick shower, Diane slipped into a cream satin robe and tied her hair into a casual bun. She went back downstairs and found the watch where she had left it. Unable to resist, she sat on the couch and opened the case again.
Her fingers brushed the gold case, and a shiver ran down her spine. There was something strangely soothing about this object, as if simply holding it calmed her mind. Diane gazed long at the watch, her eyes losing themselves in the complexity of the engraved pattern. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: "This watch is truly special."
A soft tinkle resonated in her head, though no sound was actually audible. Diane blinked and shook her head slightly, suddenly feeling a bit numb. She closed the case with a sigh and straightened up.
"Zack will love it," she told herself, placing the case on the entrance cabinet. Yet, a strange tingling persisted in her mind, a vague desire to return to that shop, to see what the mysterious shopkeeper had to offer.
Ignoring this feeling, Diane headed to the kitchen to prepare some tea, not realizing that her gaze kept drifting, again and again, towards the watch placed a few meters away.
Days passed, and Diane gradually felt something changing within her. At first, it was just a vague sensation: a fleeting thought of the watch when she woke up, or a prolonged glance she gave it as she passed the entrance cabinet. But soon, this fascination became more invasive.
Each time Diane caught her reflection, whether adjusting her hair or admiring her outfits, a soft murmur seemed to insinuate itself into her mind.
The watch had become a strange fixation. Diane found herself opening the case several times a day, just to gaze at its golden gleam and feel the metal against her fingers. Each time she did, a warm shiver ran through her body, almost imperceptible, but pleasant enough to make her want to do it again and again.
She also noticed a change in her body. Her breasts, which she had always considered a natural pride, seemed to become more sensitive. During her pilates routines, the rubbing of her tank top against her nipples became distracting, almost bothersome. In the shower, the hot water running over her body awoke pleasantly troubling tingles she didn't understand.
One morning, while applying moisturizing lotion after her shower, Diane started when she ran her hands over her hips and stomach. Her skin seemed more reactive, almost ticklish, but not in the usual way. It was more like a soft, strange wave of pleasure that left her confused and slightly breathless.
"Maybe I'm just tired," she murmured, shaking her head, ignoring the obvious: all this had started after buying the watch.
A few days later, as she stretched on her pilates mat, Diane felt an irresistible need to return to the shop. The idea imposed itself on her like an obvious fact, a desire she could no longer suppress.
She looked at herself in the mirror of her pilates studio: her body was perfect, every muscle sculpted by years of effort, and her red polish still adorned her impeccable toes. Yet, despite this image of control and discipline, she felt strangely vulnerable, almost feverish.
"I'll just see what else he has... nothing more," she told herself aloud, as if to convince herself.
Diane, her hair tied in a perfect ponytail and her lips enhanced with a subtle gloss, passed by the shop during one of her usual afternoons in town. She wore white fitted jeans that highlighted her perfectly toned legs and a pale pink flowing top. On her feet, cream leather flip-flops clicked softly, revealing her bright red pedicure once again.
As she was about to continue on her way, something in the antique shop's window caught her attention.
The grotesque voodoo doll sat alone, illuminated by a soft light that seemed to accentuate its deformity. The stitches of its mouth seemed tighter, its stitched smile even wider, almost mocking. The buttons that served as eyes seemed to shine with a sly gleam, as if they were following her.
A shiver ran through Diane despite herself. She remembered this doll from her first visit, but now it seemed more alive, more imposing.
She hesitated for a moment, her gaze shifting from the shop door to the busy street behind her. A strange, almost magnetic sensation seemed to emanate from the shop. The same sensation she had felt with the watch. A soft warmth in her chest, an irresistible curiosity mixed with a hint of unease.
She instinctively placed her hand on her purse where she kept the watch case, which she had taken to carrying everywhere.
"This is ridiculous," she murmured, trying to brush aside her hesitation.
Yet, her feet were already guiding her towards the entrance, as if the shop itself was calling her.
The little bell above the door tinkled softly as she entered, triggering a calculated smile from the shopkeeper, who seemed to be waiting for her.
"Ah, madam, what a pleasant surprise," he said in a smooth tone, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of her outfit and face as if savoring the appearance of a masterpiece.
Diane gave him a polite smile, still distracted by the doll she had just seen in the window.
"I was passing by chance... and I remembered your shop. The watch I bought is... absolutely magnificent," she said sincerely.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied, but his gaze betrayed a glint of malice. "And perhaps you will find something else that captivates you just as much... I just received some unique pieces."
He gestured towards the back of the shop, where the air seemed even heavier, almost palpable. Diane felt a growing curiosity wash over her. She knew she had no reason to stay... but she simply couldn't leave.
The shopkeeper led Diane to an ancient wooden shelf, on which sat several decorative boxes. The air was saturated with a strange scent, a mix of vanilla and something indescribable, almost intoxicating. Diane followed, her gaze drawn to a particularly elegant box, adorned with gold and silver patterns that shimmered faintly under the soft light.
"Ah, I see you have an eye," said the shopkeeper, stopping near the object that had caught her attention.
He gently opened the box, revealing a sumptuous set of underwear. A black lace ensemble, enhanced with delicate gold threads woven into the floral patterns. The panties had a daring cut that seemed both bold and refined, and the bra seemed designed to hug the curves with an unreal perfection.
Diane couldn't help but let out a small exclamation of admiration.
"Oh, they are... superb," she murmured, reaching out to touch the fabric.
As soon as her fingers touched the lace, she felt a strange, almost imperceptible sensation: a soft warmth that ran up her hand and arm. She instinctively withdrew her hand, but curiosity won out.
"They are signed," said the shopkeeper with a smile, pointing to a small logo similar to the one engraved on the watch embroidered inside. "A unique piece, perfect for a woman as elegant as you."
Diane blushed slightly at the compliment, but her gaze remained fixed on the set. It was both seductive and mysterious, and something within her told her she had to have it, even if she didn't quite know why.
"Is this your size?" the shopkeeper asked with an affable smile.
Diane nodded, almost in a trance.
"I think so... I mean, can I try them on?"
"Oh, unfortunately, these pieces are fragile, and we do not allow try-ons," he replied softly. "But I can assure you they will fit perfectly."
She hesitated for a moment. The price indicated on a small tag inside was high, but not unaffordable. And yet... she had the strange feeling that it wasn't the cost holding her back, but rather that indescribable aura emanating from the object.
The shopkeeper, seeing her hesitation, tilted his head slightly.
"These undergarments are designed to hug the curves of the woman who wears them, as if they were custom-made. They will enhance your natural beauty... and I am sure your husband would appreciate such a gift."
The words resonated within her, and without quite being able to explain why, she found herself smiling and nodding.
"Alright, I'll take them," she said, her tone both decided and slightly nervous.
The shopkeeper carefully wrapped the set in tissue paper, then in an elegant box. When he handed the package to Diane, his eyes shone with a gleam she might not have noticed under other circumstances.
"You won't be disappointed," he murmured softly as she paid for the purchase.
Diane left the shop with the box in her bag, a mix of excitement and perplexity in her heart. She didn't understand why she had felt such a strong desire to buy them, but she was convinced they would fit her perfectly.
Upon arriving home, Diane placed her bag on the couch and headed almost immediately to her bedroom, curious to see how these undergarments would fit. She was still fascinated by their beauty and the way the shopkeeper had described their making, as if they had been made especially for her.
Diane closed her bedroom door, took off her shoes, and removed her clothes with fluid elegance. She paused for a moment, admiring her reflection in the mirror, appreciating her perfectly maintained body. Her regular pilates sessions highlighted her figure, and her curves were accentuated by the soft light of the room.
She carefully opened the box and took out the set of underwear. The lace slid between her fingers like a silky caress, and Diane couldn't help but smile.
"Let's see if they live up to their promises..." she murmured, laughing softly.
She put on the panties first. The fabric seemed to adjust to her skin like a second skin, soft and light, but with a delicate firmness that hugged her curves. She straightened up to put on the bra, fastening it carefully before adjusting the straps.
"Oh, this is... perfect," she said, admiring her reflection.
She placed her hands on her hips and turned slowly, admiring how the lace highlighted each curve. But as she moved, a strange sensation made her frown.
A slight shiver ran down her skin. The lace seemed... alive, almost. She couldn't explain why, but every movement she made triggered a subtle sensation, like tiny feathers brushing her skin.
"What...?" she murmured, laughing softly, her lips curving despite herself.
The sensation focused on her flanks, just above the waist of the panties. Diane let out a small involuntary laugh, a clear and light sound that betrayed a soft but insistent tickle.
"Oh, no, no... Don't tell me it's itchy!" she said, laughing, her hands passing over her flanks as if to shoo away an invisible fly.
But it didn't stop. The sensation moved, exploring her hips and rising slightly under her bra, brushing her ribs. She laughed uncontrollably, even though the tickle was still subtle.
"Hahaha! But what is this? These damn undergarments!" she said, laughing, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Diane was a naturally sensitive woman. She had always hated tickles, especially those targeting specific spots. As a child, she dreaded them: her brothers loved to tease her by finding her ticklish spots. Her feet, in particular, were her weak point: a simple feather or a light touch was enough to make her laugh until she was out of breath. She had grown up hating being tickled, especially in more personal areas, like her hips or her breasts that Zack had already explored during playful moments. It was a sensation she found unbearable, almost too intimate, and she carefully avoided anything that might provoke such a reaction.
"No, but seriously... Haha... I'm going to go crazy!" she said, giggling, trying to stay still.
The watch, still in its box, seemed to pulse softly in the distance, amplifying her sensitivity. Each movement Diane made caused the lace to become even more intrusive, the tickles intensifying slightly.
"This is ridiculous... haha... I'll just take them off, that's all!" she declared with a nervous laugh.
She tried to remove the bra first, but her fingers slipped strangely on the clasp, as if it refused to come undone. The panties, meanwhile, seemed glued to her skin, hugging every curve with insolent precision.
"Oh, great. Haha! They're stuck now? Is this a joke?" she said, half-annoyed, half-amused by the absurdity of the situation.
The tickles moved softly, reaching the inside of her thighs. Diane burst out laughing again, collapsing on the bed, her legs instinctively folding.
"Hahahaha! Stop it! Haha... What's wrong with me?"
She rolled on the bed, trying to calm her breath, but the undergarments continued to brush against her in an almost teasing manner. It wasn't unbearable yet, but annoying enough that she couldn't stay still.
Diane finally sat up, wiping away a tear that had welled up in the corner of her eye from laughing so hard.
"Alright... haha... Maybe it's all in my head. Or... maybe they really are enchanted, who knows?" she joked, trying to rationalize the situation.
She forced herself to calm down, sitting still for a moment. The tickles slowly subsided, becoming just a faint, almost bearable caress.
"Damn... Zack is going to laugh when I tell him this," she murmured, still laughing softly.
Diane's bedroom was bathed in a tranquil darkness, barely disturbed by the soft light of a streetlamp filtering through the linen curtains. Lying under her cream satin sheets, her breath was deep and peaceful, her body relaxed after a busy day. The box containing the watch rested on her dresser, but something had changed. The gold case seemed to vibrate imperceptibly, emitting a dark red glow, like a living pulse.
In the silence, a shiver seemed to pass through the air, an imperceptible but palpable tension, which slowly extended to the bed where Diane slept. The undergarments she wore, that sumptuous black lace set, seemed to adjust slightly, like a delicate caress against her skin. Slowly, imperceptibly, they came to life.
Diane stirred faintly, her body instinctively reacting to a touch she wasn't yet consciously aware of. The lace under the bra began to brush against the underside of her breasts, movements barely perceptible, like a feather dancing on her skin. The effect was immediate. A sigh escaped her lips, and her breath, previously calm, became more ragged. The tickles intensified softly, each movement seeming to target the most sensitive areas of her chest.
She woke with a start, her eyes wide open, a mix of confusion and abrupt awakening. The first thing she felt was a diffuse warmth on her breasts, a sensation of constant trembling, both irritating and impossible to ignore. Diane instinctively brought a hand to her chest, but the contact of her fingers interrupted nothing: the tickles continued, as if they were coming from within the very fabric.
"What... ha... oh, God... what is this?" she murmured, her voice half-strangled by a rising laugh.
The lace under her bra seemed to have come to life, exploring every nook of her breasts with cruel precision. She felt delicate brushes circling her areolas, perfect circles that triggered waves of sensations bordering on the unbearable. The tingles then concentrated on her nipples, already hypersensitive, teasing them with calculated insistence. Diane burst out laughing despite herself, curling up slightly, her arms wrapped around her chest as if to protect herself.
"Hahaha... no! Stop... stop it!" she cried out between nervous laughs, her body trembling under the assault.
But the undergarments seemed to respond to her agitation by increasing their intensity. The panties, previously still, also came to life. A soft sensation, like invisible fingers brushing her intimacy, made her hips twitch. Diane widened her eyes, breathless, as the tickles focused on her sex. It was subtle at first, a faint caress following the most sensitive contours of her anatomy. She felt precise tingles running along her inner lips, then slowly rising towards her clitoris.
Her laughter stopped, replaced by halting breaths and stifled moans. The movements were methodical, alternating between light stimulation and more pronounced tickles. Diane instinctively moved her hips, trying to escape this unbearable sensation, but the panties seemed to adapt to every movement, following her with diabolical precision.
"Oh... hahahaha... this is... this is too much... please stop!" she stammered, her hands gripping the sheets.
The tickles on her sex intensified, rapid and irregular waves that seemed to enjoy testing her limits. Each tremor triggered a new contraction in her lower abdomen, a insidious warmth slowly rising within her. Meanwhile, her breasts remained captive to the relentless brushes of the bra. Her nipples, already hard and swollen, were teased endlessly, each contact sending a jolt through her entire body.
Diane squirmed on the bed, unable to find a position that would offer her any respite. Her skin glistened with sweat, her uncontrollable laughter mixing with confused moans. She desperately tugged at her panties, hoping to remove them, but the fabric seemed fused to her skin, refusing to yield. The more she pulled, the more intense the sensations became.
"Hahahaha... please... I'm going to go crazy!" she screamed, her legs convulsing wildly.
The watch on the dresser emitted a more intense, almost rhythmic red glow, as if pulsing in sync with the sensations invading Diane's body. The fabric of the panties vibrated slightly, a subtle but precise movement that concentrated the tickles directly on her clitoris. Diane screamed with laughter, her body arching violently under the intensity.
Her hands, useless against the magic of the underwear, clawed at the sheets. The sensations were now blending: a burning pleasure and a sweet torture that seemed intent on breaking her. Diane, her face flushed and her eyes filled with tears, no longer knew if she wanted it to stop or continue.
"Haaa... hahaha... it's... too much! Hahaha... I... I can't!" she panted, her laughter breaking into a prolonged moan.
The underwear adjusted to her resistance, increasing its intensity with calculated perversity. The lace on her breasts vibrated softly, each movement amplifying the tingling around her nipples. Her thighs trembled under the precise assault of the panties, each tickle on her clitoris sending a wave of electric pleasure coursing through her body.
Diane finally surrendered, her body vibrating under the underwear's assault. Her hands fell back onto the bed, her breath interspersed with uncontrollable laughter and raspy moans. The sensations had become a whirlwind consuming her, blurring the boundaries between pleasure and torture. She felt a wave of heat growing within her, irresistible, surging like a tidal wave.
In a cry mixed with laughter and relief, Diane finally exploded, her body arching one last time. Her chest heaved violently, her nipples still teased, as a burning orgasm seized her. The panties vibrated one last time, intensifying the spasms shaking her sex, before falling into apparent stillness. Diane, panting, collapsed onto the bed, her cheeks crimson and her eyes filled with tears of laughter.
But just as she thought everything was finally calming down, a new wave of sensations swept through her.
The lace on her panties activated again, the tickling returning with diabolical precision. A caress brushed her clitoris, soft but insistent, while her breasts, still hyper-reactive, were once again subjected to the relentless tickling of the bra.
"No! Hahaha! Please, not again!" Diane screamed, bursting into laughter as the tickles overwhelmed her once more.
Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her legs trembling violently as she tried to free herself from this insidious torture. Her nipples were once again the target, each brush sending a wave of uncontrollable laughter and frustrated moans. The tickles on her sex were even more intense than before. Rapid, precise movements brushed her intimate lips, then focused on her clitoris, playing with her nerves as if each sensation was carefully calculated to drive her mad.
"Hahahaha... no, I'm going to... hahaha... lose my mind!" she cried, her uncontrollable laughter echoing through the room.
Every movement she made to escape the sensations seemed to amplify them. Her legs thrashed, her hips lifted, and her entire body was trapped in this infernal dance. The underwear kept her in a state where laughter and moaning blended, plunging her into a spiral of unbearable pleasure and frustration.
Out of breath, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, Diane turned her eyes towards the dresser. The watch still glowed with a dark red light, and a strange thought crossed her mind. She didn't know why, but she felt that the object held some kind of answer. Summoning all her will, she rolled off the bed, her legs wobbling beneath her as she slowly made her way towards the dresser.
The underwear seemed to adapt to each of her steps, the tickles on her sex intensifying with each movement, forcing her to stop several times to catch her breath between hysterical bursts of laughter.
"Hahaha... why... why is this happening?" she stammered, doubled over, her hands pressing against her stomach.
Finally, she reached the dresser. Her trembling fingers approached the case. As soon as she touched the box, a strange warmth coursed through her arm. Without thinking, she opened it, revealing the watch. The dark red glow immediately intensified, projecting a hypnotic light that seemed to fill the entire room. Diane, her eyes wide, couldn't look away.
A flash of light enveloped her, penetrating deeply into her mind. Her body froze for a moment, her eyes becoming glassy as she slipped into a trance-like state. The demon took advantage of this moment to strengthen his hold on her, binding her soul more tightly to his power.
When the light faded, Diane regained consciousness, unsteady but strangely lucid. The underwear seemed to finally calm down. The lace, which had been tormenting her moments before, became still. She hurriedly removed it, this time without resistance, and let it fall to the floor.
Trembling, she collapsed onto the bed, her body covered in sweat and still marked by the intense sensations of the night. She stared at the ceiling, her mind fogged by exhaustion and the strangeness of what she had just experienced.
The next morning, Diane woke up with a start, her heart still beating rapidly. Memories of the night returned in waves, but they seemed blurry, almost unreal. Was it a dream? The sensations had been so vivid, but it all seemed absurd now. She looked around her: the underwear lay on the floor, but they looked lifeless, like mere pieces of fabric.
Diane ran a hand over her forehead, feeling the dampness of her skin. Her thoughts were confused, muddled by the memory of uncontrollable laughter and the fulgurant sensations that had consumed her. She looked down at the floor, where the black lace ensemble lay, inert and ordinary. Nothing in their appearance indicated any anomaly. Yet, her body still seemed to echo the night: a diffuse warmth in her chest, hypersensitivity in her thighs, and a lingering shiver in her lower abdomen.
She got up slowly, her head buzzing with questions. The watch, sitting on the dresser, seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. Diane quickly looked away, a strange apprehension knotting her stomach. Everything that had happened the night before—or rather, that night—seemed like a dream, but the sensations were too real to be ignored.
As she made her way to the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks still had a slight rosy tint, and her blond hair was disheveled, contrasting with her impeccably beautiful face. She mechanically examined her body: her skin seemed softer, almost luminous, and a strange thought crossed her mind.
Was it because of the underwear? Or the watch?
She forced herself to shake her head, grabbing a washcloth to soothe her mind. It must all be her imagination. Maybe a mix of fatigue, stress for Zack's birthday, and an unusually vivid dream. Yes, that must be it.
As she got dressed for the day, Diane made a decision: she would return to the shop. She needed to understand where these objects came from and why she felt so drawn to them.
She went downstairs to the kitchen, where the sweet scent of coffee filled the air. Diane filled a cup, savoring the soothing warmth against her palms. Despite the apparent normality of her routine, she couldn't shake a curious feeling of agitation. Everything seemed more vivid today: the sensation of her clothes against her skin, the coolness of the tiles under her feet, and even the taste of the coffee. It all awakened her in a strange, almost unsettling way.
Diane eventually made her way to her Pilates mat in the living room, as she did every morning when she didn't go to group classes. She started a calming playlist and began her stretches, her fluid movements tracing elegant lines in the space. But as she leaned forward to touch her toes, a slight tension in her skin made her frown. Each stretch seemed to trigger a wave of shivers, a diffuse warmth that coursed through her muscles.
She tried to focus on her breathing, ignoring these unusual tingles. But they persisted, becoming almost pleasant as she deepened her poses. When she straightened up for a sun salutation, the rubbing of her tank top against her slightly hardened nipples made her shiver.
"What's wrong with me?" she thought, a flash of nervousness crossing her mind. She attributed it to fatigue or a residual effect of what she believed was a dream the night before.
After half an hour of exercises, Diane went to the bathroom to take a shower. Under the hot water, she let her hands glide over her satiny skin as she applied her favorite body wash. When she rubbed her thighs, she was surprised to let out a sigh, her breath slightly ragged from sensations she didn't understand.
Once out of the shower, Diane carefully applied her usual moisturizing lotion. As she lingered on her perfectly sculpted legs, she felt those pleasant tingles rising towards her hips, intensifying almost imperceptibly. She paused for a moment, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looked... different. Her cheeks were slightly more rosy, her lips fuller, and her eyes shone with a glow she couldn't explain.
She finished her preparation by enhancing her manicure with a thin layer of clear nail polish to add a subtle shine. Her feet, always well-groomed, caught her attention: she felt a curious mix of pride and vulnerability looking at them. It was as if every detail of her body became a point of focus, a source of new and strange awareness.
Back downstairs, Diane grabbed her handbag and glanced at the case containing the watch, still sitting on the entrance table. The object seemed to look back at her, as if waiting patiently, but she decided to leave it there. She shook her head and left, heading towards the shop. Despite herself, the idea of seeing the seller again and browsing those mysterious shelves awakened a curiosity she could no longer suppress.
Diane stopped in front of the shop window, her heart beating slightly faster than usual. The grotesque voodoo doll she had noticed during her first visit was still there, but something had changed. Its deformed features seemed to have softened, almost humanized. The crude stitches that formed its face had given way to a more defined structure. But what struck Diane was the hair. A cascade of blond hair, eerily similar to hers, though of the wrong length.
She frowned, a cold shiver running down her neck. "Did I missee it last time?" she wondered, but something inside her knew that wasn't the case. The transformation, though subtle, was undeniable. She ran a distracted hand through her hair, as if to reassure herself that it was all just a coincidence.
Hesitantly, Diane pushed open the door. The bell jingled, and the heavy atmosphere of the shop enveloped her once again. The air seemed denser, filled with a scent of vanilla mixed with an indefinable metallic note. She moved slowly, her gaze first landing on the shelves of antique objects, then on the sinister dollhouse standing on a table at the back. Its twisted architecture, gaping black windows, and delicately carved details exuded a deeply troubling aura. Diane felt her unease growing.
The seller appeared almost instantly, a calculated smile on his thin lips.
"Ah, madam, what a joy to see you again. Your presence brightens this place," he said in a honeyed tone, his eyes capturing every nuance of her troubled expression.
Diane nodded slightly, trying to hide her unease behind a polite smile.
"I was passing by and... I couldn't help but notice that... the doll in the window seems... different."
The seller slightly furrowed his brow, but his smile did not waver. He turned towards the window, feigning measured surprise.
"Oh? Different, you say? Perhaps the light, or an illusion... But it is true that the objects here have a strange way of... capturing attention. Fascinating, isn't it?"
His tone suggested that he knew exactly what was happening, but he was playing the game, testing the limits of Diane's doubt. He turned back to her, adjusting his attitude to appear reassuring.
"Each piece has its history, of course, but they are mere pieces. Just curiosities from the past."
Diane looked away, uncomfortable. Her fingers nervously played with the strap of her handbag.
"And this symbol? The one on the watch... and on other objects I've seen here? It... it seems familiar to me, but I can't say why."
The seller squinted, feigning thought.
"Ah, the symbol. Yes, it appears on several pieces of my collection. Probably an ancient artistic or religious motif. Nothing more than decoration, I assure you."
His words were smooth, calculated to soothe Diane's growing doubts. But he couldn't help noticing the intensity of her gaze as she looked at the doll again. Its transformation was faster than expected, and that meant the Master was ready to advance his plan. Diane, though still reluctant, already showed signs of growing attachment to this shop, and even more so, to what was happening there.
The seller instantly knew what he had to do. The next step would involve the doll. Each sensation it would provoke in Diane would strengthen the bond. Each laugh, each shiver, each moment of twisted pleasure would be another rope binding her to her fate.
"You seem troubled, Madam Diane. Perhaps it's just the atmosphere here. A bit... charged, I admit. Why not relax? If you wish, I can show you some other pieces."
Diane hesitated, her gaze sliding towards the dollhouse. She hadn't noticed this object before, but it intrigued her as much as it terrified her.
"That's kind, but... I think I'll think about it. Maybe another time."
The seller slightly bowed his head, respecting her choice, but his smile betrayed his satisfaction. He knew she would return. The demon's influence was growing, slow but inexorable.
Diane left the shop with a mix of relief and unease. The bells jingled as she left, and the seller remained still, his smile widening as he turned towards the doll. His pale fingers gently brushed the blond head, almost caressing.
Diane spent the rest of the afternoon in agitated reflection. The inexplicable change in the window doll, the sinister dollhouse at the back of the shop, and above all, that strange symbol on the watch—all of it swirled in her mind like an endless spiral. There was a dark logic to these events, a connection she couldn't grasp but felt lurking just at the edge of her consciousness.
She settled into her spacious living room, her legs tucked under her on the cream leather sofa, her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. The soft light of the lamps created a warm atmosphere, but it couldn't soothe the tension knotting her shoulders.
The search engine revealed nothing useful. She tried several combinations of keywords: "strange antique shop small town," "mysterious shop engraved symbol," "pocket watch strange pattern." The results were disappointing, filled with lists of traditional antique dealers or forums of vintage watch enthusiasts. None of them referred to what she had seen, nor to that particular symbol.
She then searched for more general information: ancient engraved motifs, religious or esoteric symbols. Some images vaguely resembled the watch's motif, but nothing specific enough. The more she dug, the more frustrated she felt.
"It's as if this store doesn't exist..." she murmured, nervously tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the edge of her laptop. "Maybe I'm worrying over nothing."
But she knew that wasn't true. The oppressive feeling in that shop, the almost alive aura of the objects... it all went beyond ordinary strangeness. She closed the laptop with a sigh and leaned back against the sofa, distractedly massaging her temples.
A glance at the watch sitting on a shelf across the room brought a new wave of unease. Even from a distance, it seemed to glow slightly in the soft light, a shine she hadn't noticed before. She turned away abruptly, refusing to let her mind dwell on it any further.
The evening passed slowly, marked by a subtle agitation. Diane tried to distract herself: a glass of white wine with her dinner, a light TV series, a hot bath scented with lavender. Yet, every moment of silence brought her mind back to the shop, the symbol, that blond doll with the troubling appearance.
As she slipped under the covers, she realized she wouldn't find peace until she sought more answers. The shop seemed out of time, almost unreal, as if it had emerged from another world. But old books didn't disappear. Perhaps the local library archives could reveal something to her: historical traces, legends, or even a clue to the seller's identity.
With this decision in mind, Diane felt a semblance of calm. She closed her eyes, though her sleep remained light, haunted by images of the watch and the doll, her blond hair floating like golden threads.
In the darkness of the shop's back room, the seller worked with almost ceremonial precision. The air was saturated with a scent of burning wax and strange spices, an intoxicating combination that seemed to permeate the very walls. On an old wooden table, a collection of flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the shelves cluttered with dusty objects.
At the center of the table stood the voodoo doll. It had changed since Diane's visit: its deformed face had softened, taking on human features. Its hair, once coarse threads, had become blond and silky, perfectly combed. The symbol engraved on its forehead was now barely visible, as if melding with its skin.
The seller observed the doll with a critical eye, his thin fingers slowly passing over the articulated arms, adjusting the details with maniacal care. He knew the bond between Diane and the doll was still weak. The sensations he would manage to transmit would be timid at first, almost whispers on her skin. But that would be enough to start. He only needed a spark to feed the flame.
He murmured incantations in an ancient language, a mix of guttural words and fluid whispers. With each syllable, the atmosphere seemed to charge with electricity, and the candlelight flickered as if responding to an invisible call. When he finished, he grabbed a gold-framed mirror placed near the doll. The glass, tarnished by time, seemed to emit a faint glow.
The mirror was an ancient tool, a relic that allowed him to observe the souls linked to his artifacts. Using the connection established by the doll, he could not only feel what Diane experienced but also see her, wherever she was. This would be essential for tomorrow, when the first step of the true plan would begin. He had to see her, anticipate her reactions, and adjust his actions accordingly.
He turned the mirror towards the doll and spoke a final formula. The air in the room grew denser, and a blurry image began to form on the glass surface. Slowly, it became clearer: Diane, at home, lying in her bed, her blond hair spread in a silky cascade on the pillow. Her chest rose and fell softly with her peaceful breathing, and even in her sleep, she seemed almost unreal in her perfection.
The seller smiled, a smile twisted by a mix of covetousness and triumph. He scrutinized every movement, every detail: the curve of her neck, the fineness of her fingers resting on the sheets. The flickering candlelight in his back room accentuated the unreal aura of the image, as if it were part of a dream. He reluctantly set the mirror down, his eyes shining with unhealthy excitement. The night still stretched out before him.
Diane was the embodiment of elegance as she descended the stairs of her house, dressed in perfectly fitted navy blue cigarette pants and a white shirt. Her blond hair, tied in a low ponytail, framed her radiant, lightly made-up face. At her feet, classic black ballet flats completed her sophisticated look, revealing the perfect shine of her bright red pedicure. She grabbed a beige leather bag and left her house, looking determined.
In the back room, the seller watched every movement through the mirror. Diane's image, clear and luminous, formed on the silver surface. He noted the natural grace of her gait as she descended the stairs of her house. His lips stretched into a calculating smile: she had no idea she was being watched, let alone that she was on the verge of falling.
Diane left her perfectly maintained garden and drove her car to the town's main street. Her gaze was serious, focused. As she passed the shop, a slight shiver ran through her. She glanced quickly at the window, almost expecting to see the sinister doll that had haunted her the day before.
But the window was empty.
A frown creased her delicate forehead. She barely slowed down, her gaze lingering for a moment on the dark, seemingly closed shop. Where was the doll? This absence only added to her unease, reinforcing her decision to dig deeper. She looked away and continued on her way, resolutely heading towards the municipal library.
In the back room, the seller clenched his jaw as he saw her pass by the shop without stopping. Diane didn't seem ready to give up; on the contrary, she seemed more determined than ever. He looked away from the mirror to gaze at the voodoo doll, still motionless on the table, its almost human features frozen in an enigmatic smile.
He knew his time was running out. Diane was getting close to something; he couldn't afford to let her discover information that might distance her from the Master's grasp. If she found answers at the library, it could compromise the entire plan.
The seller took a deep breath, his fingers gliding over the doll's surface. It was still incomplete: its body had taken human forms, but the details of its feet remained coarse, unfinished. That would only change if Diane experienced more: tickles, orgasms, anything that would strengthen their bond.
"No time to waste..." he murmured, his dark gaze fixed on the mirror.
He focused his mind on the doll and on the image of Diane progressing through the town's streets. A red glow crossed his eyes, a gleam reflected in the mirror. He was preparing to act, to use the subtle influence he had already established, even if Diane was in public.
Diane wore an outfit that highlighted her sculpted figure: black leggings that molded to her hips and legs with enviable precision, revealing years of dedication to her physical fitness. Her fitted white tank top clung to her skin, still slightly shimmering with sweat, accentuating a generous bust and a flat stomach that seemed sculpted by an artist. Her feet, adorned with a perfect pedicure in classic red polish, were nestled in elegant flip-flops that clicked softly with each step, adding a casual touch to her irresistible allure.
Married to Zack, a prosperous businessman often away on trips, Diane led a comfortable life in their spacious home, away from the quiet small town they lived in. Zack, passionate about antique objects and the stories they tell, was often on the lookout for rare pieces. With his birthday approaching and the pressure to find a unique gift, Diane had promised to give him something that reflected his refined taste.
It was with this in mind that she noticed this seemingly new antique shop, with a mysterious aura that contrasted with the familiar storefronts of the main street. She stopped dead in her tracks in front of the window, drawn to the sparkling pocket watch, adorned with a pattern she found immediately captivating without being able to explain why.
However, next to the watch sat a grotesque voodoo doll, misshapen, with asymmetrical eyes and a stitched smile that seemed almost too wide. Diane felt a slight shiver upon noticing it, but the elegance of the watch overcame her initial hesitation.
"Perfect for Zack," she thought, running her hand through her hair, indifferent to the curiosity her appearance sometimes attracted.
With a fluid movement, she opened the shop door, a small bell announcing her entrance.
The little bell above the shop door tinkled softly as Diane entered, her light step and the soft click of her flip-flops on the floor resonating in the dusty air of the antique shop. The dim light inside seemed to bend around her, outlining every curve of her figure with an almost supernatural clarity. The shopkeeper, a man with a face etched by years of secrets and silent ambitions, looked up from his counter to observe this apparition. His thin lips stretched into a smile that held as much covetousness as anticipation.
Diane, paying no attention to his heavy gaze, moved forward with the elegant confidence of someone who knows the effect they have, without seeking it. Her blonde hair reflected the glimmers of light from the glass shelves, and her fitted outfit seemed out of place in this space imbued with a centuries-old atmosphere. The shopkeeper squinted. She was perfect. And the pocket watch confirmed it.
Placed on its black velvet stand, the watch reacted almost instantly to Diane's entrance. The symbol engraved on its gold case seemed to shimmer faintly, a fleeting glow that might have gone unnoticed by an untrained eye. But not by him.
The shopkeeper felt a shiver run down his spine. This was the fifth soul. If this one bonded with the Master, then his own servitude would be over. He would finally be free from the demonic grip that had weighed on him for decades. This demon, this ineffable and capricious force, had always been picky about its prey, and Diane seemed to tick all the boxes.
He watched the watch vibrate almost imperceptibly on its stand, like a predator on the hunt. The reaction was clear: his Master wanted her.
"Good morning, madam," he said, his voice tinged with exaggerated politeness but filled with a certain fascination. "What a pleasant surprise... Come in, take your time, explore..."
Diane nodded in response, a polite and distracted smile on her lips. She scanned the room, admiring the shelves filled with antique objects: porcelain vases, pendulum clocks, jewelry tarnished by time, and of course, that pocket watch which had immediately caught her attention from the window.
"I was looking for something special," she said softly, her tone as fluid and silky as her appearance. "A gift for my husband. He loves antique objects."
The shopkeeper approached slowly, his hands folded in front of him, his dark eyes fixed on Diane with calculated intensity. He could barely contain the shiver of excitement rising within him. Everything had to be perfect. He couldn't afford to make the slightest mistake.
"You have a very refined taste, that's clear right away," he replied in a smooth voice. "And I have exactly what you need."
He reached out towards the pocket watch, his thin, pale fingers brushing its gold case as if handling a sacred relic. When he lifted it, the light seemed to dance on its intricate engravings, and the object shone with an irresistible glow.
Diane took a step forward, her gaze fixed on the watch, fascinated despite herself. There was something hypnotic about the way it caught the light, in the meticulous details of the symbol engraved on its case.
"It's... magnificent," she murmured, instinctively reaching out to examine it more closely.
The shopkeeper couldn't help but notice the line of her arms, the fineness of her fingers, the perfection of her manicured nails. Every detail of Diane seemed to exacerbate his desire to succeed.
He gently placed the watch in Diane's palm, observing this precise moment with almost religious attention. As soon as her fingers brushed the cold metal, a flash of light, imperceptible, shot from the engraved symbol, crossing Diane's mind like a silent lightning bolt.
She blinked, a strange but indistinct sensation crossing her mind. A warm, soft heat enveloped her, accompanied by a fleeting feeling of dizziness, but she noticed nothing more.
The shopkeeper knew immediately that it had worked. The bond was established. Diane was now the prey of his Master. It would be subtle at first: a desire to return to the shop, a growing fascination with the objects it contained.
But for now, Diane saw nothing unusual. She looked up at the shopkeeper, a delighted smile lighting up her face.
"It's exactly what I was looking for," she said. "My husband will love it. How much is it?"
The shopkeeper hid his predatory smile behind an affable expression.
"Oh, madam, for you, I will make a very special price..." he replied, his tone caressing.
As he carefully wrapped the watch in a velvet case, he couldn't help but steal furtive glances at Diane, her perfectly pedicured feet in her flip-flops, her shapely legs, and that figure which seemed almost unreal in her fitted outfit. She was a vision of perfection, and soon, she would be an ideal offering for his Master.
As she left the shop, Diane did not notice the shopkeeper's greedy gaze following her. She was still delighted with her purchase, convinced she had found the perfect gift for Zack. But in the shadows, the shopkeeper knew it was much more than a gift.
Diane parked her white sedan in the immaculate driveway of their home, a spacious and elegant property nestled in an upscale residential neighborhood. The late afternoon sun gently caressed the white brick facade, and the large windows reflected the golden glimmers of light. She turned off the engine and grabbed the velvet case containing the watch, a satisfied smile playing on her lips.
The subtle tinkle of her flip-flops against the pavement accompanied her confident stride to the front door. She unlocked it and entered the vast hall with its neutral and warm tones. The space breathed a minimalist sophistication, every detail testifying to Diane and Zack's impeccable taste for design.
She placed her bag on the entrance bench and opened the case to admire the watch once more. The intricate engraving on the case seemed almost hypnotic in the natural light. For a moment, Diane thought she felt a strange warmth emanating from the object, but she attributed it to her imagination and the exertion of her day.
She carefully closed the case and placed it on the marble countertop of the kitchen before pouring herself a glass of cold water. The cool liquid felt good against her throat after her intense pilates class. Diane, still in her fitted workout gear, briefly glanced at herself in the hallway mirror as she passed.
"Not bad for 46," she murmured with a touch of pride.
Her bare feet slid silently on the hardwood floor as she climbed the stairs to change. She entered their bedroom, a room bathed in natural light, dominated by a large bed with immaculate linens. The watch was still in a corner of her thoughts. She had felt strangely drawn to this object since she saw it, a fascination she couldn't quite explain.
After a quick shower, Diane slipped into a cream satin robe and tied her hair into a casual bun. She went back downstairs and found the watch where she had left it. Unable to resist, she sat on the couch and opened the case again.
Her fingers brushed the gold case, and a shiver ran down her spine. There was something strangely soothing about this object, as if simply holding it calmed her mind. Diane gazed long at the watch, her eyes losing themselves in the complexity of the engraved pattern. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: "This watch is truly special."
A soft tinkle resonated in her head, though no sound was actually audible. Diane blinked and shook her head slightly, suddenly feeling a bit numb. She closed the case with a sigh and straightened up.
"Zack will love it," she told herself, placing the case on the entrance cabinet. Yet, a strange tingling persisted in her mind, a vague desire to return to that shop, to see what the mysterious shopkeeper had to offer.
Ignoring this feeling, Diane headed to the kitchen to prepare some tea, not realizing that her gaze kept drifting, again and again, towards the watch placed a few meters away.
Days passed, and Diane gradually felt something changing within her. At first, it was just a vague sensation: a fleeting thought of the watch when she woke up, or a prolonged glance she gave it as she passed the entrance cabinet. But soon, this fascination became more invasive.
Each time Diane caught her reflection, whether adjusting her hair or admiring her outfits, a soft murmur seemed to insinuate itself into her mind.
The watch had become a strange fixation. Diane found herself opening the case several times a day, just to gaze at its golden gleam and feel the metal against her fingers. Each time she did, a warm shiver ran through her body, almost imperceptible, but pleasant enough to make her want to do it again and again.
She also noticed a change in her body. Her breasts, which she had always considered a natural pride, seemed to become more sensitive. During her pilates routines, the rubbing of her tank top against her nipples became distracting, almost bothersome. In the shower, the hot water running over her body awoke pleasantly troubling tingles she didn't understand.
One morning, while applying moisturizing lotion after her shower, Diane started when she ran her hands over her hips and stomach. Her skin seemed more reactive, almost ticklish, but not in the usual way. It was more like a soft, strange wave of pleasure that left her confused and slightly breathless.
"Maybe I'm just tired," she murmured, shaking her head, ignoring the obvious: all this had started after buying the watch.
A few days later, as she stretched on her pilates mat, Diane felt an irresistible need to return to the shop. The idea imposed itself on her like an obvious fact, a desire she could no longer suppress.
She looked at herself in the mirror of her pilates studio: her body was perfect, every muscle sculpted by years of effort, and her red polish still adorned her impeccable toes. Yet, despite this image of control and discipline, she felt strangely vulnerable, almost feverish.
"I'll just see what else he has... nothing more," she told herself aloud, as if to convince herself.
Diane, her hair tied in a perfect ponytail and her lips enhanced with a subtle gloss, passed by the shop during one of her usual afternoons in town. She wore white fitted jeans that highlighted her perfectly toned legs and a pale pink flowing top. On her feet, cream leather flip-flops clicked softly, revealing her bright red pedicure once again.
As she was about to continue on her way, something in the antique shop's window caught her attention.
The grotesque voodoo doll sat alone, illuminated by a soft light that seemed to accentuate its deformity. The stitches of its mouth seemed tighter, its stitched smile even wider, almost mocking. The buttons that served as eyes seemed to shine with a sly gleam, as if they were following her.
A shiver ran through Diane despite herself. She remembered this doll from her first visit, but now it seemed more alive, more imposing.
She hesitated for a moment, her gaze shifting from the shop door to the busy street behind her. A strange, almost magnetic sensation seemed to emanate from the shop. The same sensation she had felt with the watch. A soft warmth in her chest, an irresistible curiosity mixed with a hint of unease.
She instinctively placed her hand on her purse where she kept the watch case, which she had taken to carrying everywhere.
"This is ridiculous," she murmured, trying to brush aside her hesitation.
Yet, her feet were already guiding her towards the entrance, as if the shop itself was calling her.
The little bell above the door tinkled softly as she entered, triggering a calculated smile from the shopkeeper, who seemed to be waiting for her.
"Ah, madam, what a pleasant surprise," he said in a smooth tone, his eyes scrutinizing every detail of her outfit and face as if savoring the appearance of a masterpiece.
Diane gave him a polite smile, still distracted by the doll she had just seen in the window.
"I was passing by chance... and I remembered your shop. The watch I bought is... absolutely magnificent," she said sincerely.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied, but his gaze betrayed a glint of malice. "And perhaps you will find something else that captivates you just as much... I just received some unique pieces."
He gestured towards the back of the shop, where the air seemed even heavier, almost palpable. Diane felt a growing curiosity wash over her. She knew she had no reason to stay... but she simply couldn't leave.
The shopkeeper led Diane to an ancient wooden shelf, on which sat several decorative boxes. The air was saturated with a strange scent, a mix of vanilla and something indescribable, almost intoxicating. Diane followed, her gaze drawn to a particularly elegant box, adorned with gold and silver patterns that shimmered faintly under the soft light.
"Ah, I see you have an eye," said the shopkeeper, stopping near the object that had caught her attention.
He gently opened the box, revealing a sumptuous set of underwear. A black lace ensemble, enhanced with delicate gold threads woven into the floral patterns. The panties had a daring cut that seemed both bold and refined, and the bra seemed designed to hug the curves with an unreal perfection.
Diane couldn't help but let out a small exclamation of admiration.
"Oh, they are... superb," she murmured, reaching out to touch the fabric.
As soon as her fingers touched the lace, she felt a strange, almost imperceptible sensation: a soft warmth that ran up her hand and arm. She instinctively withdrew her hand, but curiosity won out.
"They are signed," said the shopkeeper with a smile, pointing to a small logo similar to the one engraved on the watch embroidered inside. "A unique piece, perfect for a woman as elegant as you."
Diane blushed slightly at the compliment, but her gaze remained fixed on the set. It was both seductive and mysterious, and something within her told her she had to have it, even if she didn't quite know why.
"Is this your size?" the shopkeeper asked with an affable smile.
Diane nodded, almost in a trance.
"I think so... I mean, can I try them on?"
"Oh, unfortunately, these pieces are fragile, and we do not allow try-ons," he replied softly. "But I can assure you they will fit perfectly."
She hesitated for a moment. The price indicated on a small tag inside was high, but not unaffordable. And yet... she had the strange feeling that it wasn't the cost holding her back, but rather that indescribable aura emanating from the object.
The shopkeeper, seeing her hesitation, tilted his head slightly.
"These undergarments are designed to hug the curves of the woman who wears them, as if they were custom-made. They will enhance your natural beauty... and I am sure your husband would appreciate such a gift."
The words resonated within her, and without quite being able to explain why, she found herself smiling and nodding.
"Alright, I'll take them," she said, her tone both decided and slightly nervous.
The shopkeeper carefully wrapped the set in tissue paper, then in an elegant box. When he handed the package to Diane, his eyes shone with a gleam she might not have noticed under other circumstances.
"You won't be disappointed," he murmured softly as she paid for the purchase.
Diane left the shop with the box in her bag, a mix of excitement and perplexity in her heart. She didn't understand why she had felt such a strong desire to buy them, but she was convinced they would fit her perfectly.
Upon arriving home, Diane placed her bag on the couch and headed almost immediately to her bedroom, curious to see how these undergarments would fit. She was still fascinated by their beauty and the way the shopkeeper had described their making, as if they had been made especially for her.
Diane closed her bedroom door, took off her shoes, and removed her clothes with fluid elegance. She paused for a moment, admiring her reflection in the mirror, appreciating her perfectly maintained body. Her regular pilates sessions highlighted her figure, and her curves were accentuated by the soft light of the room.
She carefully opened the box and took out the set of underwear. The lace slid between her fingers like a silky caress, and Diane couldn't help but smile.
"Let's see if they live up to their promises..." she murmured, laughing softly.
She put on the panties first. The fabric seemed to adjust to her skin like a second skin, soft and light, but with a delicate firmness that hugged her curves. She straightened up to put on the bra, fastening it carefully before adjusting the straps.
"Oh, this is... perfect," she said, admiring her reflection.
She placed her hands on her hips and turned slowly, admiring how the lace highlighted each curve. But as she moved, a strange sensation made her frown.
A slight shiver ran down her skin. The lace seemed... alive, almost. She couldn't explain why, but every movement she made triggered a subtle sensation, like tiny feathers brushing her skin.
"What...?" she murmured, laughing softly, her lips curving despite herself.
The sensation focused on her flanks, just above the waist of the panties. Diane let out a small involuntary laugh, a clear and light sound that betrayed a soft but insistent tickle.
"Oh, no, no... Don't tell me it's itchy!" she said, laughing, her hands passing over her flanks as if to shoo away an invisible fly.
But it didn't stop. The sensation moved, exploring her hips and rising slightly under her bra, brushing her ribs. She laughed uncontrollably, even though the tickle was still subtle.
"Hahaha! But what is this? These damn undergarments!" she said, laughing, her cheeks flushing slightly.
Diane was a naturally sensitive woman. She had always hated tickles, especially those targeting specific spots. As a child, she dreaded them: her brothers loved to tease her by finding her ticklish spots. Her feet, in particular, were her weak point: a simple feather or a light touch was enough to make her laugh until she was out of breath. She had grown up hating being tickled, especially in more personal areas, like her hips or her breasts that Zack had already explored during playful moments. It was a sensation she found unbearable, almost too intimate, and she carefully avoided anything that might provoke such a reaction.
"No, but seriously... Haha... I'm going to go crazy!" she said, giggling, trying to stay still.
The watch, still in its box, seemed to pulse softly in the distance, amplifying her sensitivity. Each movement Diane made caused the lace to become even more intrusive, the tickles intensifying slightly.
"This is ridiculous... haha... I'll just take them off, that's all!" she declared with a nervous laugh.
She tried to remove the bra first, but her fingers slipped strangely on the clasp, as if it refused to come undone. The panties, meanwhile, seemed glued to her skin, hugging every curve with insolent precision.
"Oh, great. Haha! They're stuck now? Is this a joke?" she said, half-annoyed, half-amused by the absurdity of the situation.
The tickles moved softly, reaching the inside of her thighs. Diane burst out laughing again, collapsing on the bed, her legs instinctively folding.
"Hahahaha! Stop it! Haha... What's wrong with me?"
She rolled on the bed, trying to calm her breath, but the undergarments continued to brush against her in an almost teasing manner. It wasn't unbearable yet, but annoying enough that she couldn't stay still.
Diane finally sat up, wiping away a tear that had welled up in the corner of her eye from laughing so hard.
"Alright... haha... Maybe it's all in my head. Or... maybe they really are enchanted, who knows?" she joked, trying to rationalize the situation.
She forced herself to calm down, sitting still for a moment. The tickles slowly subsided, becoming just a faint, almost bearable caress.
"Damn... Zack is going to laugh when I tell him this," she murmured, still laughing softly.
Diane's bedroom was bathed in a tranquil darkness, barely disturbed by the soft light of a streetlamp filtering through the linen curtains. Lying under her cream satin sheets, her breath was deep and peaceful, her body relaxed after a busy day. The box containing the watch rested on her dresser, but something had changed. The gold case seemed to vibrate imperceptibly, emitting a dark red glow, like a living pulse.
In the silence, a shiver seemed to pass through the air, an imperceptible but palpable tension, which slowly extended to the bed where Diane slept. The undergarments she wore, that sumptuous black lace set, seemed to adjust slightly, like a delicate caress against her skin. Slowly, imperceptibly, they came to life.
Diane stirred faintly, her body instinctively reacting to a touch she wasn't yet consciously aware of. The lace under the bra began to brush against the underside of her breasts, movements barely perceptible, like a feather dancing on her skin. The effect was immediate. A sigh escaped her lips, and her breath, previously calm, became more ragged. The tickles intensified softly, each movement seeming to target the most sensitive areas of her chest.
She woke with a start, her eyes wide open, a mix of confusion and abrupt awakening. The first thing she felt was a diffuse warmth on her breasts, a sensation of constant trembling, both irritating and impossible to ignore. Diane instinctively brought a hand to her chest, but the contact of her fingers interrupted nothing: the tickles continued, as if they were coming from within the very fabric.
"What... ha... oh, God... what is this?" she murmured, her voice half-strangled by a rising laugh.
The lace under her bra seemed to have come to life, exploring every nook of her breasts with cruel precision. She felt delicate brushes circling her areolas, perfect circles that triggered waves of sensations bordering on the unbearable. The tingles then concentrated on her nipples, already hypersensitive, teasing them with calculated insistence. Diane burst out laughing despite herself, curling up slightly, her arms wrapped around her chest as if to protect herself.
"Hahaha... no! Stop... stop it!" she cried out between nervous laughs, her body trembling under the assault.
But the undergarments seemed to respond to her agitation by increasing their intensity. The panties, previously still, also came to life. A soft sensation, like invisible fingers brushing her intimacy, made her hips twitch. Diane widened her eyes, breathless, as the tickles focused on her sex. It was subtle at first, a faint caress following the most sensitive contours of her anatomy. She felt precise tingles running along her inner lips, then slowly rising towards her clitoris.
Her laughter stopped, replaced by halting breaths and stifled moans. The movements were methodical, alternating between light stimulation and more pronounced tickles. Diane instinctively moved her hips, trying to escape this unbearable sensation, but the panties seemed to adapt to every movement, following her with diabolical precision.
"Oh... hahahaha... this is... this is too much... please stop!" she stammered, her hands gripping the sheets.
The tickles on her sex intensified, rapid and irregular waves that seemed to enjoy testing her limits. Each tremor triggered a new contraction in her lower abdomen, a insidious warmth slowly rising within her. Meanwhile, her breasts remained captive to the relentless brushes of the bra. Her nipples, already hard and swollen, were teased endlessly, each contact sending a jolt through her entire body.
Diane squirmed on the bed, unable to find a position that would offer her any respite. Her skin glistened with sweat, her uncontrollable laughter mixing with confused moans. She desperately tugged at her panties, hoping to remove them, but the fabric seemed fused to her skin, refusing to yield. The more she pulled, the more intense the sensations became.
"Hahahaha... please... I'm going to go crazy!" she screamed, her legs convulsing wildly.
The watch on the dresser emitted a more intense, almost rhythmic red glow, as if pulsing in sync with the sensations invading Diane's body. The fabric of the panties vibrated slightly, a subtle but precise movement that concentrated the tickles directly on her clitoris. Diane screamed with laughter, her body arching violently under the intensity.
Her hands, useless against the magic of the underwear, clawed at the sheets. The sensations were now blending: a burning pleasure and a sweet torture that seemed intent on breaking her. Diane, her face flushed and her eyes filled with tears, no longer knew if she wanted it to stop or continue.
"Haaa... hahaha... it's... too much! Hahaha... I... I can't!" she panted, her laughter breaking into a prolonged moan.
The underwear adjusted to her resistance, increasing its intensity with calculated perversity. The lace on her breasts vibrated softly, each movement amplifying the tingling around her nipples. Her thighs trembled under the precise assault of the panties, each tickle on her clitoris sending a wave of electric pleasure coursing through her body.
Diane finally surrendered, her body vibrating under the underwear's assault. Her hands fell back onto the bed, her breath interspersed with uncontrollable laughter and raspy moans. The sensations had become a whirlwind consuming her, blurring the boundaries between pleasure and torture. She felt a wave of heat growing within her, irresistible, surging like a tidal wave.
In a cry mixed with laughter and relief, Diane finally exploded, her body arching one last time. Her chest heaved violently, her nipples still teased, as a burning orgasm seized her. The panties vibrated one last time, intensifying the spasms shaking her sex, before falling into apparent stillness. Diane, panting, collapsed onto the bed, her cheeks crimson and her eyes filled with tears of laughter.
But just as she thought everything was finally calming down, a new wave of sensations swept through her.
The lace on her panties activated again, the tickling returning with diabolical precision. A caress brushed her clitoris, soft but insistent, while her breasts, still hyper-reactive, were once again subjected to the relentless tickling of the bra.
"No! Hahaha! Please, not again!" Diane screamed, bursting into laughter as the tickles overwhelmed her once more.
Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her legs trembling violently as she tried to free herself from this insidious torture. Her nipples were once again the target, each brush sending a wave of uncontrollable laughter and frustrated moans. The tickles on her sex were even more intense than before. Rapid, precise movements brushed her intimate lips, then focused on her clitoris, playing with her nerves as if each sensation was carefully calculated to drive her mad.
"Hahahaha... no, I'm going to... hahaha... lose my mind!" she cried, her uncontrollable laughter echoing through the room.
Every movement she made to escape the sensations seemed to amplify them. Her legs thrashed, her hips lifted, and her entire body was trapped in this infernal dance. The underwear kept her in a state where laughter and moaning blended, plunging her into a spiral of unbearable pleasure and frustration.
Out of breath, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, Diane turned her eyes towards the dresser. The watch still glowed with a dark red light, and a strange thought crossed her mind. She didn't know why, but she felt that the object held some kind of answer. Summoning all her will, she rolled off the bed, her legs wobbling beneath her as she slowly made her way towards the dresser.
The underwear seemed to adapt to each of her steps, the tickles on her sex intensifying with each movement, forcing her to stop several times to catch her breath between hysterical bursts of laughter.
"Hahaha... why... why is this happening?" she stammered, doubled over, her hands pressing against her stomach.
Finally, she reached the dresser. Her trembling fingers approached the case. As soon as she touched the box, a strange warmth coursed through her arm. Without thinking, she opened it, revealing the watch. The dark red glow immediately intensified, projecting a hypnotic light that seemed to fill the entire room. Diane, her eyes wide, couldn't look away.
A flash of light enveloped her, penetrating deeply into her mind. Her body froze for a moment, her eyes becoming glassy as she slipped into a trance-like state. The demon took advantage of this moment to strengthen his hold on her, binding her soul more tightly to his power.
When the light faded, Diane regained consciousness, unsteady but strangely lucid. The underwear seemed to finally calm down. The lace, which had been tormenting her moments before, became still. She hurriedly removed it, this time without resistance, and let it fall to the floor.
Trembling, she collapsed onto the bed, her body covered in sweat and still marked by the intense sensations of the night. She stared at the ceiling, her mind fogged by exhaustion and the strangeness of what she had just experienced.
The next morning, Diane woke up with a start, her heart still beating rapidly. Memories of the night returned in waves, but they seemed blurry, almost unreal. Was it a dream? The sensations had been so vivid, but it all seemed absurd now. She looked around her: the underwear lay on the floor, but they looked lifeless, like mere pieces of fabric.
Diane ran a hand over her forehead, feeling the dampness of her skin. Her thoughts were confused, muddled by the memory of uncontrollable laughter and the fulgurant sensations that had consumed her. She looked down at the floor, where the black lace ensemble lay, inert and ordinary. Nothing in their appearance indicated any anomaly. Yet, her body still seemed to echo the night: a diffuse warmth in her chest, hypersensitivity in her thighs, and a lingering shiver in her lower abdomen.
She got up slowly, her head buzzing with questions. The watch, sitting on the dresser, seemed to glow faintly in the morning light. Diane quickly looked away, a strange apprehension knotting her stomach. Everything that had happened the night before—or rather, that night—seemed like a dream, but the sensations were too real to be ignored.
As she made her way to the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks still had a slight rosy tint, and her blond hair was disheveled, contrasting with her impeccably beautiful face. She mechanically examined her body: her skin seemed softer, almost luminous, and a strange thought crossed her mind.
Was it because of the underwear? Or the watch?
She forced herself to shake her head, grabbing a washcloth to soothe her mind. It must all be her imagination. Maybe a mix of fatigue, stress for Zack's birthday, and an unusually vivid dream. Yes, that must be it.
As she got dressed for the day, Diane made a decision: she would return to the shop. She needed to understand where these objects came from and why she felt so drawn to them.
She went downstairs to the kitchen, where the sweet scent of coffee filled the air. Diane filled a cup, savoring the soothing warmth against her palms. Despite the apparent normality of her routine, she couldn't shake a curious feeling of agitation. Everything seemed more vivid today: the sensation of her clothes against her skin, the coolness of the tiles under her feet, and even the taste of the coffee. It all awakened her in a strange, almost unsettling way.
Diane eventually made her way to her Pilates mat in the living room, as she did every morning when she didn't go to group classes. She started a calming playlist and began her stretches, her fluid movements tracing elegant lines in the space. But as she leaned forward to touch her toes, a slight tension in her skin made her frown. Each stretch seemed to trigger a wave of shivers, a diffuse warmth that coursed through her muscles.
She tried to focus on her breathing, ignoring these unusual tingles. But they persisted, becoming almost pleasant as she deepened her poses. When she straightened up for a sun salutation, the rubbing of her tank top against her slightly hardened nipples made her shiver.
"What's wrong with me?" she thought, a flash of nervousness crossing her mind. She attributed it to fatigue or a residual effect of what she believed was a dream the night before.
After half an hour of exercises, Diane went to the bathroom to take a shower. Under the hot water, she let her hands glide over her satiny skin as she applied her favorite body wash. When she rubbed her thighs, she was surprised to let out a sigh, her breath slightly ragged from sensations she didn't understand.
Once out of the shower, Diane carefully applied her usual moisturizing lotion. As she lingered on her perfectly sculpted legs, she felt those pleasant tingles rising towards her hips, intensifying almost imperceptibly. She paused for a moment, looking at her reflection in the mirror. She looked... different. Her cheeks were slightly more rosy, her lips fuller, and her eyes shone with a glow she couldn't explain.
She finished her preparation by enhancing her manicure with a thin layer of clear nail polish to add a subtle shine. Her feet, always well-groomed, caught her attention: she felt a curious mix of pride and vulnerability looking at them. It was as if every detail of her body became a point of focus, a source of new and strange awareness.
Back downstairs, Diane grabbed her handbag and glanced at the case containing the watch, still sitting on the entrance table. The object seemed to look back at her, as if waiting patiently, but she decided to leave it there. She shook her head and left, heading towards the shop. Despite herself, the idea of seeing the seller again and browsing those mysterious shelves awakened a curiosity she could no longer suppress.
Diane stopped in front of the shop window, her heart beating slightly faster than usual. The grotesque voodoo doll she had noticed during her first visit was still there, but something had changed. Its deformed features seemed to have softened, almost humanized. The crude stitches that formed its face had given way to a more defined structure. But what struck Diane was the hair. A cascade of blond hair, eerily similar to hers, though of the wrong length.
She frowned, a cold shiver running down her neck. "Did I missee it last time?" she wondered, but something inside her knew that wasn't the case. The transformation, though subtle, was undeniable. She ran a distracted hand through her hair, as if to reassure herself that it was all just a coincidence.
Hesitantly, Diane pushed open the door. The bell jingled, and the heavy atmosphere of the shop enveloped her once again. The air seemed denser, filled with a scent of vanilla mixed with an indefinable metallic note. She moved slowly, her gaze first landing on the shelves of antique objects, then on the sinister dollhouse standing on a table at the back. Its twisted architecture, gaping black windows, and delicately carved details exuded a deeply troubling aura. Diane felt her unease growing.
The seller appeared almost instantly, a calculated smile on his thin lips.
"Ah, madam, what a joy to see you again. Your presence brightens this place," he said in a honeyed tone, his eyes capturing every nuance of her troubled expression.
Diane nodded slightly, trying to hide her unease behind a polite smile.
"I was passing by and... I couldn't help but notice that... the doll in the window seems... different."
The seller slightly furrowed his brow, but his smile did not waver. He turned towards the window, feigning measured surprise.
"Oh? Different, you say? Perhaps the light, or an illusion... But it is true that the objects here have a strange way of... capturing attention. Fascinating, isn't it?"
His tone suggested that he knew exactly what was happening, but he was playing the game, testing the limits of Diane's doubt. He turned back to her, adjusting his attitude to appear reassuring.
"Each piece has its history, of course, but they are mere pieces. Just curiosities from the past."
Diane looked away, uncomfortable. Her fingers nervously played with the strap of her handbag.
"And this symbol? The one on the watch... and on other objects I've seen here? It... it seems familiar to me, but I can't say why."
The seller squinted, feigning thought.
"Ah, the symbol. Yes, it appears on several pieces of my collection. Probably an ancient artistic or religious motif. Nothing more than decoration, I assure you."
His words were smooth, calculated to soothe Diane's growing doubts. But he couldn't help noticing the intensity of her gaze as she looked at the doll again. Its transformation was faster than expected, and that meant the Master was ready to advance his plan. Diane, though still reluctant, already showed signs of growing attachment to this shop, and even more so, to what was happening there.
The seller instantly knew what he had to do. The next step would involve the doll. Each sensation it would provoke in Diane would strengthen the bond. Each laugh, each shiver, each moment of twisted pleasure would be another rope binding her to her fate.
"You seem troubled, Madam Diane. Perhaps it's just the atmosphere here. A bit... charged, I admit. Why not relax? If you wish, I can show you some other pieces."
Diane hesitated, her gaze sliding towards the dollhouse. She hadn't noticed this object before, but it intrigued her as much as it terrified her.
"That's kind, but... I think I'll think about it. Maybe another time."
The seller slightly bowed his head, respecting her choice, but his smile betrayed his satisfaction. He knew she would return. The demon's influence was growing, slow but inexorable.
Diane left the shop with a mix of relief and unease. The bells jingled as she left, and the seller remained still, his smile widening as he turned towards the doll. His pale fingers gently brushed the blond head, almost caressing.
Diane spent the rest of the afternoon in agitated reflection. The inexplicable change in the window doll, the sinister dollhouse at the back of the shop, and above all, that strange symbol on the watch—all of it swirled in her mind like an endless spiral. There was a dark logic to these events, a connection she couldn't grasp but felt lurking just at the edge of her consciousness.
She settled into her spacious living room, her legs tucked under her on the cream leather sofa, her laptop on the coffee table in front of her. The soft light of the lamps created a warm atmosphere, but it couldn't soothe the tension knotting her shoulders.
The search engine revealed nothing useful. She tried several combinations of keywords: "strange antique shop small town," "mysterious shop engraved symbol," "pocket watch strange pattern." The results were disappointing, filled with lists of traditional antique dealers or forums of vintage watch enthusiasts. None of them referred to what she had seen, nor to that particular symbol.
She then searched for more general information: ancient engraved motifs, religious or esoteric symbols. Some images vaguely resembled the watch's motif, but nothing specific enough. The more she dug, the more frustrated she felt.
"It's as if this store doesn't exist..." she murmured, nervously tapping her perfectly manicured nails against the edge of her laptop. "Maybe I'm worrying over nothing."
But she knew that wasn't true. The oppressive feeling in that shop, the almost alive aura of the objects... it all went beyond ordinary strangeness. She closed the laptop with a sigh and leaned back against the sofa, distractedly massaging her temples.
A glance at the watch sitting on a shelf across the room brought a new wave of unease. Even from a distance, it seemed to glow slightly in the soft light, a shine she hadn't noticed before. She turned away abruptly, refusing to let her mind dwell on it any further.
The evening passed slowly, marked by a subtle agitation. Diane tried to distract herself: a glass of white wine with her dinner, a light TV series, a hot bath scented with lavender. Yet, every moment of silence brought her mind back to the shop, the symbol, that blond doll with the troubling appearance.
As she slipped under the covers, she realized she wouldn't find peace until she sought more answers. The shop seemed out of time, almost unreal, as if it had emerged from another world. But old books didn't disappear. Perhaps the local library archives could reveal something to her: historical traces, legends, or even a clue to the seller's identity.
With this decision in mind, Diane felt a semblance of calm. She closed her eyes, though her sleep remained light, haunted by images of the watch and the doll, her blond hair floating like golden threads.
In the darkness of the shop's back room, the seller worked with almost ceremonial precision. The air was saturated with a scent of burning wax and strange spices, an intoxicating combination that seemed to permeate the very walls. On an old wooden table, a collection of flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the shelves cluttered with dusty objects.
At the center of the table stood the voodoo doll. It had changed since Diane's visit: its deformed face had softened, taking on human features. Its hair, once coarse threads, had become blond and silky, perfectly combed. The symbol engraved on its forehead was now barely visible, as if melding with its skin.
The seller observed the doll with a critical eye, his thin fingers slowly passing over the articulated arms, adjusting the details with maniacal care. He knew the bond between Diane and the doll was still weak. The sensations he would manage to transmit would be timid at first, almost whispers on her skin. But that would be enough to start. He only needed a spark to feed the flame.
He murmured incantations in an ancient language, a mix of guttural words and fluid whispers. With each syllable, the atmosphere seemed to charge with electricity, and the candlelight flickered as if responding to an invisible call. When he finished, he grabbed a gold-framed mirror placed near the doll. The glass, tarnished by time, seemed to emit a faint glow.
The mirror was an ancient tool, a relic that allowed him to observe the souls linked to his artifacts. Using the connection established by the doll, he could not only feel what Diane experienced but also see her, wherever she was. This would be essential for tomorrow, when the first step of the true plan would begin. He had to see her, anticipate her reactions, and adjust his actions accordingly.
He turned the mirror towards the doll and spoke a final formula. The air in the room grew denser, and a blurry image began to form on the glass surface. Slowly, it became clearer: Diane, at home, lying in her bed, her blond hair spread in a silky cascade on the pillow. Her chest rose and fell softly with her peaceful breathing, and even in her sleep, she seemed almost unreal in her perfection.
The seller smiled, a smile twisted by a mix of covetousness and triumph. He scrutinized every movement, every detail: the curve of her neck, the fineness of her fingers resting on the sheets. The flickering candlelight in his back room accentuated the unreal aura of the image, as if it were part of a dream. He reluctantly set the mirror down, his eyes shining with unhealthy excitement. The night still stretched out before him.
Diane was the embodiment of elegance as she descended the stairs of her house, dressed in perfectly fitted navy blue cigarette pants and a white shirt. Her blond hair, tied in a low ponytail, framed her radiant, lightly made-up face. At her feet, classic black ballet flats completed her sophisticated look, revealing the perfect shine of her bright red pedicure. She grabbed a beige leather bag and left her house, looking determined.
In the back room, the seller watched every movement through the mirror. Diane's image, clear and luminous, formed on the silver surface. He noted the natural grace of her gait as she descended the stairs of her house. His lips stretched into a calculating smile: she had no idea she was being watched, let alone that she was on the verge of falling.
Diane left her perfectly maintained garden and drove her car to the town's main street. Her gaze was serious, focused. As she passed the shop, a slight shiver ran through her. She glanced quickly at the window, almost expecting to see the sinister doll that had haunted her the day before.
But the window was empty.
A frown creased her delicate forehead. She barely slowed down, her gaze lingering for a moment on the dark, seemingly closed shop. Where was the doll? This absence only added to her unease, reinforcing her decision to dig deeper. She looked away and continued on her way, resolutely heading towards the municipal library.
In the back room, the seller clenched his jaw as he saw her pass by the shop without stopping. Diane didn't seem ready to give up; on the contrary, she seemed more determined than ever. He looked away from the mirror to gaze at the voodoo doll, still motionless on the table, its almost human features frozen in an enigmatic smile.
He knew his time was running out. Diane was getting close to something; he couldn't afford to let her discover information that might distance her from the Master's grasp. If she found answers at the library, it could compromise the entire plan.
The seller took a deep breath, his fingers gliding over the doll's surface. It was still incomplete: its body had taken human forms, but the details of its feet remained coarse, unfinished. That would only change if Diane experienced more: tickles, orgasms, anything that would strengthen their bond.
"No time to waste..." he murmured, his dark gaze fixed on the mirror.
He focused his mind on the doll and on the image of Diane progressing through the town's streets. A red glow crossed his eyes, a gleam reflected in the mirror. He was preparing to act, to use the subtle influence he had already established, even if Diane was in public.
