One bead of enlarged sweat slowly trickling down pass your brow in between your eyes over the left side of your nose. Grazing your nostril over the side of your lip resting against the back of the duct tape. Instinctly your lips part your tongue failing to find the small sample size of saltiness. You shake your head from side to side in a effort to rid your forehead of any potential beads. The thick basement air glued to your naked and vulnerable body. Your eyes trolling back and forth from the grainy and damp unfinished concrete basement floor to the exposed metal and copper pipes above your head. The sole source of light a small night light pluged in beside the robust grey and dented water heater. The only sound to break the silence once the air shuts off is the faint drip of water from the dull, cloudy faucet into the chipped paint splattered utility sink. Your sense of hearing heightened your shoulders becoming fatigue, your wrist handcuffed over your head, the small chain scrapping the thick black pipe. The balls of your feet collecting the wet mug debris attempting to relieve the pressure off your wrist. You inhaling the stale, damp and old aroma of the basement with each breath. Your nipples hard from the occasional cool draft sneaking across the backs of your legs and up the center of your back. “How long have I been down here?” You think to yourself. Squinting over at the small painted over window to see if it’s night or day.
“Is that the door knob?” You ask yourself straining to make out the sound. A quick click, followed immediately by a slow creaking. A low whistling of “Don’t worry be happy” fills your ears. Fear, and excitement battling inside your chest filling you up. The word “Hello” leaving your brain resting in your mouth. Only a mumbled sound becomes audible as the duct tape jumbles and muffles it. The whistling getting louder. The wooden steps welcoming every step of my heavy boots. Your head turning as far as you can hoping to see me. The darkness of the basement covering me with mystery. The last step giving away my location squeaking loudly, glad to be rid of the burden of my presence. I stop whistling, clearing my throat, sucking my teeth. You can’t see it, but the most sinister smirk comes across my face. I reach into my back pocket grabbing my black gloves flared out like a boucay of flowers. One glove under my right arm pit while I adorn the left glove. Next the right. I toss my black gym bag onto the aluminum top table. The thunderous sound like a bomd breaking the silence pushing any thoughts you had out of your head. Your heart pounding. Your fingers interlocking, your toes spreading and wiggling. Your pussy clinching your tits jiggle from your abrupt flinching…
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/lvbekp/whistling_dont_worry_be_happy_part_one