One Stop Clock Shop
Staring through the glass of the display case, I was in awe. Not at a new museum exhibit, or the latest dress on sale.
For today, I was in awe of antique clocks.
And the store display had so many beautiful ones on display. Lions, peacocks, and all other kinds of animals had a clock face carved into their detailed and artistic bodies. Even the clock hands had intricate and flowing designs to them. How could so many clocks from one store have so much breathtaking detail?
The One Stop Clock Shop was everything I was looking for and more. I immediately headed inside, the classic door entry bell ringing as soon as I did. Inside, I was met with even more clocks, each one more breathtaking than the next. Some that really stood out to me were the grandfather clocks. They came in all shapes and sizes, with unique patterns that extended all over the clock and even had the same designs engraved on their pendulums.
Engrossed in so much eye candy, it took me a moment to remember why I was there in the first place.
Reluctantly pulling my eyes away, I made them scan the store for its owner in hopes of them helping me find anyone I could talk to. However, it didn’t seem like they were around at the moment.
Approaching the till, I noticed a cuckoo clock standing on the countertop. It had a rope handle right above the home of the cuckoo no doubt living inside. Engraved above the handle in the wood was a message: PULL FOR SERVICE. Feeling a mix of confusion and curiosity, my curiosity won out, and I pulled the rope.
A cuckoo popped out as you’d expect, but the classic cuckoo sound was replaced with a loud repeating bell chime So loud, in fact, that I took a step back so it wouldn’t leave my ears ringing all day. The cuckoo made 12 chimes in total before finally retreating back to its home in silence.
Well, that was something, I mentally noted. Most hotels and stores had only a small bell to ring for service. Even in that regard, this store seemed to go above and beyond.
A door on the other side of the store opened, and in rushed a tall, curvy woman. Her long black hair billowed behind her as she ran through the store, frantically straightening out her clothes.
“I can’t believe I’m late again,” the woman fretted as she darted behind the till. “With all that I have to keep track of, I sometimes forget that I’m supposed to be running a store. Sorry, Mrs—”
“Oh, I’m Tara,” I replied. “And don’t worry about it. I’m actually kinda glad I had so much time to to admire all of this.” I looked back again at all the clocks, having the same sense of awe as when I first laid eyes on them.
“Ah yes, aren’t they amazing?” the woman asked. She left her spot behind the counter to stand next to me, observing the clocks alongside me.
“Amazing doesn’t begin to cover it,” I replied. I picked up a medium-sized one next to me. It had shapes of all kinds of flowers—tulips, roses, lilies—carved all around its edges. It was as if the clock was a flower pot from which they blossomed from. “I’ve never seen so many designs and patterns in one place before. This store is truly something remarkable, Miss—”
“Rayla Montigue. But you can just call me Rayla.” Rayla then began to stroll slowly beside the rows of clocks on the wall, playfully tracing her finger along the edges and crevasses of some that she passed by.
“The Montigue family has some of the most well-known names in wood carving history,” Rayla explained. “One of the things we understood better than anyone was the beauty of attention to detail. Understanding the power of relentless focus on even the smallest touches is what allowed my ancestors to become the Picassos and Van Goghs of their craft. It’s a philosophy that has been passed down through generations. Now I carry their legacy through my shop.”
“Wow, such a rich history,” I replied. “Kinda puts my collections of antiques to shame.”
“Everyone has their own tastes,” Rayla noted. “Don’t ever feel you have to apologize for yours.” By now, she had somehow made her way all around the store and back behind the counter. “Now, what can I do for you today?”
“Well, I’ve started moving into my new house recently,” I explained. “Victorian Era. I want to find as many antiques as I can to match its sense of history. And when it comes to clocks, I doubt I’ll find anything as good as this.”
“Oh trust me, you won’t,” Rayla chuckled. “And I’m sure I can find just what you’re looking for. Describe the house for me.”
I launched into detail about the house: the white as snow coats of paint both inside and out, the 2 bedrooms in towers that seemed to pierce the sky, and other details that I loved. As I rambled on, I couldn’t help but notice Rayla’s eyes looking over my body. She seemed to pay just as much if not more attention to my chest and hips as my blabbering about my house.
Was she checking me out? The thought brought a mix of arousal and shyness inside me. I quickly brushed it aside, and by some miracle, finished my rambling without drawing attention to myself.
Rayla brought a hand to her chin in thought. “I think I have just the thing,” she said at last, before diving underneath the counter and pulling out a clock that immediately caught my attention.
The clock had gears of all shapes and sizes on its face, all of them
painted in a dazzling black and white spiral pattern. The gears intertwined with each other so seamlessly, yet at the same time somehow lined up perfectly to make up the painted spiral pattern. Even after all that I’ve seen today, this one seemed to be the most dazzling clock of them all. “Wow,” was all I could utter.
“You think that’s cool? Watch this.” Rayla reached a hand behind the clock and I hear something click. Suddenly, all the gears on the face began spinning, yet still maintaining the shape of the spiral pattern. The entire face of the clock was a mix of black and white swirling in my vision, drawing it in and holding it, never letting go. I was unable to even say anything about the clock this time. Instead, my mouth just drifted open in amazement, as the twirling spiral held my full attention.
Instead of ticking, this clock made a soft, repetitive chime. It sounded sweet and melodic. I stood there, just letting the sound fill my ears as I keep staring at the clock’s beautiful spiralling pattern.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I was so focused on the clock that I forgot Rayla was even there. “It’s my favourite. The pattern on it is just so… hypnotic.”
I wanted to agree with Rayla, but I was so infatuated with the spiral pattern and soothing chime that I didn’t even make the effort to say so. Then I worried whether I could say anything at all. My mouth felt like lead when I tried to move it, and it was getting harder and harder to think of words anyway. Between the beautiful pattern rotating in front of my eyes, and the relaxing chime pouring into my ears, I was losing sense of where I was and even who I was.
A small part of my brain couldn’t help but question this. Why is it so hard to think all of a sudden? Is it natural to be like this just from staring at a pattern, no matter how beautiful and alluring? Is there a name for what’s happening to me? But the more I stared and listened to the clock, the harder it got for me to think of an answer to any of these questions.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rayla moving from behind the counter towards me again. The questioning part of my brain hoped she was coming to help explain or even snap me out of whatever was happening to me. However, she approached me from behind my back, and I felt her hands on the sides of my head. Those hands then proceeded to gently swing my head from one side to the other, in perfect sync with the clock’s recurring chimes.
“There we go, just focus on the clock,” Rayla whispered. “Let it be all that you see. Let its chimes, and my voice, be all that you hear. Keep staring. Keep listening. Keep falling. Deeper and deeper.”
As I listened to Rayla’s whispers and felt her hands rock me in time with the clock, my relaxation seemed to increase tenfold. The rest of the store faded away into the background as my vision focused entirely on the spiralling clock, became consumed by it. I felt a trail of drool run down my chin, but I didn’t care. I only cared about giving as much of my attention as possible to the clock.
Rayla’s hands fell away, yet my head continued to sway all on its own. The rest of my body followed suit, gently rocking itself back and forth in time with the clock. My entire being was becoming more in sync with it, mind, body, and soul. Ironically, time no longer had meaning as my focus was directed on the chiming, swirling, mesmerizing object in front of me.
I vaguely felt a hand trail along my hip, then slipping into my pants. My body shivered in arousal as the hand made its way down towards my clit. Once there, the hand only made one tiny, yet swift stroke.
I moaned instantly, my mind powerless to hold back my gaping mouth in any way. The small tingle of pleasure from that one stroke was magnified by my emptying mind, like an echo in a canyon. I felt it so clearly, nothing in my mind to get in the way of me feeling it. The chimes and swirls of the clock seemed only to further amplify the pleasure.
“Good girl,” I heard Rayla at last, once I seemed to have come down from my euphoria. “But that is nothing compared to what I planned for you. Soon, you will hear a gong when this clock strikes the hour. And when it does, you will cum instantly, without a single touch more to your clit needed. Is that understood, slave?”
“Yes.” My response was monotonous, devoid of emotion. It was only then that I noticed that the clock’s minute hand was 3 minutes away from the hour mark. My pussy was already getting wet, ready and anticipating what was to come.
“Good girl,” Rayla said again. “While we wait, I think you deserve to know the entire story behind my family.”
“You see, most of the Montague family was made up of woodcarvers. However, the one that began their success, my grandmother Barbara, was a hypnotist. One day, as a gift to my grandfather Ron, she got one of her entranced subjects during a show to carve a small duck for him. And that subject went on to create the greatest carved duck that Ron had ever laid eyes on. So much precision and attention to detail that the subject had poured into that carving. All thanks to an unparalleled focus that only hypnosis could unlock.”
The clock’s minute hand moved to be 2 minutes off the hour mark.
“Having a taste of such power, an idea was born: a slave ring of the greatest carvers on Earth, led by a hypnotist who made slaves of unsuspecting customers, and a veteran carver to help them truly master the craft. The pair took the world by storm, their names forever cemented—or should I say ‘carved’—in the history of the arts.”
The minute hand moved again, now 1 minute from the hour mark.
“And throughout it all, their secrets were known only to their descendants, passed down to each one like a family business, all the way to me. Now, as you can see, I’ve put my own twist on this tradition. Thanks to my grandmother’s secrets, I have been able to create this mesmerizing clock for people like you. But believe me, you haven’t seen the best part yet.”
I felt Rayla move her mouth right up to my right ear, her breath hot on that side of my face. “That part comes right…”
The minute hand hits the hour mark.
“Now.”
GOOOOOONG!
I broke into spasms as the orgasm hit me like a train. My pussy erupted, flooding my panties & pants with white fluid, while pure ecstasy flooded my mind. I began to scream, but a hand immediately clamped itself over my mouth, stifling any noises. Yet the rest of my body continued its convulsions as if to do the screaming for it. The emptiness in my head only amplified the pleasure, letting it reverberate inside of me tenfold. I was drowning in bliss, submerged in it from head to toe, down to the deepest corners of my mind.
I had no idea when my seizures slowed and came to a stop, and I was too deep to care. But at some point, they did, and I just stood there, held in place by Rayla’s hand on my shoulder. Her other hand reached over behind the clock, and I heard a click. Immediately, the clock’s spinning and chiming stopped. Yet I could still see its spiral swirling in my mind’s eye. I could still hear faint echoes of its chimes, replaying in my head like a broken record.
“Now that never gets old,” Rayla said, as I faintly felt her hands grasp my shoulders again. My feet began moving as if on autopilot as she guided me towards the door that she had rushed in from earlier. She opened it to reveal a dark stairway in front of me.
“Now you understand why I chose to call this place the One Stop Clock Shop,” Rayla chuckled, as she led me down the steps.