Huh Soundboard Novels & Stories

“Hello yourself.” “Hi Sandy, what are you doing?” “Not a rhetorical question, very good, you’re learning. I’m lying here in bed, much like the first time I called without a stitch of clothing on thinking about you and our date tonight.” In the background I heard a high pitched buzzing. “What’s the sound I’m hearing?” “It’s a vibrator.” My cock had already come to attention and I slipped my underpants down as I asked “What’s it vibrating?” “My pussy, right now it’s vibrating my pussy as I think about our date tonight, would you like to hear it?”

Lily Pendleton I haven't spoken in three years. Not because I can't. My vocal cords work fine. I've screamed in my head a thousand times—screamed at Claudia when she slapped me, screamed at Vivian when she laughed, screamed at the mirror when I looked at my reflection and saw nothing but a ghost. But sound is dangerous. Sound gets you hit. Sound gets you noticed. And being noticed in my house was the worst thing you could be. So I stopped.

Trey just laughed. Eventually the pizzas arrived, which inspired the opening bands to join the backstage festivities. It was so noisy that Rebekah went back out to her soundboard to get away from the crowd and to check her programming for the twentieth time. Her first clue that something wasn’t right was the fact that the monitor in the middle of the panel of sliders and switches was dark. She hit the power switch, but nothing happened. She hunted down the power cord next and found that it had been unplugged. She took a deep breath, forcing back her panic, and plugged it in. Who would unplug her soundboard? Now she’d have to reload all her programs back into working memory. Good thing she’d

Personal. I followed the second wire—a twin thread—running flush along the baseboard toward the next room. Bedroom three. The one I hadn’t used in months. I kicked it open. A low hum vibrated from behind the dresser. Another box. Covered in black matte plastic. Like it wanted to disappear into shadow. When I cracked it open, a miniature soundboard greeted me. Labeled. Meticulously. "Breath. Step. Whimper. Cry." Every damn sound that had echoed through the halls like memories crawling out of the walls. Every one of them, man-made.

The elevator car ascended with a rhythmic, mechanical shudder, a "Low-Frequency" groan that echoed in the hollow shaft of the Hawke Tower. As the floor indicator climbed toward the summit, the internal "Chronicle" speakers—long dormant—began to crackle with the sound of a "System-Initialization."

Just as I was sinking deeper into my practice, a sudden and unexpected noise pierced the tranquility of my sanctuary. The sound echoed from downstairs, breaking the serene atmosphere I had carefully cultivated. My heart skipped a beat, and I froze mid-pose. Time seemed to halt as I strained my ears, trying to decipher the source of the commotion. Was it the clatter of shattered glass, or perhaps something as simple as a fallen book?

I cranked the volume up, thinking that if it was a software issue, maybe the sudden blast of sound would reset the audio driver. The laughter surged with the volume. It didn't just get louder; it became clearer, more vibrant, more amused. I panic-pressed the "Volume Down" button. The laugh receded, dropping into a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated against the floorboards. It was tracking the volume control perfectly. Whatever was making this sound was plugged into my system, mimicking my input, feeding off the signal. "Alright, that’s enough," I muttered, my voice sounding thin in the darkened room.

“What are you doing here?” He smacks his lips, gets in, and shuts the door. “I’m your stepson, don't you think that’s rather too harsh?” His footsteps echo in her head, loudly, steadily. She tries to block it out, tries to imagine that her stepson isn't following right behind her naked ass, or lurking behind to see the rear view of her cunt. “Sheryl.” She murmurs under her breath and slowly exhales. The sound of metal clicking causes bumps to sprout on her cold skin. She knows too well that it's the sound of Clyde’s belt unbuckling.

It was a deep, guttural thrum that vibrated in the soles of my feet. Resonance frequency: 442 Hertz. The "Pup-Howl." The Enforcer stopped. He shook his head. "What is that?" "It’s science, you prick." I shoved the small, silicon plugs into my ears. Then I ran to Richard. I didn't just design these to block sound. I designed them to mimic the unique acoustic signature of Henry’s howl. A Healer-Alpha’s resonance doesn't dominate; it stabilizes. It knits the broken frequencies back together.

We are saw him feel confused. "Kevin what are you doing?" Helen asked. "Shsttt!" Kevin put his finger in his mouth. We can only pay attention to it. "Guys, try you to hear this video well." Kevin repeated the static part of the video and enlarged the voice. "It's just a static sound," I said. "No. Hear well!" I tried closer. Oh, shit! I can hear it. The crackling sound was like the bones themselves sliding into place. Helen and I looked at each other. We were afraid.