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“Shall we have some tea?” she asks.
I think I could stay here forever. I sit on her patio listening to the ocean. It would be perfect if that clouded house down the beach did not exist and Peach could walk through this door wearing a smile right now. I hate it, that my mind keeps leading me back, wondering what she’s doing now, what horrid design that woman has for her. Has she kept her bound, or has she beaten her like a submissive whore? Has she made love to her body, or just abused it? The question I fear the most: does Peach truly enjoy this treatment?
“You know, Cassidy, she wants to be there,” Miriam says as she walks out with a tray of tea and cookies. She reads my thoughts perfectly. I wouldn’t expect less.
I nod.
“And you, my dear, have to go back and face that.”
“I don’t know how I can,” I tell her.
“You believe in fate and spirit powers and things beyond yourself. You believe in female shamans and feminine witchery. But right now, you’ve disconnected from your source, given into inconsequential jealousy. Read yourself, Cassidy. What have you been hiding that you’re too scared to remember, let alone tell Samantha.”
I flinch at her directness, spoken with such soothing, though penetrating tones.
“Answer me,” she insists calmly.
“A long time ago, Elizabeth…” I say her name as my voice trails off, the memory of the woman appears in my head. After years of deliberate forgetting, I force myself to think of her now. To have remembered her twice in the same month seems portentous. I know Elizabeth reminds me of Tasia. She’s a duplicate of the bitch; it’s clear that I see the two women cut of the same devious cloth.
Miriam wants me to continue; she tells me so with one intent look, like an admonishing mother.
“She played games with me, clawed me once till I bled, I think she was crazy.”
“Was she crazy?” Miriam asks.
“I don’t know,” I tell her.
“Yes you do,” she says calmly. She appears to be probing me with some psychic microscope. “Don’t run from me,” she says, seeing the fear on my face. “Tell me about her.”
Now that the memory is fresh in my mind, it’s useless to avoid it, and it’s clear Miriam will not let me slide away from her query.
“She did things that were crazy to me then. Binding me so I couldn’t move, she poured wax on my breasts, she drew pictures on them through the wax and laughed uproariously as she did it. She burned incense and candles when we made love, laying me out on a marble slab like a piece of meat. She ate me out with my ankles tied to the ends of the table, and pulled my pubic hair until my cunt burned hot. She stretched my ass with larger and larger dildos so I’m now stretched so much, I’m easily penetrated in the ass. She gave me away like a whore to whomever she wanted. For the year I lived with her, I was her slave. She kept me in chains for days.” There’s so much more I could tell her, but I can’t stomach another memory. “I feel lucky to have escaped her.”
Miriam’s face didn’t change as I spoke, or react in any way. It was as though she knew what I was going to say.
“And you miss her,” Miriam concluded.
I could have said “no” to Peach, or Tasia, or a dozen other lovers, if they had asked that question, but I couldn’t say no to Miriam. She would know the blatant lie.
“How did you know?” I ask.
“Sometimes it’s a shame we’re so transparent,” Miriam says, kindly. “You need to return to Samantha and Tasia. It’s the only way you are going to return to Elizabeth.”
“I can’t return to that.”
“You have to,” she insists.
“But Peach has changed so,” I counter.
“The Samantha Clarisse Sykes I know is as dark as a nightmare, and as bright and fragrant as this day. You cannot deny one for the other, and neither can she.”
Even though I don’t want to hear her say this, she makes such sense. Perhaps in this peaceful place, where my mind is clear, not clouded by my evil past roaring at me, anything can be reasonable.
“Come to me now, and satisfy me,” she says. Holding out her arms, she motions me to her side. I traverse the several feet between us and fall to my knees between her legs. My mouth clamps itself on her sweet cunt. I push away a few wispy soft red hairs so I can taste the juices that rise there, and toy with the soft folds of skin. She likes my tongue in her hole, my finger pinching the bud of her clit. My other hand slips back to her anus and massages her there, though I’m hesitant to probe that place. She seems content for me to do no more.
A wave of pleasure rolls through her. She leans back and cries aloud, a lusty cry that reverberates through my body, too. I love watching her shudder.
There’s no question of staying any longer with Miriam. I tell myself not to even think of it, as much as the prospect would please me. I’ll leave before the sun sets and hope to find things at the B&B more welcoming.
