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I could cum myself in seconds, though I’m repelled by the idea.
This night, I lock my door against any intrusion by Analise. I refuse to spend a night used by that slut. I hear the door rattle as I’m in the midst of a sleepy stupor. I got off by my own hand earlier, and I smile to myself that she’ll not have me tonight. Yet, it’s not much of a triumph when Peach lies in some downstairs bedroom suffering from her wounds.
Chapter Fourteen
I walk on the beach for an hour, in the garden for another hour. There are white billowy clouds strolling daintily across the cornflower blue sky. There hasn’t been a more perfect morning since I arrived here; no fog, no haze, just the breathless sky and tiniest of winds to pleasantly ruffle my hair and send my skirt floating around my thighs.
All this, yet none of it dispels my anger.
Not the fragrance of flowers, not the splashing colors, or the monotonous beat of the surf. Nothing.
When I see her face in the attic window, that obscure pale face with its innocent eyes, my decision’s made: the one I’d really made the afternoon before when Peach was still hanging in bondage forced to look at that ridiculous waif-like expression. I think about it for awhile, not with any specific deed in mind, just knowing that I will not let this horror go without retaliation. How she can be so naive and still find the resources to wield that cane with such an efficient effect, I find a curious mystery. But mystery or not, this treachery will be avenged.
I make the long trek of stairs to the attic, to find Analise painting, sitting prettily on a small stool, with a large easel before her. A half dozen paint pots of color rest in the tray before her. She looks poetic there, a sublime illusion of artistry, though the illusion is just that.
I see pale faces coming out on the canvas before her, painted with an exuberant brush, but with muted shades. On another occasion, I might find the picture interesting enough to gaze at for sometime; but I ignore the pastel beginnings as just another concoction of this woman’s mind, composed to throw me off the track of her real nature. I have no use for playing this game of hide and seek anymore.
“Who told Tasia that Peach slept with me?” I demand to know as I sweep to her side and stand over her.
She looks up at me innocently. “I did,” she says lightly. She nods nervously while she sheepishly bites her lip, because she’s never seen me like this. (The truth is, I haven’t seen myself this way in so long I hardly recognize the woman I’m becoming now.)
“Don’t feign your naive innocence with me, your true colors are showing. You’re as much of a bitch as Tasia.” I grab her arm as the easel flies and the paints splash across the floor. I flip her over the back of a chair to check her thrust up ass. She wears the dildo still, though I find it gives me no satisfaction to see it there. I’ve played her for a delicate child—even when I know she’s not one. Suddenly this makes me feel foolish and angry. I press the dildo deeper into her ass, and decide it’s not enough. I yank her up.
“Bring me the large dildo from the drawer.”
“NO,” she protests, with an intense fury of her own. I find it charming but perfectly inadequate a challenge for my rage.
“Oh, yes you will,” I counter with an expression that cuts right through her fragile form.
I see her tremble. She didn’t expect this.
How strange I feel. The fire in me is receding, as pure vengeance in the coldest sense replaces the vibrating heat. I’ve dropped down to marrow and bone, where I’m not furious anymore, but where a wicked wrath brews beneath my surface of this uncommon cool. It only matters now that she’ll pay for crimes that may not be crimes at all, just circumstance. I’m judge, jury and executioner all in one fine package.
I grab several things I need from the bedside table and then rummage through the bottom drawer of her bureau, where there are things I’ve seen, though never used. By Analise’s admission she’s not used them either, but I suspect she might be lying about this, too. I pull out dildos, straps, ropes, lubricant, gloves and anything else I think I might want for this escapade. Then finished with the scavenger hunt, I drag Analise from the room by her hand, and we make the long trek down one flight of stairs and then another, until we reach the cellar door. I nod to those few we pass, but mostly see these unsuspecting souls float out of my wake and out of my way, too astonished by the two us to do anything but stare in wonder.
I wonder what she thought I’d do, knowing that she’d betrayed me. Was it a game to pull me knowingly into the cellar to watch my lover be whipped by her and her mistress? Did she find it some crude revenge of her own to see me squirm and Peach moan in agony?
Or did she disclose my tryst to Tasia, knowing what the result would be, knowing I’d fire back at her as I am now? Is she that hungry for attention that she’d risk this wrath of mine? In my heart, I’m confounded by her still, but then, it doesn’t really matter now what her motives were. I remember only that she called this a place where dreams are made real; and that she begged me to abuse her savagely in this cellar just two days ago. It’s all the justification I need to beg
in my reprisal.
The chapel is dark and musty as we enter, the smell of smoke from the torch still lingers like Lucifer’s fire. I light the dark stub of an end, until it begins to glow again, and return it to its place on the wall.
Analise waits without a word, standing behind me. I can hardly tell if she’s afraid at all, perhaps this is just what she wants. If that’s so, then she will get more than enough of the ancient medicine that she requires.
I see things in the chapel that eluded me when we were here before. Ring bolts appear before my eyes at a dozen angles about the room, imbedded in the mortar between the stones. There’s the pulley that bore Peach yesterday, the straps still dangling down as a perfect reminder of why I’m here. I see that I could bind the girl against the opposite wall, for there are rings hanging there at four corners. I wonder for myself, what it would be like to have my body pressed against the cold stone. And as I gaze at the stone table there appear to be straps tucked up at the ends that will be perfect for what I have in mind for my submissive captive.
I push her toward the stone table.
“Climb on,” I order her. She meekly rises to the table top, far less agile than she was two days before, when she hopped aboard as if she were climbing on a carnival ride.
She lies down on her back, stretching out her legs and arms without needing me to order her. I easily bind her hands and feet with the ready-made leather straps at each corner of the table. Though she has no choice but to relinquish to my more powerful aims, I wish she’d fight me. I wish she’d stare me down with a fire in her eyes, that she would spew her hot breath on me, that I could dominate a willful vibrant brat of a woman, instead of this limp rag child.
When I have her wrists and ankles secure, I remove the dildo from her ass with a nasty yank.
She gasps at the speed, the sudden withdrawal that seems as painful as a sudden penetration. Her dildos were once neatly held with ribbons, but this time I have something for her that is far more vile, and certainly not pretty at all. Yanking her filmy dress from her body, it drops to the floor where it lies in tatters; her pretty flowers will be crushed by my feet before I’m finished here. While I prepare for her ultimate tribulation, I prod the handle of the cane she used on Peach deep inside her vacant ass.
She cries. “NO, no, no, no…”
