by Poppet
"Shauna …"
I hide my sigh and face his insistent countenance. "Yes?"
"Why didn't you call your parents? Why don't you tell them what's happened?"
Retracting my hand from his I fold my arms, considering how to say this without sounding judgmental. Swallowing heavily against a suddenly parched mouth, I finally look into his eyes. "They won't believe me."
"But you have proof."
"It doesn't matter to them. I'm the rebel. The bad child. From about the age of thirteen they washed their hands of me. It didn't matter if I got bullied at school, or what happened to me, they always said I was fabricating stories to get their attention."
He leans back, a pensive expression marring his usual warmth. "But, they're your parents."
"You say that like they owe me love and support. They don't share that perspective."
"Why would they say that?"
"My folks went through a bad patch. My Dad left for a while. I was always getting into trouble at school. And they were called in together because of me. The school psychiatrist gave them the professional opinion, that I act out to get attention, because I don't feel validated at home. The cause was put down to their separation. But it's a label that stuck."
"But they're together now?"
"Yes. Mum got pregnant with my sister. The golden child. And they decided to give it another go."
"But people have died. You were kidnapped."
"They don't believe any of it. They think I was prostituting myself for drugs and that's why I went missing. They think whatever I tell them is deviant and prearranged. Usually so I can take off with their cash for my secret life that doesn't exist."
He holds my hand, seeming so concerned. "How do you feel about that?"
"They needed someone to blame for their issues. It landed up being the one thing that forced them to get married too young. I am the sole root of their problems."
"But, this is your opinion, right?"
"Yes. I don't know what to think. The cops treat me like I'm hiding something, and my folks think I orchestrate everything to get attention. I've stopped telling them anything other than what they want to hear."
"That you're fine?"
"Yes."
"Oh baby …" He pulls me across to him, rubbing my arm and kissing my forehead. Pulling away he examines my face, wearing his tender smile, "You have me now. I believe you."
Tears well up. He touches my soul with his genuine love. I place a soft palm against his cheek, closing my eyes to kiss him. Burying the emotional rush.
"You have been so amazing. I'd be dead and broken without you."
"How is your body feeling now?"
"I think I can safely say work will resume tomorrow. Or I'll be back home to them, where I really don't want to ever go again."
"Speaking of which …" He sits up straight, a smile playing his lips again.
"I had a word with my editor. I thought you might be worried about your income after so long out of commission, and she says she'll give you some photos to rework for her." He smiles wide, catching my nose in his fingers. "Maybe it can be a permanent thing?"
My spine turns into a rubber band with his consideration. "I don't get it. How can men like you exist? You are wonderful, patient, tender, loving, and yet there are men like Vengeance running around free, waiting to destroy what's beautiful in this world."
"He didn't destroy us. Try not to think about him."
I nod. Just grateful for everything. Including my health and being clean with clean teeth, all because of his amazing charity.
"I got your bank account details from your Dad."
My heart sinks, feeling oddly short of breath. "Why?"
"I want you to know I'm dead serious about you. I didn't want you to have any reason to leave and have to move. So I deposited money into your account to tide you over. You can always pay me back. But I just wanted to make sure none of your debit orders bounced."
"How long have I been out of it?"
"Three and a half weeks."
"My God!"
This winds me. Staring at the smudges of the black marble of the dining table, I feel faint. Belatedly I stutter out, "Th.. thanks. Thank you … I … uh …"
He tilts my chin to stare into his eyes. "Just be there for me when I need you one day."
I nod, a smile summoned out of me by his amazing approach. I am so indebted, I can never repay him.
"And love me every now and then. I miss your body around mine."
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pull myself closer. I need to face this. I need to do this. I need him to erase the last memory for me, with one that's tender, loving and true.
Covering his lips with my own, I trace inside them with the tip of my tongue. I'm lifted to sit in his lap, a hand straying automatically to awaken my nipple. Conscious that I'm not wearing any underwear, feeling apprehensive when he hardens under my thigh. My breath is shaky. I'm terrified. He reads it as ardent fervour. Lifting me bodily, kissing me all the way back to the obsidian black of his bed.
*And I saw that it was good.
My son is a reason to be proud. I am unable to experience pride. I created everything. It exists because I exist. As a child he was petulant and rebellious. Quoting the words inspired by myself to prophets and men long dead, I disciplined him until he saw the light of my love. Illuminating his mind, I awoke his soul to the joyful rapture of union with his Father. I am his Alpha, and I created him to balance my endless creation. My son Omega. The victor of mankind.
His worldly name became Victor. I tested his faith relentlessly, taking away from him the things which he desired which were impure and would not nurture a righteous heart.
I am the watcher. I watch over my creations. It is right, it was always so, it will always be so. I showed him how to gather an army. But still I must watch him. Occasionally it occurs to me how his logical reasoning would interfere with his soul's blossoming, when a young child. It's my duty to ensure that the man he has grown into does not adopt that same resistance.*
Chapter 29
It is part of the photographer's job to see more intensely than most people do.
~Bill Brandt
Guessing the time she'd wake correctly, I stroll in after watching her from the newly installed cameras. This way she can never catch me off guard. I've enjoyed keeping her sedated, it reminds me of when we first bonded during her captivity. There are certain things she does, which remind me that she contains a quality of innocence.
Like the first time she saw her bed and squealed, "It's gigantimasaurus." She's unique, in a naive way. That's what drew me to her. It's what made me want to save her.
Sitting down I examine her level of alertness. She seems fine. Staring deeply into her eyes, making all the right noises, I reach out to move hair off her rejuvenated face. Her reaction stalls my heartbeat.
Shauna, I've never had a turned angel live with me. Don't be permanently scarred. I've fixed the outside, but you are my Eve. Don't flinch from me baby. I've had lots of time to reconsider my approach. You are mine. You are right where I've desired you to be. In my home, in my bed, sharing your life, thoughts and body with me. I no longer need to discipline you. I will blind you often, with pleasure.
Oddly, I feel elated when she hugs me. I knew she'd be pleased. I've made her favourite meal for her waking up dinner, butternut risotto.
Father believes a man must be skilled and rely on a woman for nothing. There is nothing I cannot do. At some point I'll have to put her skills to the test. Although her cooking skills don't interest me.
What most women aren't aware of, is how what they eat can play a large role in determining the sex of their children. Red meat is reared with hormones to bulk up the animal faster, usually with testosterone. And the more circulating testosterone in a woman's body, the higher the chance of a male conception becomes.
A largely vegetarian diet makes a woman's body too acidic. The body itself acting as a spermicide. I've fed
her nothing but meat soups for almost a month. Priming her for tonight.
Perhaps we should move to a place with fewer neighbours in close proximity?
Her father calls her every second day. She gives the impression she loves them, and they her. He was seriously reserved with me answering her phone every time he called. But it is time they accept me as part of her life. She's never going to leave me, it was time to cross the gap. I was persuasive, charming and naturally concerned for her ill-health. Alpha was right about parents too. They don't care if you murder prostitutes and sinners in your spare time, just as long as you're educated and earn a good wage.
Hell, I doubt if he really gave a damn. Isn't parental motivation more the fact that they no longer have to be there for their children? A serious man in her life who can provide for her, means they can unburden themselves. She's become my problem, and he warmed up quickly after the initial interrogation. More than happy to give me her account details. I sensed his relief at not having to be the one to bail her out. He made noises about the cost of health care for Linda after the accident, and I 'seem like a good chap'. Not to mention it helps my cause if she gets added pressure from them to marry me. I don't take a condescending tone from anyone, unless I get what I want out of the deal. And I've got it all. Her body, her soul, her gratitude.
Before her reserve returns, while she's feeling indebted to me, I must make my move. She hasn't been on contraception for weeks. It's a small window of opportunity, but one I must take. Father only gives me two years per project. The only way to protect her is to make her legally mine. Or final judgement will be passed on her, and I know from experience that hers will be the death penalty. We're running out of time for her to become pregnant and legally mine. Personally I feel an intense sense of accomplishment.
Interrogating her at dinner, I learn what I could not know, and had to know. I needed to know if they'd come looking for her. Would they ever decide to visit and stay for a holiday? Now that I know the truth, I know her parents won't be a problem. The insight as to why she suffers a low self-esteem makes sense now too. It makes her easy prey. This here is proof as she sits in my lap, running that slutty tongue in my mouth.
The difference between then and now, is between a man and his woman, it's not slutty. She must be like this with me. Willing, compliant, and open to my advances. That is a wife's duty. She conforms to my requirements perfectly. The thought of my son growing inside her makes me instantly hard.
Picking her up, I walk with her to the bedroom, laying her down, rapidly stripping off my attire. Covering her, supporting my weight on my arms, I insert a knee between her thighs, easing legs apart. Except the little vixen sinks hard fingers into my shoulders, pulling herself away, snivelling. Good thing I kept her nails so short. I was afraid this would happen.
"I can't."
Shaking her head at me, tears gush like a broken fire hydrant. Her sensual mouth twisting unattractively as she points between her breasts. "He broke me. In here."
Laying next to her, I pull her to me, smoothing her long hair absently. "It's okay, baby."
Almost wailing, she sputters out, "He … he …"
"He raped you?"
Nodding her reply, she snuggles into me, absolutely wracking with sobs.
I pull her on top of me, kissing her face as I lie relaxed, waiting patiently for the turmoil to subside. Which thank God it does after a few minutes. I'm still harder than petrified wood. Choosing persistence, I caress her head and shoulders until she sits up to kiss me. Kissing her back I gauge how far I can go with this, by her response. Well she's not afraid to kiss me.
"Shauna, I'm not going to pretend. I want you." Pausing dramatically, I let it sink in before offering solutions. "I'd like to help you get over this pain, this hurdle. I don't want him to lie in bed between us." Gently caressing her breast as I speak, staring intently into her eyes. "I can take my time, helping you to relax, turning your body back into a pleasure zone. I can go slow, be gentle. I just want to love you." Masking my face with twisted grief, "I've been so looking forward to your next orgasm."
Her expression is caught in conflict. I can see she really is reluctant, yet she's not rejecting this idea, yet.
"Or, you should be on top. That way, you can stop whenever you want to. Be in control, go at your own pace. But let me feel you, angel." I continue, giving her my pleading little boy pout. Tracing her lips, "I won't ever force you. I love you."
Score! I can see it. The magic words of a decent guilt trip.
Leaning over me her soft lips trace my jaw-line. She whispers as a hand slips between us, encasing me, "I love you."
Closing my eyes to hide my victorious jubilation, I whisper back as if my very soul is overcome with tenderness, "I love you too."
***
My heart's just not in it. I feel obligated. Going through the motions all I can think about is Vengeance. The grip on my emotional flood is tenuous at best. Closing my eyes to hide the bitter pain. This is empty, meaningless. It's a small price to pay for security. It hurts. It burns. I hate it. Loathing all men right at this moment. My body might be ready in his eyes, but mentally I don't know if I'll ever be ready again. Emotionally I'm carnage, needing to escape to cry. It's not him, it's me. As soon as politely possible, I excuse myself to hide in the bathroom.
***
This isn't going well at all. I wait for her to close the bathroom door before picking up my iPhone. Using blue-tooth wireless connections I access the feed from my computer. Staring at her huddled in a ball on the floor of the bathroom, crying. Again.
Walking to the kitchen, I extract a Brutal Fruit from the fridge for her. Women love fruity alcoholic beverages, and these ones are strong enough in flavour to lace the Rohypnol. Dissolving it quickly into hers, I keep one eye trained on the screen of my phone. I take a lager for myself which I have no intention of drinking. Despite exchanging all of her contraception at home for folic pills, I'm impatient. Mentally this is taking too long. I don't have the luxury of time, or the patience to wait for her emotions to subside and for her to willingly engage in this relationship. I need her pregnant, and pregnant now.
Strolling back to the dimly lit boudoir, I relax back, watching her sit up, wash her face, tilting her head back and wiping under her eyes. She's desperately trying to hide it. Which is a good thing. It means she's masquerading now as much as I am. Putting me before herself, again. Good angel. She's come so far. Switching my phone off as she opens the bathroom door, I relax back, taking a sip of my drink, linking my ankles together in feigned lethargic relaxation.
"Hey baby. There you are. Everything okay?"
"Fine."
She moves like a swan through water. I love watching her walk. She crawls over to me from the bottom of the bed. God, what a sight.
"I got you a drink, I figure it's a little celebration." Kissing her temple, I keep her snugly pressed against my side with a firm arm, "I'm so proud of you. I know that wasn't easy. You can only reclaim your mental freedom one step at a time." Releasing her slightly, I tilt her chin up so that I can stare into her empty blue eyes, "I'm here for you."
Her lips tremor. She's so transparent. Pursing her mouth, the faint dimple in her chin outlines as she harnesses her emotions. Her eyes are too wide and bright. Poor acting, but she's trying.
"You are so special, Vic. I … I …"
"Toast with me. We don't need to analyse this. Let's just toast to a small victory. Us against him."
Old habits die hard. She leans away from me to grab her drink, the shadows flirting with her body make me crave the camera. Makes me crave her. She clinks the glass against mine, "To us," and promptly consumes half of it. Which is more than sufficient.
I'll give her twenty minutes of small talk and cuddles, before spending the rest of my evening impregnating my Eve. Kissing her ever so gently, I whisper proudly, "I love you, my brave girl."
She smiles, her mouth set in determined rigidity. She's reached some sort of inner decisio
n, I can tell. "Victor, I want to love you. But let me take baby steps."
"Okay."
Downing the rest of her Brutal Fruit, she sets the glass down before crawling back to me over the expansive bed. Her eyes are dark, long hair falling forward, veiling her. She traces a tongue up my thigh, before glancing skittishly up at me, "This is a baby step."
Smiling encouragement, "I like baby steps."
Her iron determination to please me, to thank me, is the most potent aphrodisiac. Before she loses consciousness, I relish her tongue, hands and hair, worshipping my temple. Moaning, I let her gratitude slake my desire to own her.
It takes a while, but eventually she succumbs to the drug. Padding her hips with pillows for maximum chance of conception, I go as far as taking her body temperature. Perfect. Checking the angle of her hips with two pillows underneath her for support, I go to work.
This is God's work. And God made everything in this universe intricate and complicated. Medical school and medical journals are my saving grace. Despite being unconscious, I know that the body can orgasm. It orgasms in sleep, hers will now. I'll make sure of it. Knowledge is power. Orgasm increases the odds of conception.
I'm tiring, and require stimulation. Tuning into the hard drive using the monitor on the wall in the bedroom, I select the footage of our times together. Flat-screen monitors serve as TV screens and computer monitors these days. This seventy-two inch Samsung LCD serves as both. She'll never know this though, as I keep the panel to the computer well disguised and hidden.
Watching her on the screen, I turn the sound up to hear her moaning, her breathless inhalations during copulation. Good girl. Almost unaware that she's unconscious beneath me, I let the fantasy blend with the hot reality now encasing me.
Chapter 30