“Have you orgasmed with this in here?” I ask on impulse. It’s a wild guess. I pull her up and look at her sternly.
She blushes and nods, “Yes.”
“See what I told you,” I tell her. She maintains a sweet expression, a naïveté that continues to amaze me. Anyone who has been involved with Tasia cannot be so innocent; I wonder how she keeps this fresh guileless face.
“Tell me about it,” I order her.
“Tell you?” she says sweetly, the exuberant expression fades a little.
“Yes, tell me about the dildo in your ass, and what made you cum.”
I see her struggle to reply, she’s not very good with words.
“I lay back on my bed and felt myself there. It didn’t seem so difficult, so I pressed the thing to my anus. It hurt,” she was eager for me to understand. “But it slipped inside.”
“And you came?”
“It did something to me really nasty, so I played with myself until I came.”
“With your hand?” I ask.
A scarlet blush rises on her cheeks. “With another dildo,” she replies.
“How fitting,” I comment. “In your cunt?”
“Sort of, a little anyway.”
I nod; the hesitant story takes too long to tell. “Well tomorrow, I replace the one in your ass with another larger one.”
I see her eyes glimmer, though not as fearfully this time. I wonder what goes on in her mind. Such a diaphanous creature, I think I’m playing with a fairy.
Returning to the dining room, we sit side by side, as if we belong together. She defers to me, often lowering her eyes, and saying little unless I speak to her. I find this a curious accompaniment to dominance. I almost feel as if I’m holding court, even if I have only one courtesan.
Two tables away from us our former lovers sit. Peach seems like a woman of my past, of ancient times. I look at her and think I hardly know her now, as she wears Tasia’s ribbon proudly. I love her so, yet the love that pours from me to her is so unrequited, I make myself not feel it. I remind myself a dozen times a day—”a few weeks and it will all be over.” Peach’s words are the only comfort I have that she’ll return to me. And we’ve just days to go before that deadline.
Chapter Twelve
I’m on the beach at dusk, the clouds make a stunning setting sun, filled with passionate orange against the steel grey sky. I’m here to think, to set things straight in my head. I hope the ocean will act as a masseuse, massaging my weary brain so I can feel some peace.
I think about what I’m doing, how I’m learning to dominate when I’ve dreamed only of submitting. I’m very good at this…
Analise wears a larger dildo in her ass now. She still shrieks when I violate her there, though she knows I won’t give in to her whimpering. I even had to spank her again this morning; she lapsed into a whining fit, pleading desperately for mercy she didn’t really want. It was fine with me watching her bottom glow crimson again, as my hand pelted her tender rear, until even I was in too much pain to continue. I should have used a strap or a paddle, but I didn’t think I’d get as serious with it as it turned out.
I really think she was half bluffing me with her protests—just seeing how sincere I am. Half of her wanted her bottom on fire again. The arousal is obvious, the way her cunt juice flows so she’s sopping wet. Today I brought her off when she finally gave into the intrusion in her ass—a simple reward for her work. I probably shouldn’t please her so readily, but I like the way she cums, the way her body twitches and her face screws up into a grimace before she breaks out into a delightful grin. Peach is much more passionate with her orgasms, but this is what I have right now.
Besides, it pleases me to think of Analise prancing around the house well penetrated. I like to see the way she winces sometimes when she moves and the dildo hurts. Though my real triumph comes when I meet Tasia on the stairs.
“You have quite an imagination, Cassidy,” she addresses me quite unexpectedly. “Peach tells me about your very fertile mind.” She sounds kind, though I distrust her completely. I have no idea why she’s being so friendly with me now, when she’s reviled me so badly in the last two weeks. “Some day we’ll have to explore it together,” she suggests.
“Really?” I wonder why she’d care. I’m sure she’s just trying to rattle me, or perhaps make me more jealous than I am. I stare at her with an icy gloat as Analise joins me and moves close, cuddling my arm. For a moment, the coziness I share with the girl appears to disturb Tasia, just the hint of a frown appearing on her face. Analise gives my arm a gentle squeeze, and then kisses us both before the little sprite runs off.
“And how is your project?” Tasia asks, looking at Analise skipping toward the garden.
“Expanding nicely,” I tell her.
“She tells me you know a good deal about such things. Perhaps it’s your first hand experience that has taught you so well?”
“I’m only doing what is natural for me,” I tell her.
“I see,” she replies vaguely. “Well, my dear, it’s only a matter of time before we’ll find out who’s the natural in these things.” She transforms in a twinkling, mutating back to her shrewish persona. I rather prefer her this way, she’s much easier to despise.
If Tasia is not distressed by my dominance of Analise, then she’s quite an actress pretending that she is; she’s able to twitch nervously at the young woman’s appearance, and is capable of feigning an obvious displeasure at her closeness to me. Can this really disturb her or is it just an act. One thing for certain, I can’t trust her either way, and will continue to adopt a casual air of indifference.
“Cass,” Peach interrupts the scene in my head. I turn abruptly, warmed by the sound of her voice. I look up at her though I can hardly see her face in the darkening shadows. There’s an otherworldly aspect about her face, even when her smile is pleasant. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to her that it seems odd, very odd.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she says.
“Have I? I didn’t notice,” I tell her the truth.
She sits on the sand next to me.
“Why would I want to be with you when you’ve been such a bitch?” I ask. The bitterness surfaces. She runs her hand affectionately along my leg and I pull away.
“Still pissed, are we?” she asks.
As much as I’d like to trust her, I find this unexpected intrusion too suspect to believe genuine. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing, nothing at all,” she says. Her eyes gleam with a well remembered look of lust, the kind of look where we’d be quickly off to bed. Not this time, I think sadly to myself. Were I to make a move, she’d only deny me, give me some stupid logic for her refusal. I won’t live through that again.
“It’s just a few days and it will be over,” I tell her, reminding her of what she told me two weeks before. “I’ll wait for that.”
“Maybe you will, maybe you won’t,” she responds saucily.
Her eyes sparkle so brightly that I want to pull her down in the sand next to me and plant kisses across her face while I undress her. But I restrain myself and she knows it’s time to leave. Watching her get up and walk away isn’t easy when I want to run after her.
She knows I’m hurting, but she doesn’t seem to care. I can’t think her that cruel, but I do. There’s a small triumph for me in repelling her, since it’s a battle with Tasia that I’ve won. Too bad there’s so little joy in the winning.
When I get up to leave, I hear haunting music coming from the gardens near the house. Soft melodies mix with desperate drums, castanets and tambourines. It beckons me, so unexpectedly taking me away from myself absorbed melancholy. As I come to the top of the cliff and approach the gardens, I see women dancing and laughing on the patio and between the rows of hedges that border the lawn. Some frolic joyously, others cuddle in happy conversations. The erotic couplings fascinate me. I could slip into the midst of these women and lose myself. I fact, I wish I would
. But as it turns out, I watch, content to remain removed in my self-imposed exile.
I see Analise in the midst of the dancers. No Tasia or Peach. But my fairy sprite dances well. With any other woman I call my lover, I might be angry over the way she throws her body around so promiscuously; I might be jealous as hell of the attentions these women give her, but not Analise. I feel so little emotion toward her, except the thrill of dominating her. The host of women who dance around her writhing form can’t help but touch her in familiar ways. She loves this, and would no doubt make love to them all if the mood struck her right. Perhaps that’s exactly what she’s planning tonight.
On impulse, I move among the dancers, pressing my way into the center, where Analise is swaying to the carnal beat of drums. I dance with her, imitating her gyrations. Her face lights up when she sees me, but no differently than it does with any other woman. She’s totally non-discriminating in her affections.
I press my hand to her bottom to find the dildo still lodged there.
“Too bad,” I whisper to her, “I was hoping for the chance to do vile things to your rear end.”
She smiles happily. “But you can do whatever you want,” she tells me in a sweet hushed voice. We do a pleasant rumba of sorts, though I’m not adept at complicated dance steps. We both laugh when I almost trip. What I really prefer is something lewd, hips against hips, groin against cunt, thighs against thighs.
Still, for all its lascivious appeal, I don’t really want Analise now, not after Peach’s aura lingers with me. I expect Analise in bed tonight, though I’m not sure I really want her there. Maybe she’ll find some other woman to be with for her midnight romp.
Becoming restless dancing with her, I back away with an apologetic nod to her inviting eyes.
“You won’t stay with us?” she asks, as she extends her hand to keep me dancing there.
“No, not tonight,” I tell her.
That’s all it takes to send her on her way. She wiggles off against another female form, looking like she’s drunk, though I know she’s not. She moves from woman to woman giving up her fragrant body like an offering. I wonder if I should envy her fresh innocence.
Strolling around the gardens for awhile, I find myself reluctant to go inside. The night air is a joy to breathe, and the music is really pleasing. If I had Peach at my side this would be perfect.
As I finally enter the cool of the house, a chill races through me as if there’s something crawling up my back. An even greater chill makes me tremble when Analise suddenly appears. Coming from behind me, she grabs my arm and spins me around, and I jerk back anxiously. She’s sweating and out of breath, and almost looks as if she’s had to hurry to my side to deliver some important message.
“I’m sorry,” she says lightly, noticing my panicked face.
“Is something wrong? I thought you wanted to dance?” I ask her.
She sighs heavily, looking almost as if she’s going to drift away. “No. Not anymore, not after you left,” she says in a singsong voice. “Maybe I’ll go back later.”
“I’m a little tired, Analise; I thought I’d go to bed early. It will be kind of nice just to listen to the music from my room.”
“Ah! That would be nice, but I was thinking…” She pauses, suddenly looking at me with a childishly coy expression on her face.
“What?” I find my interest slightly piqued.
“There’s something I’d like to show you, I thought this might be a good time, with everyone outside.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“I’m probably not supposed to be doing this, but I have the feeling that you’ll really like it.”
She takes me by the hand, ushering me to a door in the hallway. With a furtive glance in two directions, she opens the door and pulls me down a narrow flight of steps into the cellar. On one end of the dark basement, it looks as if there might be a wine cellar. There’s an old door with a rounded top that someone of average height would have to duck under to enter. This is an interesting curiosity. The other end of the cellar is cast in such dark shadows that I can hardly see beyond my own hand.
The cool in the basement gives me another chill. The dampness of the place reminds me of Midwestern basements in summer, except that this bears the salt scent of the ocean.
The tiny light of a single hanging bulb sheds no light on the black emptiness in front of me; there are just spooky uninviting shadows. This reminds me of my childhood. The old stone church I attended had a dark, dank basement with a gloomy corridor that gave me the creeps to walk down. I’d feel as if a ghost was staring down my back, but when I’d turn around, there would be nothing—nothing but chilly cobwebs laughing at my fears.
I feel that horrible burning in my back now, unable to resist the desire to turn around; I find nothing there and a laughing Analise when I turn back.
“You’re a silly one,” she says. She fishes along the stone wall, finding matches in a tiny niche, then she lights a torch that illuminates the room beyond the shadows, and places the burning wand carefully in a holder on the wall.
“This was an old chapel,” she says, leading me into a stone room. “It was carved out of the granite walls nearly a century ago. The house was built above it by Anastasia’s grandmother. She had an appreciation for the macabre, don’t you think?”
There’s a stone table at one end of the small cramped room, built into an alcove like an altar.
I feel something really odd around me. It’s as if that mysterious burning sensation permeates me; it’s not just at my back anymore. “This was a pagan chapel,” I tell her.
“How’d you guess?” she asks.
“I can feel it.”
“Not black magic,” she says.
“No, but it’s witchery that’s practiced here.” I don’t know why I’m saying this, but I think back to several years ago when I wrote a magazine article on such obscure chapels, and pagan forms of worship. I saw something like this very table and stone carved alcove in an old art book. The design is so similar, even after all this time, I recognize it. But it’s not the recognition that stirs me as much as the old world feeling of this place, as if I’ve been suddenly transported to some medieval Spanish castle.
I can’t keep myself from hallucinating about goddesses and their attentive worshipers, about the female cycle and the power of earth that rises from female loins. There’s magic in these stones I tell myself. But how strange that it’s Miriam’s, not Tasia’s face that appears in my mind when I haven’t thought much of her in days. I see that earth bound woman with her brilliant eyes flashing as plain as day before me. Though it’s just for a brief instant; her image flutters away when Analise touches my arm.
“I was right…” she says mysteriously.
“About what?”
“That you’d love this place.”
“Love’s not the word,” I tell her.
“Oh, but it is. I can see it in your face. Can’t you just see this place with a dozen chanting women, some vestal virgin in sacrificial pain, writhing on this stone?”
She strides to the flat stone altar and runs her hand along it, almost as if she were making love to it. She scoots up on the granite and lies down on her back, mocking the ceremonial rights. “This is so cold,” she says shivering, though she doesn’t move. “Imagine being impaled by some brutal leather whore,” she imagines for me. She stretches her arms above her head, as if I were going to tie them. In her filmy dress, I can just see the line of her body shimmering through erotically. She pulls up her skirt, raises her knees and spreads her thighs wide apart, her naked cunt and plugged ass laid out like a feast.
“Tie me to this, Cassidy, make me lie here bound and naked all night long. I want to feel the spooks fly around me while the ghosts of my sisters play inside my cunt.”
“You’re mad!” I contend, laughing at her crazy talk.
Analise turns on her side, smirking deliciously at me. She props her head on her hand, the silliest whimsical grin on her fa
ce.
“I could drip wax all over you, impale you with a couple of massive pricks, until I’m ready to come back. Then I’d fist fuck you until you pass out,” I speculate for her.
“Would you whip me until I come?” she asks.
I smile.
“Would you then tie me face down…?”
“And let you lie on the cold slab as if you’d died, only to resurrect you hours later, and fuck your ass with a strap-on? Of course,” I tell her.
“You’d kill me,” she says lightly.
“Not literally, but you’d suffer because you like to suffer,” I banter back.
Such demonic eyes, I think, as I watch the ethereal blue glimmer turn strange. She’s like a blue-eyed wild bird, suddenly becoming some dangerous hawk.
“I knew you’d like this place,” she says jesting. She jumps up from the stone table and skips daintily out the door.
I follow, too spooked to stay here by myself. I remember to douse the torch as I leave, and when it’s dark, I run like the wind, feeling the ghost behind me trying to grab me back.
Chapter Thirteen
I hear a commotion in the front hallway as I’m retreating to my room. It’s nearly one a.m. and the music and dancing are still going on in the garden. But blaring in a crude counterpoint to that softer sound, I hear Tasia’s voice: the deep melody doesn’t blend with the more gentle sounds of merriment. I turn to watch the woman in full Gypsy regalia, stones and scarves and her dark hair flying wildly behind her. At the door, she turns with a remarkable speed, giving Peach, who’s following her, a sumptuous kiss on the lips and then a delicate and condescending pat on the cheek.
“Tomorrow,” she says, as Peach nods. Tasia smiles darkly, I’m sure she’s concocting some weird something, but where? Gone for the night, how interesting. Where does a woman like Tasia go? She seems so married to this house and its occupants, I can’t imagine her anywhere else.
Peach closes the door on her mistress, then retreats to the back of the house where she’s been staying. I don’t often think of what she does with her time now. I see her now and again in the dining room or on the beach, but rarely anywhere else. There was today, of course, and her curious invasion of my private moment. But mostly I imagine her cloistered like some nun, or even bound as I saw her days ago; it seems better on my psyche that I not think of her too much. Now, for the first time in days, I wonder about going to her. Without Tasia in the house, she should be free to do as she pleases. Or does the bitch control her even still? As much as the thought of her body next to mine arouses me, I won’t go to her. Rejection’s too painful.
Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection Page 11