“Yes ma’am,” the girl replies.
“You won’t be deceitful with me, will you, love?” she asks. There’s a good deal behind that question that goes unspoken. A conversation between these two women is taking place on a silent psychic level. I would give anything to know what questions and answers fly back and forth on the cosmic waves.
“No, ma’am,” Analise replies to her.
“You see, her stripes are fading,” Tasia notices. “I want weals on her skin that stay. You will take care of this for me, won’t you, my love?” The woman hands Analise the cane baton.
I see a faint flush of fear in the girl’s eyes, but it is so momentary, I wonder if I just imagine it. She takes the offered cane with a clear sense of purpose, giving Peach a thorough scrutiny.
“Don’t hold back, my love, Samantha Clarisse enjoys being whipped,” she adds as she swishes on past her charges. “And make sure, ladies, that Analise behaves accordingly, or it might well be her here next time.” Tasia strides out of the chapel with her skirts flying and her gold jewelry gleaming. She takes her blustery manner with her.
I have no time to consider what she’s said as the cane lands on the front of Peach’s thighs. She wails nastily, wriggling ineffectively in her bonds. I watch with tears streaming down my face, as Analise begins to lay the cane at every angle of Peach’s suspended form. Cuts appear across her breasts, in two vile crisscrossed lines, there are three on her thighs and so many across her back and bottom, I’m too appalled to count.
I see her ass best, the way a half dozen red welts appear where small beads of blood smear with the next exacting cuts. I cannot believe this is a first for Analise. The care, the scrutiny, the preciseness she uses, suggest a masterful disciplinarian. The scowl that appears on her face is ruthless. At one point, she insists that Peach look into her gloating eyes. I wonder that she’s so cruel with her, and with me watching. Is this an act of blatant revenge against the woman I love; or is she simply following orders from a higher mistress than me?
I’m sweating in this dark, close corner. I’m also pungent between my legs where my juices flow. This horror, so etched in my mind, bids me to make sense of facts that are yet vague puzzles whose strangely cut pieces are still strewn about the odd life at this B&B.
Finished, Analise pokes Peach with the cane, then she lays it on the stone table behind her.
“Don’t let her come until she’s satisfied you,” she tells the two waiting women. Then like an insubstantial apparition, she floats from the chapel on the fumes of anger that burst from her and then disperses.
I watch only long enough to see the two attendants lower Peach to the floor, where she’s made to bring two sweating pussies off with her mouth and tongue. They don’t even give her the advantage of her hands to aid the task, keeping them bound in front of her. Yet, I doubt it will take much to do the job since both women are nearly orgasmic.
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…”
“Is this painful to you?” I mock her.
She looks at me with pathetic eyes, thinking I’ll withdraw the proxy cock. Oh! I will, I think to myself. But not now, not until I’m ready to replace it with something much better.
“Shall we see how deep this can go?” I ask her, as I push the cane handle deeper yet. She tries to be so brave, but I can see how it hurts. I know the feel of these things, there are places inside that literally want to burst. But oh! They’ll hold on, I know that for myself and I know that for this little waif too.
I leave her with the cane jerking around inside her ass, while I move on to something else. What’s better than the cane is in my hand. I grease the thing, the dildo, the large black 10” one, the one I know will make her shriek as it pries her wide open. I know that kind of vivid pain at Elizabeth’s hands. She’ll feel it now the way I did, when I was raped by the horrid thing offered me.
I remove the cane handle with a jerk that makes her flinch. Then lubricating her liberally, I press the cock head at her sphincter and shove.
“Gawd no!” she gasps.
I press harder until the round head forces its way inside.
“Please, Cassidy, no,” she whines.
I slap her face. “Don’t scream, don’t whine, you little brat. There’s plenty of lubricant to allow this to slide right in. The more you resist the worse it is, trust me on this, I know. Perhaps you could practice breathing deeply,” I suggest sarcastically. There are cruel things in my mind to say, though I’ll likely not say them. Instead, I’ll let these foul thoughts simply drive my revenge toward the goal.
I push the dildo deep, each half inch is successfully accommodated as I knew it would be. She stretches wider than even she believed she could. Her tiny gasps are hardly plaintive cries, the little nymph is such a trickster, who would know what really pains her and what is truly pleasure. I’m beyond being effected by her moods and squirms, if she were to scream at the top of her lungs, I’d do it still.
I watch as the dildo disappears inside her, until hardly anything is left of the long black rod. Then discarding the ribbons altogether, I secure the plug with a heavy leather belt around her waist and a thick chain through her cunt. I make certain the chain not only keeps the black rod inside, but that it presses harshly against her soft cunt, especially against her tender clit.
I watch her as she writhes uncomfortably. It’s a demanding feat, but how lovely it looks to see her anus wide for me. The dominant me, the one I’ve just met these strange weeks, feels decidedly satisfied with her bondage.
“I’ll let you get used to it before I fuck you,” I tell her.
Analise appears to shrink away from my look. She can hardly move, but if she could I imagine she’d be cowering against the far wall in tears. I care so little for her now, it scares me. I see how cruel I am, and I wonder to what lengths I’ll go to enforce her submission.
She stares at me nervously, wondering what I’ll do next.
“You think I’ll leave you here?” I ask. “Isn’t this just what you want, you practically begged for it two days ago. Better be careful what you wish for. Tell me, child, how does it feel?” I ask. “I need to know.”
She remains silent.
I slap her face. “Tell me,” I order her.
She whimpers lightly, trying to avoid my eyes.
“Look at me,” I order. I have her chin in my hand, so she can’t move. “Shall I tie your head down to the stone?” I suggest.
“No, please no,” she begs, no doubt thinking this is a serious consideration in my thoughts.
“Then tell me, Analise, how does this feel?” I demand of her, while keeping a firm grip on her thin white chin.
“I have to be here,” she says, stumbling over her words. “I’ve been bad, very bad. This is the punishment I deserve.”
“Good. I’m glad you feel so obedient, you won’t mind then if I leave you here for awhile, so you can appreciate your suffering.”
I leave the one light burning, the bare bulb, and I douse the torch. From the entrance to the chapel, it’s hard to see her where she lies on the stone table. I see her struggle against the bonds without success. I see her ass rise and fall with the weight of the prick difficult to bear. I watch as she finally ends her struggles, as she should, and rests limply against the gray/black table. Inspired imaginings dart about my mind happily, knowing exactly what I plan to do to torture her more.
If she’s rescued before I return to her, that would please me too, the part of me that couldn’t care less about seeing her again.
Returning upstairs, I glimpse Miriam in the hallway, and follow her until I’m close enough to call her name.
She turns to me. Such an odd expression on her face, I think.
“You must be in the midst of things,” she says to me.
“Why do you say that?” I ask.
“The dark lore,” she says. “You’re all lit with smoke.”
“You see it that easily?” I remark.
“We are all open books,” she reminds me kindly.
“Well, whatever it is that you see in me, it’s the way it has to be now,” I tell her, as I understand what she means. “How can I be any different when it’s madness that burns in me?”
She nods with acceptance. “Of course, you must be truthful with yourself. I would castigate you myself if you were otherwise.”
I smile, thankful that she knows me, and doesn’t judge. Thankful that I can tell her what I’m about, and she’ll willingly honor it.
“And how are you and Samantha doing?” she asks.
“We’re okay, I think we have some peace between us at last.” It feels good to be
able to say that. “It’s just these other things…”
“I know,” she says gently.
“You probably do know,” I agree. I don’t need to say more. It suddenly dawns on me that Miriam’s presence should seem out of place, never having seen her here; though I do suspect that she’s more than just a casual visitor.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I’m behaving badly, I should be welcoming you here.”
“You don’t need to welcome someone to their own home,” she replies. Her claim to ownership doesn’t surprise me, since I know there’s some link between Miriam and Tasia.
“Did you come to check up on me?” I ask.
“On all my friends,” she says warmly. “You take care.” She pats me warmly on the cheek like a mother, then drifts off elsewhere.
This conversation is all very mysterious, but I have the distinct impression that it was also very deliberate. It’s as if she’s once again casting an aura of her own over this house.
Even so, Miriam remains almost as vague as Tasia herself, and I’m beginning to feel that she’s a far darker woman than she initially appeared. This all makes me wonder who’s friend, who’s foe in this place. But at the moment, this is a question I don’t really care to pursue. I have my own lusts to figure out.
I wish I could find Peach. I still think of the agony of the night before, how raw she was with wounds that appeared to strike her deeply, more deeply than the slight broken skin on her ass. Why she makes herself so available for this torment still eludes me.
But there is the sexual excitement. Both Peach and I seem to be unable to avoid the fact that these terrible dark things turn us into raving sexual beasts. I never believed that living out the tales I tell on paper would do this to me in reality. I am even more surprised that Peach finds as much arousal and satisfaction as she does. At the very least, I hope she had some release for herself last night. I’m not sure how she could have survived without a sexual climax.
Now, I want to be with her, pour cream on her sore tight skin, and soothe her. I want to rub the burn away, but I know Tasia will not let me find her. I wonder if I pressed my case, if Peach would deny me now.
Lizbeth's Lesbian Collection Page 13