“I knew you were coming to me, Cassidy,” she says. “You feel these things, you sense the way a woman feels towards you and how it changes from distaste to fascination. Every day that you’ve been here, you’ve come closer. You’ve run from it, you’ve tried to block it from your mind, but it’s always been there.”
She takes my neck in her hands, and pulls me to her so that our lips are pressed tightly together. She opens my mouth with hers, forcing her tongue inside mine. Then she backs off.
“There’s a dark mistress in you, and I don’t mean a dominant one… Ah! You may have dominated my daughter all to good intent, but that was easy; the little slut could have been plucked off the vine by anyone. No, you tried getting away from this, but your attempts were doomed.”
She presses her hand to my belly, where the ache has been, and is now, where the hollows threaten to swallow me up.
“You ran from that other woman, but she’s caught up with you now.” She presses her hand still harder, like she’s punching me in the stomach.
“You know about Elizabeth,” I murmur.
“Elizabeth? Ah yes, our dark sister has a lovely name.”
“You know her?”
“As well as you do,” she says. “There’s something inevitable about this.” She pulls on the ring and its hanging charm. “Coincidences pile up and you know what that means? There are forces working beyond us both. And what’s so charming about you, Cassidy, is that you believe it. There aren’t many women who believe these things the way you do. Samantha Clarisse had to simply be taken. For you, your willingness will prevail above all else. There’s hardly any effort for me.”
She runs her hands along my arms, and against my hips. Her lips continue a journey of kisses so tender I mistake her for something kind. That is, until she steps back abruptly and slaps my face.
“No,” I whimper softly. Turning the other cheek, she slaps me again. I look back to watch an evil smirk claim her face. “Please…” I’m pleading, thinking I’m not ready for this.
“Coy, demure, whining, anger, they don’t work here. I will abuse you worse than you did my daughter,” she warns.
She turns away, while I stand waiting, wondering if there is any way I can safely flee this place. But there’s no way out of this, except one. Tasia returns to me with a collar in her hand. She clamps it around my neck, and I feel it close around me tightly, thinking I’ll not be able to breathe.
“You don’t deserve these, bitch,” she says, ripping away the thorn skirt that pricks at my thighs. She unties my arms and tears the bodice piece of beads from my body. It falls where she throws it on the floor, the sound of broken beads clearly distinguishable to us both. I would mourn it if the garment was mine, but it apparently holds no value to her now.
With one rage over, she moves on to the next insult, as if it’s important to beat me down a piece at a time. After redoing the bonds around my arms, she inspects me again, more satisfied with my nakedness.
“Don’t you find it extraordinary that Samantha Clarisse heard my calling? This ring you wear? You remember when she gave it to you.” Tasia pulls at the ring and Miriam’s amulet so hard that I squeal, and she slaps my face again. “No cries, no tears,” she commands. “You remember when?” she demands.
I nod my head.
“Speak, bitch.”
“An afternoon at the beach,” I tell her.
“How ironic. But how perfect too, that I could whisper into her ear, in that cozy shop of horrors where you were so confused and befuddled with yourself. She even got the placement perfect, don’t you think? To match me?”
She makes me look at both our cunts with our matching rings.
She pulls something off the table. “Here, just because you need a little more pain than you’re experiencing.” She hangs another amulet on the cunt ring. It feels like lead, so much heavier than the one Miriam gave me; it pulls one side of my pussy down so that I think the thing will rip the ring out.
I wail loudly.
She slaps my face twice. It burns. “Live with it, Cassidy, make yourself like it. And no cries,” she reminds me, “or I’ll gag you with a six inch dildo down your throat.”
Threat upon threat heaped on me, I stand compliant and stoic, still thinking this is some game that I need to win against her.
“On your knees,” she says, pushing on my shoulders till I’m at her feet, my mouth working hard at her offered clit. She tastes sweet, unlike anything I’ve tasted before, though there’s curious bitterness after I savor each lick. I give her every bit of zeal in me for sucking cunt. Hers, an easy one to accommodate, I’m aroused myself. I churn a bit as I rock back against my legs, but she hates that, and raps her baton against my back—aiming for my buttocks, she misses and hits me across my shoulders where there’s little flesh to protect me.
I forget my own desires and concentrate on her, until she begins to writhe against my face, pressing her pussy into my tongue and mouth, while a jet of hot female cum douses my flushed, slapped cheeks.
Once pleasured, she hardly misses a beat, forcing me down lower still, so I’m made to press my shoulders and tits against the thick carpet. The lower I go, the more my ass is raised in the air, the more my rear cleft opens and exposes my anus. As I expect, she thrusts something wet and thick in past my sphincter till it lodges deep inside.
“Don’t move,” she says, releasing the instrument, I suspect is the same black rod I saw her violate Peach with that first night. The rod hangs heavily in my body, striking an uncomfortable angle that I can’t change, no matter how I shift about. There must be ten inches inside me, the rest, at least ten more, are left outside to weigh my body down.
“The rule is, bitch, I don’t care if your cunt comes. I’m not doing this to satisfy you; I do it to satisfy my need to be cruel. I’ll use you as I please, and if there’s any satisfaction in it at all, you’ll have to find it for yourself. I’d rather like to see you squirm, rubbing your thighs against each other, trying to find an edge. We’ll see how well you fare without the use of your hands. Now climb up on the pallet.”
I raise my head from the musty carpet and see the crude bed she refers to.
“Move,” she scowls, poking me in the side with the baton because I don’t move fast enough. Then she swishes the thing in the air and lets it land on my ass. She strikes again, and it lands on the second rear cheek.
I hold back a howl, fearing what she’ll do if I don’t.
She holds the rod as I move to the pallet: a simple hard mat with a thin cotton cover that’s two feet from the floor and hardly more comfortable. It’s just easier to reach me.
“Keep this in you,” she says wiggling the rod for awhile, “you expel it, I’ll cane your ass until it bleeds.” She jerks my head back as I wait for her on shoulders and knees. Grabbing my hair and tugging severely, she makes me see the flash in her eyes as she pushes the rod deeper.
“Over,” she commands, letting go of both ends of my body.
I can hardly obey her; each small movement is a struggle without my hands free to assist me. Lying against my tied arms is painful, but she’s in no hurry to alleviate my discomfort.
Spreading my legs wide, she binds them with leather straps to the sides of the bed. Then with a horsetail whip, she flails at my exposed pussy. Some strokes caress, some cut like arrows. I moan exuberantly, but I don’t scream, I couldn’t stand to be gagged too.
I’m sinking deeper into the abyss of fantasy; the pain runs through me in rivers that go deeper and deeper, taking away all conscious thought.
She begins with my cunt, and I begin to hallucinate; at least that’s how it seems. It’s not Tasia’s, but Elizabeth’s face that appears before mine. The thick red lips that would plant rosebud kisses all over my breasts and thighs descend on me the way they did years ago.
The hand moving at my cunt is Elizabeth’s hand. A fiery heat scorches the opening, as I realize she’s penetrating me with her whole hand, the way I tried to do with An
alise.
She’s succeeding where I’ve failed.
I open wider than Tasia’s daughter ever could. My cunt begs to take the fist inside, to have it claim that emptiness, make it full where there’s a vacancy on the inside. I open to take it all; yet even with the grease, the glove, and widening my desiring cunt, I feel her burst inside with a pain so searing that this time I can’t keep from screaming aloud.
It’s Elizabeth’s face glowering at mine, without an inkling of kindness, she burns me more, with candle wax dripping everywhere on my thrust out torso. She’s clamping my nipples, even as her hand slips deeper into my tight channel. Though I’m not sure now what’s happening in reality, and what’s the product of hallucination.
I feel myself sinking deeper into the subterranean abyss of consciousness and sex, where the very lowest of me resides.
The pain is excruciating, but I get used to it, one level accepted to, another level of pain to overcome. I think I’m screaming, but I’m not sure. I know the baton comes down on my belly, but the pain mingles so easily with all the other violations, that I cannot distinguish one from another.
Elizabeth’s face appears and disappears, round eyes, black round eyes, and red lips and leather, and those red lips descending to me…
Hot wax dripping, my clit stings.
“More, yes!” I scream somewhere, on the in or outside; does it matter where?
I’m sinking deeper into the past, to the place where Elizabeth coerced me… sinking faster past old heavens and old hells… to where?
“Take me deeper,” my insides speak. “Can she hear me?”
I feel my vagina emptied, though not lonely for long, something hard replaces the soft searing hand. My feet are tied above me, somewhere far away.
Sinking deeper, “… take me all the way inside,” I cry.
I’m nothing but a speck of dust.
“Elizabeth, come to me, my darling, find me here,” the dark side in me speaks.
I explode everywhere. Something splits me in the middle. A hand finds my ass, the widened sphincter widens more.
Eased in slowly, it jerks me back and forth.
“Elizabeth, come to me.”
I open my eyes on her face, smiling with red lips from heaven in the midst of hell. I explode in the pain, hitting pools of joy I thought were not real.
I’m stopped in the middle of my life, for an instant no longer existing anywhere, as if I were dead. But not dead, my heart still beats, my cunt still pulses, and I’m drifting in “nowhereland”, surrendered.
Soothe me, gentle me back down the path, I hear myself speak to her.
Merry-go-rounds and children playing… I’m starting over, feeling born a second time. I traverse in flashing seconds, a lifetime from fairy rings to pagan drums, light to dark and back again. I don’t know where I’m landing.
Chapter Seventeen
I wake on the pallet with an empty cunt and ass. No bonds or straps or anything else to hold me down and keep me here.
Tasia sleeps near me, behind the curtains surrounding a four poster bed. I half crawl, half stumble to her, finding her flanks ready for me. Glistening juicy, she must be dreaming sex. I accommodate her need with my tongue. I think she cums as she sleeps, her eyes do not open, and there’s hardly a murmur that escapes her lips, yet her body writhes snake-like against the sheets and my face, her thighs pulsing as the shudder runs through her.
She runs unconscious hands through my hair, being as gentle now as she was last night, heartlessly cruel. I nestle next to her cunt, my head resting on a throbbing place at the base of her belly. I feel the blood pumping through her; her loins are as hot as mine. But we’ll be peaceful now.
I’m mystified that I could want to remain so close to her, there on her bed, on her loins, where love and hate mingle like two friends. I think of these things as I drift again into sleep. Elizabeth’s name plays as a gentle mantra in my head, her face and Anastasia’s face blend into one.
I feel something poking at my side; I know it’s the baton. My eyes open to her face, to Tasia’s face, not Elizabeth’s this time, just the bold image of the present, hallucinations of the past have vanished.
“No, Tasia, please,” I mumble weakly. I can hardly move, for the rich ache that pervades my body, from my shoulders and arms that were tied so long, to my loins, where the ungodly penetrations of rods and fists seemed to have rent me in two. So brutally ravaged, I feel used up and empty. It’s not a bad feeling though, rather like being purged. I’ve tripped down a tunnel of all that was terrifying in me. I feel purified as the result.
“You’ll call me Anastasia,” she says, as she prods me again. There’s a glint of triumph in her eye now that she’s vanquished me. But she’s not unkind, her instruction suggests the attitude of a stern parent, which now seems perfectly suited to our relationship. Where I once despised her, I have no love; but I have deep regard that goes beyond love, somewhere else.
It must be morning because I see her dressed in the black silks and scarves that she usually wears. All that lustrous body again hidden from immediate view, though I can still imagine what’s underneath.
I lie back and stare at her, wondering what she wants from me now. Could she take me again? Even when I feel too sore, too spent and too exhausted to continue. She seems almost determined to start over from where I crashed depleted hours before. How can she go on, surely our journey took as much from her as it did from me.
“It’s over now,” I say, with a faint hopeful attitude.
She grins as she taps my thigh with the baton. I feel the thing run along my leg where there’s a tender welt that burns to touch it. I wonder how many more I’ll find on me. As I move, I feel the ache in so many places in my body, I can’t begin to count. That she penetrated me so thoroughly suggests that she reached inside my soul with the same thorough attention.
This picture of the two of us, dominant and submissive, surely reveals how we’ve defined our odd liaison. It seems as natural to me now as the sun rising in the sky, and the tides that ebb and flow, and the moon that follows its endless cycle.
I feel submissiveness creep into me as a friend, as if there’s another me that takes charge, and taking charge does nothing but relinquish all the ego driven plaintive cries of protest.
I’m driven into nothingness, my thinking seems to cease. There’s just she and me and her baton, and an uncertain destination that seems as inevitable as it is hidden.
“Is it over?” she asks, mocking my words. “Why it’s just midsummer, Cassidy, there are days to go.”
I see this. Only because I sense that this could not possibly be complete in one twenty-four hours; because nothing that happens in a day will last forever. Results require time spent. This dark home in me cannot be built in a day, especially when I sense the conventional half of me wanting to push it away, just as it pushed Elizabeth away before. It takes the kind of emptiness I’ve come to understand, to have this wisdom. I hope I can remember this bliss when her voice cackles in my ear again, and her baton takes its terrifying liberties.
Her eyes are Elizabeth’s eyes again, first they beguile me, then they revile me, then they haunt me.
I’ll stay to make my peace last, to make my peace with Elizabeth and Anastasia and the submissive dark me.
…And on the first breath of September, I’ll be gone.
take me…
When I churn anxious, noxious rhythms,
when tranquility evades me
when my agitated nerve endings split with
discontented madness, take me
Primitive savage woman come to me,
with hand and tongue and body rude,
abuse my own with pain and penetration.
With exquisite torture,
violate me to primal depths.
And then without hurry, give me more.
With steady force
and vigorous assurance, not stopping for my
protests, give me more.
> Send me to beyond places
where I cannot think, and I do not exist
and there is nothing but blessed nothingness,
cascading around my spirit to fill me.
And when you lift me up, and hand me to my beyond,
beyond heavenly bliss and earthly fragrance,
gentle me then and caress me back into the world
of touch and sight,
set me down softly on pillowy cushions
that I may breathe in the peaceful remnant.
Epilogue
I hear Munchkin meow at the window, the old cat seeing Peach walk up the apartment stairs. I hear the door open and close and a rustle of something in her hands.
“What do you think of this?” I hear her say. I go to the doorway and look at her windswept hair and smiling face with lurid eyes as she pulls a costume from a shiny plastic bag. It’s a skin-tight leopard skin jumpsuit.
“Leopard-skin?” I exclaim surprised. “What? You go as a cat; I go as your kitten?”
She sways her generous hips toward me seductively, the lust in her eyes burns bright.
“This must have made you horny,” I suggest.
“Ummm, yes,” she says discarding the costume on the dining room table, next to the Halloween jack o’ lantern with the mischievous face. She moves closer to me and begins to run her hand against my thigh.
“I tried it on at the shop, and the little clerk could hardly keep her hands off of me,” she tells me.
“Really? She made a pass at you?” I break away from her to look in her eyes.
“Pass? She practically rolled me on the floor.”
“You’re kidding,” I exclaim. Peach always gets herself into the most curious sexual situations.
“No, I’m not,” she replies. She’s dead serious, for Peach a sure sign she’s telling the truth. “I guess when I gave her the once over, she was bold enough to ask if I screw around with women. So you know what I did?” she asks me to guess. There’s the devil in her eye, I think.
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