Over Exposure (Darkroom Saga)

by Poppet

  I may not be one of his disciples, but I am a priest. What she doesn't know is he instructed us in the ways of cursing, and now I curse her!

  Enraged, I stalked through to the temple where I performed the rite of malediction against her.

  Holding up the ointment I prepared, I gave it to the alter, on top of the Ark, saying, “The Lord make thee a curse and an oath.”

  Then I went to the book of ruin and followed the protocol.

  Leaving the temple, my heart not lightened in the slightest, I spoke the holy scriptures as I took the elevator back to my suites.

  “And the priest shall write these curses in a book, and he shall blot them out with the bitter water.” Numbers 5:23

  Bitter indeed.

  I waited for days, until I resigned myself to bachelorhood all over again, leaving the compound and readying my backwaters clinic for whores with child.

  I am so angry with women I want them all to suffer.

  Within three days I already had clients.

  Father will be proud when he learns of my reaping. I'm waiting to tell him, but something is amiss and he is out of sorts. Soon though, I will make him listen to me, to hear of my duty.

  Seething with a heart of retribution, I will take away their wiles. I will leave them in ruin! I will repay my heartbreak on her kind.

  Shauna is damned.

  ~~~

  Shauna:

  It's a situation that I would never choose to be in. I'm an adult and having to speak to God about my needs is mortifying.

  Even though I'm comfortable with him now and find him quite good company, he still exudes a measure of menace, and that measure is enough to keep me on edge.

  Knocking on his study door, I wait.

  “Enter.”

  Pressing down the intricate handle, I nudge the door open, peeking my head around the solid barrier, “Alpha? I'm sorry to intrude–”

  “Nonsense, I always have time for my faithful. Come in,” he beckons, leaning back in the luxurious chair. It has more padding than the Michelin man.

  Pushing away from his desk and whatever was on his computer, he appears relaxed when he laces hands on his stomach, watching me enter.

  “Uhm...” I mumble, rolling my lips in, hating every second of this.

  Leaning forward, looking concerned, his tone is demanding and worried, “Shauna? Has something happened to cause such distress? Speak woman.”

  Gawd!

  Clearing my throat, gritting my teeth, I blurt, “I need supplies.”

  “Supplies? What kind of supplies?”

  “Stuff ladies need, uhm ... ahem ... once a month. Ya know?”

  Sitting back, tension visually dissipating, he smiles at me, “You've been in my suite for a fortnight. That's about right.”

  Unsure what he means I just stand opposite him, opposed to being reduced to this.

  “Are you ashamed?” he pries, as if he has the right to interrogate me about my emotions over this appalling situation.

  “No God. I just don't appreciate having to ask. This is very awkward.”

  Leaning in, resting his elbows on his desk, balsamic dark eyes peruse me from foot to head. “A fertile woman is what you are, having menstruation is the time of your cycle when you submit to your lord as you submit to your husband. The blood covenant is ours and you are dedicated to me. You know what this means?”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, the period cramp induced by stress makes me weak. I am desperate to give him a tongue lashing.

  “Shauna?”

  Pinging my eyelids open I look at his congenial face, seeming like a benevolent friend instead of my jailer. “God?”

  “Are you aware that in the olden days the ruler got to fornicate with every virgin on their wedding night before the husband?”

  Shaking my head, I'm just wishing he'd give me the tampons and save the sermon for another day.

  “It's the right of the royal because they are the head of their nation, as I am the head of heaven and earth. Gilgamesh got into hot water with an angel over this. Enkidu fell like a star when I kicked him out of heaven. He was always opposed to holy rites. But then where do you suppose this custom originates? There's a reason why the Essene writings were omitted from the good book. The conservatives hated my laws, choosing to ignore history.”

  Please just give me my supplies and let me go back to my room to suffer in peace.

  Standing, coming around the desk, he sits on the edge, close to me, “In feudal days this was still a common practice. And it was even practised by my monks. Back then my men had no delusions that I require abstinence. In fact I demand the opposite, for health reasons. Sperm must be renewed often to be supremely effective. But I digress. The monks of St Thiodard at Mount Auriol had the honour in my stead on the wedding night. Why?”

  Shrugging, I look at his hands to avoid eye contact, “I'm sure you will enlighten me.”

  “Because a woman's body is a temple, and it must first submit to God, before her husband. Do you think I condoned Victor keeping you from me?”

  “I beg your pardon?” I blurt, looking back into his eyes.

  “Count yourself fortunate we don't follow the Nasamonian custom. At their weddings every male guest gets to copulate with the bride on her wedding night, before her husband. Gang rape of the virgin, darling it was a way of life. Ah, those were indeed the good old days. This ritual is known through the ages as jus cunni, its precursor was jus primae noctis.”

  “What are you saying?” I ask. Let's just clarify it so I can get it, because I'm not liking the insinuation.

  “You are bleeding, Shauna. It's time for you to lay with me. To submit to your lord.”

  Oh my fucking god!

  Sitting down before I fall down, I stare up at him from my seat, “But...”

  “No buts. Shall we?” he says, holding out his hand the way he does so often.

  I want to scream, I want to cry, but what the fuck can I do? Nothing! He'll do it anyway.

  “Why?” I wail, staring at the proffered hand.

  “Because I demand it,” he says, becoming curt.

  “No, God. Why do you want to even do this to me? What... just why!”

  Bending so he can look me in the eye, he speaks softly, “Medically this is when you are most likely to fall pregnant. I like to make husbands work for the gift of life. But all life belongs to me, your most fertile window belongs to your god.”

  “Medically? Bullshit.”

  Darkness scuds across his expression and he sits straight, gripping my arm and forcing me out of my chair and toward the door, “You are ignorant. I made you, I know how you work.”

  Dragged along with his viced fingers on my tricep, he educates me while I'm taken along a passage I've not been down before, “When you ovulate your eggs move from the ovaries to the fallopian tube. From there it moves to your uterus when you begin to bleed. That egg is still fertile and if fertilised will adhere to the uterine wall. Getting you pregnant is the goal and this is the perfect time in your cycle to blast those two little eggs with a great flood of semen. During this phase you are also secreting fertile cervical mucous, making you wet and slippery and juicier than a sex addict masturbating. Is that basic enough for you?”

  This isn't happening. Holy hell!

  Shoved ahead of him into a room decorated in black, from the walls, carpet, bed, curtains, everything, he pushes me onto the sacrificial mattress.

  “Shauna, I am a patient man, but the only time women are truly safe in my kingdom is when they carry life. This is for your own good.”

  “Crap.”

  Laughing, he pulls his t-shirt off, “Okay, you've got me. I had no issue with pregnant women aborting through violence in the days of Deuteronomy. The man simply got a fine and a slap on the hand. But you are Victor's chosen, now you are here and it's time you submitted to your god. End of. This isn't a debate. Take your dress off.”

  Frozen, ashamed, I look away from the virile and potent form of 'god'. He's
the prototype for every stud gracing calendars and strutting military buffness as the embodiment of everything masculine. He looks like the kind of dude women lust after, but this is not my cup of tea.

  I hate it here! I wish Peter had just ended me when he ended Victor. Now I know why he didn't. He hates me, he always has, and he wanted me to suffer.

  Impatient with me Alpha grabs fists in my neckline and rips my summer dress clean down the middle.

  It's so jarring that my pain becomes acute.

  Groaning, holding my tummy, all I want is a hot water bottle and chocolate.

  “Sex helps with that. The endorphins released are natural painkillers. A headache, or period pain, is a reason to have sex, not go without it. When it comes to your body nothing you say or do will convince me to abstain from my rite. I know your body better than you do. It's the best cure for cluster migraines. You see, women suffer because they don't just open their legs like good girls should.”

  Manhandled, my dress is shed, and then my underwear padded with toilet paper. He seems cheery when he cups the back of my nape with his big hand and slams me face first into the bedding, “Put your arse up darling, I don't do missionary.”

  The reality of what is going down hits me and I bunch the duvet, wailing, unable to move with the exerted pressure on the back of my neck; my knees held in position with his thighs either side of my shins.

  “Stop! Please!” My voice chokes with the pain of penetration, the slapping creating a cacophony with the gonging of the blood in my ears.

  Tensing, the pain increases, and he hits my bum cheek so hard I scream.

  “Do not tense!”

  Weeping, my nose clogging, I close my eyes against the chaffing of cotton in my face, consumed with grief. I stay put when he withdraws. It feels like a long time has passed since this ordeal began. It's a cruel fate the moment you face that your body is not your own.

  Running water filters to me and I move my face from its hot suffocation, staring towards a glossy black door where light spills onto the carpet.

  Strutting back in, his erection at half mast, the sight of him stark naked and clearly going for round two terrifies me.

  “Lusty eyes. That's what you have. You have seductive eyes.”

  What the hell am I supposed to say to that? You fucked me because of my eyes?

  “Roll over, darling,” he orders.

  Hell's bells. My frown is wearing scars into my head my tension is so great.

  “Open. Your. Legs.”

  Shutting my eyes again, unwilling to lay bare and facing him... I can't do it. Instinctively I crimp my legs tighter together. It's a feeble attempt of resistance and modesty, but this is my body!

  The sting of contact is so sharp my eyes water instantaneously, my cheek throbbing.

  “Okay sweetie, let me remind you who's in charge. The rod is for discipline. It will not kill you but it will hurt and shame you.”

  Gripped by the hair he hauls me to the edge of the bed, flipping my legs over the side so my body is at a right angle, and a thin willow reed manifests from underneath the bed. The whistle of it sailing through the air registers a second before my arse and lips revolt in the pain of a welting furnace.

  “You like discipline, don't you? Maybe that's why Vengeance was so drawn to you. You understand it's an erotic pastime.”

  Broken, bawling, I have nowhere left to escape or hide, withdrawing into my head I ride out the pain and punishment.

  Thrown onto my back, the vision of him fully turned on bombs my view. Oh god!

  Walking to the side of the bed he rifles in a drawer, coming back to my side holding a vibrator.

  Throwing the dildo on the linen next to me, he commands, “Pleasure yourself. I'm not interested in the time it will take for me to ensure your pleasure, but you have to orgasm. It's easier for both of us if you do it.”

  “I will not!”

  “You will!” he snaps, leaning over me and pressing my chest, forcing me deeper into the duvet. “Do you want me to put you over my knee and beat your bottom until you can't sit for a week? I'll do it, don't think I won't.”

  “Alpha, please. This is humiliating enough, don't make me do this.”

  Releasing me, his smile manages to defile me, “Shauna, an orgasm creates a suction. Your womb has contractions when you climax, this creates a suction of the sperm, pulling it up into the uterus. A woman who orgasms has a much higher chance of becoming pregnant. For some reason men who want babies never think of that. They fuck women, never caring that I made you more sensitive to pleasure, that if they took the time to find the g-spot inside your vagina and worked the clitoris, you could have multiple orgasms. It's so fucking easy a baby could do it. But men, they're clearly deficient when it comes to fertility logic. I created you, I know what I'm doing, and I am telling you to fuck yourself while I take your pulse. You can't fake it with me, girlie. You will climax, and you will do so now!”

  I think I'm going to faint. The room is gyrating and I'm having trouble breathing. It's as if from a distance when he switches it on, hazing the air with buzzing, ramming the projectile inside me, clamping my hand over it, then pressing hard fingers into my neck.

  “Your time starts, now.”

  Staring up at the devil, I groan, “You don't look like god.”

  “Not old and grey like Santa? It's called misdirection. Don't try my own tricks on me Shauna. We are a long way from done. We will repeat this process until my dick has blisters from the friction of filling you with divine seed.”

  Oh I'm done all right. I don't think I'm ever going to be okay again.

  Chapter 16

  Photographic work is always personal.

  A photograph reveals the photographer.

  ~ Anonymous

  Seth:

  It's been two months since I last saw Shauna, when on Saturday night the elevator opens and she steps out, standing in the entrance looking dazed and confused.

  Blinking slowly, she simply stands, still as a sentry awaiting command.

  I'm no longer angry, but I'm not exactly willing to just welcome her back. Walking into the entrance, surveying her, she shows no reaction, giving no indication she even sees me.

  “Shauna?” I say, amazed when her head snaps in my direction, as if blind, listening to my voice. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  Staring vacantly where I was standing a moment ago, not tracking my movement at all, concern becomes a priority when a tear traces down her cheek. She doesn't blink, answer, move, swallow.

  What the hell has he done to you?

  Stepping close, I cup her face in my hand, “Shauna? Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  She's still staring at where I was, wooden and unnatural. Her voice is devoid of inflection or personality.

  “Can you see?” I pry.

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you here?” I'm dying to know.

  “It's where I belong. I must submit,” she says, still staring at the wall.

  “Shauna, look at me.”

  Bringing her face to my direction, she looks at my chest.

  “I said look at me.”

  Still staring at her own level, she says, “I am looking at you.”

  “Look me in the eye,” I insist.

  This time she looks at the floor, “I am not worthy. A woman may not speak in church. A woman has no rights. A woman may not defy or resist. A woman was made to serve. A woman may only do as she is commanded. I await your command.”

  Dropping my hand from her face, a sickening twist roils my gut. I don't like this. I think I preferred it when she was defiant and argumentative.

  “How did he do this?”

  I'm speaking to myself, but still looking at the floor she whispers, “Burning images, punishment, hurt.”

  “Burning images?” What the hell is she talking about?

  “Movies of bombs, murder, dismemberment, rape, mutilation, abortion, torture, war, rage, disease, rotting, maggots, porno
graphy, bestiality, burning people alive, melting flesh, acid in eyeballs, deformity ... Do not provoke the lord your god to anger. Do not provoke the lord your god to anger. Do not provoke the lord your god...”

  Swallowing the bile rising up, her state strips me of strength.

  I forgot. Jesus christ how could I forget? I remember those days, back as a boy. My father is a master at brainwashing and conditioning. She's just undergone an intense month of the most vicious images ever caught on film, including death camps, child pornography, snuff films, and movies shot right here, the contents of them could scar any mind for life.

  Following ongoing image bombardment he would have then subjected her to sleep deprivation, reinforcing the commandments with brutality that shatters a mind, and dissolves the personality and will. Woken every two hours with ice water, bodily pain, torture, shock treatment, within a week she would have been an automaton, but he doesn't stop until he has the perfect slave.

  She's gone. Long gone. I was lucky, Victor was my salvation in more ways than one, he rescued me from this state by isolating me with him away from Alpha. He brought me to life when I was this empty and broken.

  Stunned by this development, her grasp on my hand gives me fear instead of comfort, “I must love you. A good wife loves her husband.”

  “What makes you a good wife? You've been missing for months.” I can't help myself, the resentment is still seething.

  Still talking to the floor, she says, “A disobedient wife must be disciplined.”

  Taking my words literally, as a commandment, she turns around, lifting her dress and bending.

  Fuck!

  I can't.... this is wrong!

  He's ruined you. Completely.

  Grabbing her, pulling her dress down and making her stand straight, I walk her towards my lounge, “For christ's sake woman. This isn't how I operate.”

  “You are displeased,” robots at me, her stare unseeing, only moving when I'm physically guiding her. Forcing her to sit down, she says to my thighs, “You are to build a fire out of dried human excrement, bake bread on the fire, and eat it where everyone can see you... Ezekiel 4:12.”