I see the other two enrapt with each other while I perform my task dutifully, not as a lover, but as a woman too scared to do anything else. I see Donna planting her luscious mouth against Peach’s cunt. I want to watch, as there’s a combination arousal and envy in the watching. I’ve never seen Peach with another woman; and the two look so splendid in the midst of their lust that I wish I could join them.
“Suck my cunt!” Cozinne shouts. She grabs my hair hard, when she notices my lapping tongue has slackened. I attend to her all the more vigorously. My fingers penetrate her dark cavern; it’s warm with juice pouring from it in rivulets. In spite of the way I despise her, I probe her deeper with three fingers, thinking I’ll insert my whole fist inside the bitch. The more violently I explore her insides, the more she loves it.
“Harder, slut!” she yells, as I wonder that she’s nearly screaming while I was made to remain silent.
I see her body tense at last, before I can slip my whole hand inside her. I think she’s going to squeeze my fingers in two, but they survive. Covered with juice, I take them out and wipe them against her sweating thigh. I watch the writhing body succumb with a degree of satisfaction, though just before she relaxes altogether, Peach is pulling at me. Grabbing my arm, she nods for me to follow, leaving Cozinne and Donna to recoup alone.
I fly back through the woods at Peach’s heels, trying to restore my soiled skirt and button the blouse. I finish the task as we approach the Jeep, and we’re down the road several miles before I breathe easily again.
The landscape rolling by is one reminder after another of the oaks and grassy meadow we just fled. I see the other women in my mind, their faces, their sexual will, their likely wonderment at our quick flight.
“They’re probably laughing at us right now,” Peach says, with a lovely smirk on her face.
“You think so?”
“It was all a lark for them, Cassidy, we had little to worry about.”
“Then why did you leave so quickly, if you weren’t scared?”
“I didn’t trust them. I didn’t like the way Cozinne strung you up. She didn’t tell me she would do that, and it surprised me. But it turned out okay?” She was asking me if it had, I heard the question in her voice.
“You did plan this,” I state. Restored to some sense of calm, I confront my bewilderment, wanting to know her part in this. I can’t decide how I feel, especially when I know she helped author this plot.
“I was following your lead,” she tells me.
“My lead?” I’m incredulous. “Do you see what she did to my breasts?” I unbutton my blouse and show her my wounded flesh. The full blush has faded, but there are many distinct stripes lingering as raised welts.
“They look beautiful to me,” Peach says. “I know it’s horrid to say this, but they turn me on just the way your punished ass turned me on last night.” She stares at me as long as she dares, while still driving. “How do they feel?”
I can’t admit it. There’s nothing that will make me tell her what I feel.
“How many times have you wanted to be abused by two tough dykes?” she continues. “You wrote that story a week ago, and then you tell me that’s what you pretend when we make love. I swear if I didn’t do these things, you’d never have any adventures at all.”
“But I don’t need adventures, I need you. How could you possibly think I’d want this?” Suddenly, I’m raging mad, my anger supplants my honesty. I want to scream right here, except that we’re in the middle of some small town, and in the open Jeep it’s no place to have a full blown argument. I set myself on a low simmer clamming my mouth shut, refusing to say another word.
When we’re out in the country again, “You did like it,” Peach asserts more positively.
“Don’t do it again,” I tell her with my eyes boring into her. This time I don’t let her con her way into some “true confession” from me, some ridiculous admission that I loved this afternoon. It won’t happen.
Peach sits back, sullen and silent, as we wind our way to our destination for the night.
Peach looks as though she’s sleeping, but I know she’s playing possum as I crawl into bed behind her.
“Perhaps it wasn’t as dangerous as I thought,” I tell her as I reach out and stroke her back. I watch her body shiver under the tee-shirt. I lift the hem and run my hands along her legs and then over her round ass. I breathe lightly against her neck, tickling the soft hairs. My tongue runs along her ears and I hear her groan. I don’t know why she should be avoiding me, after all, I was the “wronged” one here, if there was an injured party. She moans, the more passionately my fingers toy with her, the more I kiss her neck and reach around to caress her breasts. I pinch her nipples lightly, knowing this turns her on most.
She finally turns to me with her mouth wide open and we kiss, arms and legs wrapping round each other.
“Tell me you loved it,” she says.
She seems so small and vulnerable, but I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. “Let’s not talk about it,” I tell her quietly.
I don’t want to think about it again, but that’s impossible. All the while we make love, I can think of nothing else, my mind remembers every detail. I feel the ache in my arms being strung up the way I was. I feel Donna’s mouth pressed against my cunt, the feel of the butt plug against my unyielding anus and the pain of its entry, the way it spread me so gloriously wide. Never have I been stretched to such limits.
I think of Cozinne’s taunting face, stuffing my mouth full, as her sarcastic quips make me feel like dirt. These thoughts are making my cunt shoot hot. With Peach playing with my ring and my clit, I’m quickly at an edge, but not finished even when I soar over. My body clamors for more and I can’t escape the second surge of pleasure. I think of both holes stuffed, of Cozinne’s switch laid across my tits—to my perverse sense of satisfaction, the marks still remain where the red welts rose on the surface. I recall the woman’s smirk as my body cringes a second time and gasps loudly. In our entangled mess, I know Peach orgasms at least once. She seems satiated as I finish and we lay motionless afterwards. In the strange quiet, I feel the breach between us, wishing it could be otherwise. But I’ll not talk about this afternoon again, even though I realize that’s why she’s holding back. I know why I won’t speak of it. This is Elizabeth all over again, and I can’t bear that thought. What’s more, I can’t bear for Peach to know. What she doesn’t know, protects us both.
Chapter Six
“Here.” Peach points to a tiny spot on the map. “It’s a place right in this cove. “The Edge”, it’s a women’s retreat. You’ll love it. The beach is so secluded we can sunbathe nude. Skinny dip, if you want.” Her eyes twinkle because she knows I’ll like it. I listen to her excited exposé, wondering if she thinks she has to make up to me for the day with the leather dykes.
“When were you there?” I ask.
“Few years back, but I know it’s still there. Christine, I told you about her, she was there just last summer. Said the food was wonderful, and the gardens more beautiful than ever. But I can hardly imagine that, Miriam always kept them perfectly.”
“Miriam?”
“She runs the place, and she’s a “peach” of a woman, if I’ve ever known one,” Peach says, the blissful expression on her face is hard to ignore.
It sounds innocuous enough, even restful, which is exactly what I need right now. Peach, pushing me into these dangerous reminders of Elizabeth awakens things in me that are best put back to sleep. But, I think I got my point across the last two days, refusing to talk about her spanking me, or the leather dykes.
“We can stay as long as we like,” Peach tells me, “I called, and they said there were rooms open for the summer. At the very least, we have to stay for the midsummer madness. Even your tender sensibilities will appreciate the fest.”
“And what’s that about?” I ask.
“Miriam celebrates pagan rituals, but they’re nothing threatening, just very seductive.”<
br />
Pagan rituals are a frightening thought, except for the way Peach says it, making it sound like some glorious erotic fun. I should be scared, but oddly I’m not.
There are storm clouds threatening, a rarity this time of year along the Northern California coast. I don’t trust the weather, but Peach drives on confidently, refusing to stop and put the top up on the Jeep. “We’ll be there in no time,” she says. “Besides, it takes too long to get it on. I’m more worried about the road getting into the retreat than our getting a little wet.”
We finally turn off the main road and head directly towards the ocean. We’re on a narrow dirt road that winds its way through coastal woods, finally breaking out onto the sandy cliffs above the beach. It’s already nine o’clock and quite dark for a summer evening. The thick clouds overhead block the light of the moon and stars, giving the warm night an ominous feel, almost as if it were a spooky autumn night. Halfway down the road, it starts to pour, taking just seconds to drench us to the skin.
“Don’t worry,” Peach shouts, as she wipes the water from her face. “It’s just beyond this rise.” But once over the hill, I can’t see a thing for the driving rain and wind. There’s not a single light in sight. We can be thankful that the Jeep has four wheel drive when the mud begins to gush across the road.
“Just a little ways,” Peach says, though she doesn’t sound nearly as confident as she should be. Rounding one last curve, however, we see lights burning in a massive three story house.
“God, this had me going,” Peach exclaims relieved. We park beside a front stairway and race to the top, giggling all the way.
We shake ourselves off in the foyer of the grand old Victorian mansion. I’m thinking immediately that it’s awfully spooky, with the dark colors surrounding us. The light in the foyer is dim, and I can barely see any more than I can outside. I’m sure it’s quite pretty in the daytime, but now I’m reminded of haunted mansions, dime story suspense novels, and Freddie Kruger on stormy nights. I could almost imagine lightning and thunder roaring outside the house, though that’s even more a rarity than summer storms in California.
The phantoms in my head seem rather silly, as we’re soothed by the proprietress: a stately woman with a fine long nose, black hair pulled back into a bun, and layers of grey black clothes that make her look like some Hungarian gypsy. Despite the sternness of her aquiline appearance, her eyes are soft and motherly.
“I’m Tasia,” she says offering her hand. I see that she’s younger than I would think on first glance, her graceful hand is flawlessly smooth. On further inspection, her attire reminds me of the tattoo parlor where I got my cunt ring. Her dress is long, flowing almost to her ankles, and she’s draped with silk scarves around her shoulders that lend some color to her otherwise dark bearing. Her ears and hands drip with dozens of gold rings with large gemstones. And yet, she’s not over stated for her bearing. There doesn’t appear to be a single thing out of place. I’m impressed by her warmth and the nurturing smile that puts me at ease. This time, Peach has hit a pleasant jackpot with me.
“I’m Cassidy.” I take her hand graciously and smile. “You must know Peach? Or perhaps you remember her as Samantha Sykes?” I turn to Peach, who’s staring dumbfounded at the woman.
“No, I don’t believe we’ve met,” Peach says, extending her hand. “The Retreat must have changed owners since I was here.”
“Yes, and no,” Tasia says. “I’ve always owned this place, though there have been others who have managed it for me. I lived in Portugal for ten years, and am just recently returned.”
“Where’s Miriam?” Peach asks. “I told Cassidy so much about her, she’ll miss not meeting her.”
“Miriam, yes…” Tasia hesitates. “She chose to leave when I returned. You can’t have two bosses of a place so small.”
“No, I suppose not,” Peach answers. I can tell she’s disturbed though I don’t know why. The place is beginning to feel like home to me. The phantom cobwebs in the corners disappear as I get accustomed to the glowing lamps and lit candles, and fine dark hues of the beautiful interior.
Tasia shows us to a living room.
“You were Miriam’s lover,” Tasia says to Peach, so casually it takes some moments to sink into my brain. I’m shocked by the assertion, I’ve heard nothing of this, and I wonder why this woman would know.
“Yes, we were lovers,” Peach confirms, while I sit beside her beginning to tremble. I’m reminded of how angry she was over letters from my former lovers. I’m also reminded of her contention that she sometimes doesn’t tell the whole truth. I wonder now, did she come here wanting to re-acquaint herself with her old lover? Has she been as devious with me about this trip, as she was the afternoon at Gram’s? This worries me as much as our relationship has already been shaken in recent weeks.
“Miriam is a fine woman; you might even see her while you stay here. She has a cottage up the main road a piece. She’d be delighted to see you, Samantha Clarisse, I suspect that she still has a great love for you.”
Peach blushes. I hope she realizes how uncomfortable I am listening to this. Why would this woman speak this way? And why does she call her Samantha? How did she know her middle name, Clarisse? The woman is as mysterious as this place on a stormy night.
“So will you be staying a few days?” Tasia asks.
“We plan to stay the summer somewhere tucked away. Cassidy is reeling from the LA smog.”
“And the traffic and the people. I’m a small town girl at heart,” I add.
Tasia nods. “LA’s a putrid place. I’ve been there just once, and hated it. There’s no way to feel anything ghostly there. All spiritual things must hide away and that only tends to distort them. It’s why there are so many horrible things happening in that city. Too much of the dark side becomes skewed, there’s no celebration in it anymore. So sad.”
I’m uncertain what her vague discourse means, and I wonder if she’s being purposefully obscure.
“You’ve come to the right place here at The Edge,” she tells us. “You’ll find lots of privacy and peace, and of course, the ocean—there’s nothing more effective at cleansing a clouded soul. Then of course, Samantha Clarisse knows what a special place this is, after the summers she spent with Miriam.”
We retire to our room. Peach is so exhausted, she doesn’t want to talk, but I think she’s just hiding from a confrontation. I can’t go to bed with these things on my mind, the woman, this place, and of course, the ghost of old lovers creates a commotion I can’t ignore.
“You never told me that you and Miriam were lovers. Is that why we came here?” I start.
“Don’t do this,” Peach warns.
“Don’t do what?” I remain calm though I’d like to explode. “I think you owe me an answer, or should I blister your butt the way you did mine for lying to me.”
“Can’t do it, Cass,” she smirks sarcastically, “I live by different rules than you do.”
“Just a simple explanation would do,” I suggest, not really wanting a fight.
“I’d like to see Miriam, but not to make love to her. She’s like a mother in a way, older than both of us and very stable. You’ll love her too, I know that.”
I say nothing, watching a look of consternation on Peach’s face. “What bothers me is that woman, Tasia. Don’t you think she’s kind of spooky?”
“Maybe a little, but this place is a little spooky. You didn’t tell me it was like this. I do like it though.”
“That’s what’s amazing. When Miriam ran it, it looked totally different. The rooms are so dark now. With Miriam they were bright, all kinds of flowers, very festive. Maybe I’m just shocked with the transformation. But I can’t for the life of me figure why Tasia would change the place so much. And all that weird spiritual talk, I think she’s nuts.”
“She obviously has a different temperament than your friend.” It seems odd that Peach is so disturbed with this place and I’m so comfortable. Usually in matters like this, it�
��s the other way around. Though I’m not surprised by her appraisal of Tasia’s “spiritual talk”. She does have curious ideas, that unlike Peach—who abide “mumbo jumbo” as she calls it—only intrigue me.
“I guess I just need to get used to the place. It doesn’t help, this rain tonight. Look at it.” Peach stands at an enormous bay window looking out to the black beyond. I join her there, seeing beyond the reflecting candle light to what appears to be a beautiful garden leading to the ocean cliffs.
“Tell me one thing,” I ask, “did you make love to her in this room?”
“Miriam? No,” she replies. “Her room was on the first floor, I always joined her there. I worked here the summer that being a lesbian started to make real sense to me. She made it make sense.” Peach is not often reflective like this. Seeing the faraway look, I know this is her sacred ground, this Miriam. “I’m not like her, though,” she continues, “Miriam agreed with my decision to leave, she said I could figure things out for myself. She said I had to learn it on my own.”
“And what have you figured out?” I ask. I allow my arm to rest lazily around her waist.
She turns to me. “That I need to play with fire, with the things that scare you so much.” I know she’s referring to the leather dykes and much more. Her eyes look like molten caverns, sultry and exotic. Peach told me once that she has Native American and African in her blood. I see it now.
I can’t answer her, because she’s scaring me. It’s ironic how we’re alike and different. I like to talk about, think about and write about the things she refers to, while she only wants to explore them with her body. I know I’m not ready for it.
We make love fitfully; this place stirs us both.
“Good morning, ladies,” Tasia greets us with a lush hello. There’s bright sunshine pouring through the windows as it begins to bake the air. The shadows of the previous night have been adequately replaced, as gold light dances off Tasia’s glittering rooms. The color, no less dark, doesn’t seem so somber now.
Pagan Dreams Page 5