Two Shades of the Lilac Sunset

by Rosen Trevithick

  There were actually days when she grieved for him. She missed the times when he had electrified her. On those days, the thought of never seeing him again hurt so much that she could hardly breathe.

  Yet mostly she felt relieved that he was dead, relieved that she no longer had to live in the terrifying cycle of relief and agony. It wasn’t about punishment or revenge. It wasn’t about believing that he deserved to die. It was simply about freedom.

  She took one last glance at the cove below and headed back onto the main path. Right now, she still hurt, and there was still so much turmoil. But she already felt she could get through it if she rebuilt her life one day at a time. She thought of the soft sand and the grassy banks of Maenporth. It was a beautiful afternoon for a jog along the coast.

  Afternoon of Thursday 26 th November – inside an executive office in Canary Wharf

  Katrina sat back in her reclining, swivel chair and looked out across the Thames – a teal body of water snaking through the chunks of grey. When she’d first found out that Nat had left her the publishing company where she used to work, Katrina had been furious – furious and astonished. He was dead and still affecting her life. She had planned to sell the company as soon as she could.

  However, when she’d started looking at the accounts and talking to the managing director, she’d found herself bursting with new ideas. Publishing was where she belonged. It had soon became apparent that there was no sense in selling one of the few thriving publishing businesses in London just so that she could start a new one in a hostile financial climate. She had found herself a position as head of acquisitions.

  She rotated her chair and looked at her diary. In one hour she would have the satisfaction of telling a terminally ill author that his life’s ambition to have his crime series published was going to be fulfilled. But before that, there was something she needed to do.

  She had brought the jacket Willow had left at her flat, and packaged it up in a mailing bag. She’d decided that returning the jacket would be the last contact she’d have with Willow Cassidy.

  Seeing someone else who’d gone through what she had suffered had helped Katrina gain clarity and move on. She felt that in some small way, her support had given Willow some closure too.

  Afternoon of Thursday 26 th November at Swanpool Beach

  It was a warm afternoon for November and the water gently lapped Swanpool Beach. Ross carried a pair of oars down to a white-glossed rowing boat.

  “In yer get!” he ordered, in his best pirate voice.

  “Where are you taking me?” demanded Demi, attempting a damsel in distress tone.

  “You’ll see.”

  Demi climbed into the rowing boat with her wrists shackled together. She noticed a padlocked black box on the bottom, similar to the record box that he kept his toys in, only smaller.

  Ross posted the oars into the boat and followed Demi on-board. He began to row. “Shiver me timbers!”

  After a few moments, Ross stopped rowing and removed the shackles. “In case you fall in,” he said kindly. Then he added, for false menace, “But no being naughty or I’ll throw ya in and tow ya along behind. Arr!”

  “Naughty, moi?” Demi replied with a twinkle in her eye.

  It was a still evening and there was hardly anybody on the water. They rowed west from Swanpool out towards Maenporth. Sand bathed in the crevasses of the grey-brown rocks, and half-dressed trees clung to the clifftops. Demi wondered where Ross was taking her – Sunny Cove, Newporth? However, when they got to Stack Point, instead of following the coast, Ross carried on out to sea.

  “Oi!” protested Demi. “I thought this was going to be our deserted cove fantasy.”

  “There’s something I need to do first.”

  Demi was intrigued. She considered herself sexually inventive, but could not work out how sexy time at sea was going to work. If Ross was determined to give her a seeing to in a boat, wouldn’t it be better to do it in shallower waters? ‘Safe, sane, consensual’ and all that.

  Ross retrieved something from the inside pocket of his jacket – a striking, ultrathin phablet. Demi felt her temples prickle. “That’s not …?”

  Ross nodded.

  Heck. “Where did you find it?”

  “It was in the jacket she left at Katrina’s house.”

  Demi’s sense of balance seemed to ebb away and she was glad that she was no longer shackled. “I didn’t know she had left a jacket at Katrina’s house.”

  “Well, apparently she did. It was delivered this morning.”

  “You opened Willow’s mail?”

  “No, she opened it, but she was running out the door at the time. I offered to stick the jacket in the wash. I don’t think she even knew the phone was in there.”

  Demi was quiet for a few moments, afraid to acknowledge what she’d felt in her bones for a very long time. Finally, “If Nat’s phone was in her jacket then he must have found her the morning that he died.”

  Ross nodded again.

  Demi could find only two words to sum up how she felt. “Holy fuck!” She grabbed the side of the boat, actually feeling that she might pass out.

  “My thoughts, exactly.”

  So Willow must have seen him die. Why else would she hide the fact that she had seen him at all? Willow’s silence painted a troubling picture. “No wonder she was terrified of being arrested.”

  “I’m sure it was an accident.”

  “Of course it was an accident. Willow doesn’t have an aggressive bone in her body. But the police don’t know that, do they? God. Lying won’t have done her any favours if they do find further evidence.”

  “There’s not much chance of that now. If there were any witnesses, they would have come forward weeks ago.”

  “I’m still trying to take this in.”

  “Try not to judge her too harshly. You know the pressure she was under …”

  “I’m not judging her! I’m just worried that she won’t be able to live with this.”

  “She seems to be coping – her dresses, her running … She’s more like the Willow I first met.”

  “But surely she must have wondered where the phone was. She knew the police were looking for it.”

  “I guess she thought she’d lost it.”

  “Why did she take it, not just throw it off the cliff?”

  “Perhaps there’s something so incriminating on here – the sort of thing that she couldn’t risk the divers finding.”

  “The very fact that she had it is incriminating. We need to get rid of it.”

  Ross held the phone over the side of the boat. “It’s dead anyway.”

  “Go on.”

  “Shouldn’t we ask her first?”

  Demi mulled it over. “If she wanted us to know what happened, she would have told us. Why drag it all up again?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Could there be anything on there that she needs?”

  Ross showed her the extensive damage to the phone. “Phones don’t get into this state by accident.”

  “Then lose it.”

  Ross held the phone over the side of the boat again. He let go, dropping it into the sea. The water swallowed it up as if it were just a plain old stone – not the crucial piece of evidence that tied Demi’s beloved sister to the death of Nathaniel Gordon.

  The two watched in silence, as if half expecting it to jump out of the water flashing and ringing like a police siren. But it was gone, swallowed by the depths.

  “So that’s that then,” remarked Demi. “Gone.”

  “Gone.”

  Demi took a deep breath. “What now?”

  “Carry on with our lives, I guess.”

  “Just like that?”

  “What else can we do?” asked Ross, shrugging those big shoulders. “We can’t let that wanker cast a cloud over us forever.” Then he added, “Do you want to go straight back? I totally understand that you need time to take this in.”

  Demi looked around at the lavender c
louds starting to scatter across the turquoise sky. Nat was gone, and he wasn’t robbing her or her family of anything else.

  “No,” said Demi. “Take me to the cove. I want to feel.”

  Ross gave her a knowing look and collected the oars, rowing slowly towards the shore. Demi found it hard to get Willow out of her mind, but what was the alternative? – going home would only give her chance to dwell on things.

  Ross let a respectful period of time elapse before saying, “Arr! Out of the boat, me ole wench!”

  Demi looked amused but not entirely impressed. “Darling, perhaps you could drop the pirate voice? It’s a little distracting.”

  “All right me ’eartie!” he boomed, before putting a finger to his lips. He returned to his usual voice, “Out of the boat, now!”

  The boat wasn’t properly grounded and wobbled as Demi tried to climb out. She found herself unable to follow his instruction.

  Slap. She felt Ross’s firm palm against her jeans. Deliberately, she stumbled some more. Slap! She leant over the side of the boat as the slaps came harder and faster. Eventually, she begged, “Stop!”

  “Do you promise you’ll get out of the boat?”

  “Yes!”

  Demi knew Ross was watching her bottom as she climbed out of the boat and gave it a knowing wiggle. She looked around at the sheer cliffs. She certainly couldn’t climb them with her fear of heights. The only way off the beach was in that boat.

  Ross now stood between her and her only exit, grinning with a mixture of menace and admiration. “On your knees.”

  Demi smiled and carefully lowered herself onto the coarse sand.

  “Now … take off your shirt.”

  “What, here?” She shook her head defiantly.

  “Am I going to have to come over there and rip it off?”

  She raised her eyebrows and looked at him with twinkling eyes.

  “Right!” Ross lunged forwards. Demi squealed and ran towards the cliffs until she was cornered. Ross grabbed her hips and dragged her onto the soft sand.

  “No!” she shrieked, trying to pick herself up.

  Ross climbed on top of her, pinning her down. She felt his entire body pressing against her back – his legs, his chest, his groin … She felt his breath on her neck. She was completely at his mercy.

  But Ross didn’t take use the opportunity to bite her neck or rip her trousers down and fuck her. Instead, he roughly rolled her onto her back.

  “Help!” squeaked Demi, feebly.

  He grabbed the two sides of her shirt and ripped them open, sending buttons flying. He quickly popped the clip between the two cups of her bra. Demi felt the cool November breeze firm her nipples.

  “Now, take off your jeans and stand up. I want you out in the open, naked.”

  Demi scanned the ocean but found it reassuringly empty – just a big expanse of turquoise gently rocking to the tune of the wind. Still, just because it was empty now …

  Ross teased her nipples with his teeth. She yelped and began taking off her jeans, first the button and then the zip. She lifted her bum and wriggled out of the stiff denim.

  “Now stand up.”

  Demi did as she was told, standing out in the open in just her white, lace knickers. She knew that her dark strip of hair could be seen through the fabric and that added to the thrill.

  Ross walked behind her and whispered, “You’re not naked.” He dropped to his knees. “Knickers off.” She could feel his breath on her lower back. He began tugging her knickers with his teeth until finally they dropped to the floor.

  Demi was completely exposed. The only boats in sight were huge, empty tankers moored in the distance, but there was something about being outside in a spot where she could be seen for miles around that made her feel beyond naked.

  Ross ran his fingers gently up the inside of her thighs until the tip of one brushed between her labia. He took his finger to his lips, tasting her, and made a satisfied groan.

  He kissed the backs of her knees, one after the other, then he collected together her clothes and took them down to the boat. Demi no longer had anything to hide behind, should anyone appear.

  Ross returned, clearly concealing something in his sleeve – something he’d collected from that box. Demi could only guess what it was. A blindfold? A whip? Not their fluffy-tailed butt plug? Not here!

  “Bend over.”

  She leaned forwards. So it was a whip? Her moisture attracted the tickle of the breeze. She felt something softly press against her buttocks – vibrating. Instinctively, she pulled away.

  “I don’t think so,” scolded Ross, pressing it against her again, this time bringing its smooth tip to her clit. Demi flinched. The sensation was overwhelming. She used every ounce of willpower she had to stop herself from cowering away.

  “Hold it,” whispered Ross.

  Demi took it from him. “How do you turn it down?”

  “You don’t.”

  She willed herself to keep it against herself, trying to fend off convulsions as her clit grew and pulsed.

  “Hold it properly or I’ll strap it to you.”

  Demi dropped to her knees, the experience far too intense for standing up.

  “You’re going to make so much noise that people hear you for miles around. You’re going to wish you had something to bite on.”

  “No!” objected Demi, thinking about all the people who might be walking nearby, all the kayakers and paddle boarders who might be just around the corner …

  Ross knelt in front of her and began unbuttoning his flies. He tore down his trousers. Somebody’s enthusiastic! She leaned forwards, trying to taste him, but only just managed to lick the tip before he pulled it away.

  He crawled behind her, pushing her forwards onto one elbow. She felt his erection tease her pussy. Then in one strong move, he slid his cock inside her, causing a thrill to run up her spine. Despite her predicament, Demi cried out.

  Was it just an illusion created by the vibrator or was Ross taking her more vigorously than ever? It was getting difficult to remain quiet. She lost grip of the vibrator and she just managed to catch it in time.

  Ross grabbed it. “Don’t drop it in the sand.”

  “I won’t,” promised Demi, reaching out for it.

  “I need to be sure,” he replied, not giving it back. He pushed the tip of the vibrator against her asshole, tempting it to open.

  Demi yelped. He worked in another an inch. She felt a wave of pleasure caress her backbone. He worked it in another inch. “No!” And then another …

  Finally, the vibrator was in place. Fuck, she felt full. Demi’s instincts started crying out for him to remove it; her excitement disagreed. It was impossible not to let out shocked moans every time he thrust forward, forcing both his cock and the vibrator deep inside.

  “Turn over,” whispered Ross, pulling out.

  Demi quickly rolled onto her back, lying flat out on the sand like a sex doll created purely for his pleasure. She appreciated the interlude – a chance to fend off orgasm and the inevitable volume she was determined to avoid.

  He treated her pussy to his cock once again, but this time, as he rode in and out, he rubbed his pubis against her clit, electrifying her. She knew that there was no way to prevent herself climaxing now.

  She clenched, trying to cope with the intensity, but that only made her close around the two shafts inside her. She felt her body begin to tremor and willed herself to be quiet.

  Demi bit down on her hand tying to conceal her climax, but the lilac sunset saw them clearly; domination, submission and freedom.

  Note from the author

  I wrote this book because I was angry – angry about the glamorisation of abuse in E.L. James’ Fifty Shades trilogy. The books are about the sexual awakening of Anastasia (Ana) Steele, a young virgin who meets Christian Grey, a sexually-experienced billionaire looking for a Dom-sub relationship. However, the ‘romance’ between the two central characters is fundamentally toxic.

 
; Defenders of the book often assume that people who consider Christian and Ana’s relationship abusive are opposed to BDSM, but this is not the case. If a woman wants to cover herself in honey, swing from the light fitting and get spanked with every leftward swing, good for her – provided it’s actually what she wants, and not something she’s been coerced into.

  Christian plies Ana with alcohol in order to get her to agree to a contract consenting to a wide range of sexual practices about which she knows very little. He does not provide her beforehand with the information she needs in order to give informed consent. When she expresses objections to certain activities, he talks her into changing her mind. They decide upon a safe word, which he later berates her for using.

  Safe words are a key part of any power-play relationship because they give both parties the opportunity to withdraw consent clearly and quickly at any time. Christian sulks when Ana uses her right to say no, instead of respecting her freedom to set her own boundaries.

  Christian’s anger fuels many of Ana’s beatings. Hurting somebody through fury and/or resentment is the very opposite of inflicting pain because it is mutually enjoyable.

  Another counter to criticism of Fifty Shades is ‘women like to be dominated’. Dom-sub relationships come in every gender combination. The important issue is not the gender of the people involved or whether some like to be dominated; it’s that submissives do not need to be bullied, controlled and disrespected in order to enjoy being dominated.

  Protest Resources1 issued an eFlyer listing seven signs of an abusive relationship, all of which are prevalent in Fifty Shades. It has frequently been reproduced quoting a widely accepted BDSM mantra: ‘Safe, sane, consensual’2. The text stresses the importance of aftercare following S&M play. Christian repeatedly fails to provide aftercare, for example: after Ana’s first spanking, he leaves her in a state of emotional turmoil. Their liaisons regularly leave her in tears.

  The Dom-sub relationship is not limited to a space and time agreed by Ana and Christian. Christian is controlling and manipulative in many areas of Ana’s life. He uses GPS (illegally) to track her phone. He isolates her from her family and friends. He buys the company where she works.