Elicitation (The Training of Eileen)

by William Vitelli

  He nodded. “I’ll make sure she gets here.” He turned and offered Eileen his arm. “Shall we go?”

  She leaned heavily against him and let him walk her out to the car. Rain fell; the steady patter on the roof of the car soon lulled her to sleep. Her dreams were filled with vague shapes, standing over her, doing uncomfortable things to her, always remaining just out of her reach.

  Chapter 2

  The next three days were a whirlwind of chaos. Wedding guests poured in from all over, the majority of them friends of Anthony’s. Her entire extended family flew up for the wedding. Her mother immediately took a liking to Anthony, and gushed approval at every opportunity. “He’s so handsome! And what a provider! He will take great care of my little orange blossom.” Even her father, who tended toward cynicism and often distrusted the bulk of humanity, warmed up to him when they discovered a mutual love of hunting dogs and antique cars.

  Eileen herself spent the days buried in last minute details. She worried over the fit of her dress, obsessed over the catering, agonized over music for the reception. Anthony indulged her with good humor, reassured her that things would be fine, and generally stayed out of her way.

  Occasionally throughout the days, strange shards of images would flash through her head, almost too quickly to identify. Vivid lightning flashes of helplessness and shame accompanied them, always gone before she could capture them.

  Several times during the next two nights she awoke gasping from the same dream. In it, she was lying peacefully in her bed, alone, when the mattress beneath her began to ripple and heave. Arms erupted from it, groping and flailing; strong hands seized her roughly, pinning her down. More arms burst out of the mattress and grabbed her ankles tightly. They pulled her legs apart violently, easily overcoming her struggles. Hands sprang forth all around her, as if the bed itself had come alive; they tore at her clothing, ripped it to shreds, left her naked.

  The bed writhed beneath her. A huge, blind tentacle, hideous, head dripping wetness, tore through the sheet between her outstretched legs and writhed in the air. She shuddered in helpless horror when it slid up her thigh, seeking her sex, leaving a trail of slippery wetness on her skin. The monstrous thing coiled around her leg and hung there for a moment, quivering, poised to strike.

  It sprang with tremendous speed and precision, striking directly at her most intimate place. The hands held her tightly as the great, thick tentacle impaled her, buried itself deep inside her. She opened her mouth to scream at the violation, and another tentacle, just as large as the first, sprang forth from the bed above her. It dove unerringly toward her face, slid deeply into her open mouth, choking her in mid-cry.

  The two tentacles thrust in synchronization. She struggled in the grip of the clenching hands; they spread her legs wider, allowing easier access to the tentacle buried in her. The tentacle in her mouth forced itself farther down her throat, preventing her from screaming. Still more flailing hands erupted from the undulating mattress and found her breasts. They groped and squeezed roughly; clawed fingers pinched and pulled her nipples.

  The entire bed shook violently. The tentacles rammed into her, fast and hard. She could do nothing save for shudder in dread as those thick, serpentine appendages began to throb and pulse.

  Suddenly, simultaneously, both tentacles erupted, spewing great quantities of thick, milky fluid like fire hoses. She shook, helpless, as warm wetness gushed into her, poured down her throat…

  …and she jerked awake, with a start, covered in a sheen of sweat, to the sound of Anthony’s quiet breathing beside her.

  The third time the dream visited her, on the eve of their wedding, she lay in bed trembling, unable to fall asleep again. Tightness gripped her chest; she felt a quivering in her belly, and a sense of strange, indefinable longing filled. The dream had been so vivid, she could almost feel the hands on her body, taste the warm and slightly salty fluid in her mouth…

  She ran her palms flat over her breasts, and discovered with surprise that her nipples were hard. The longing increased. She moved one hand down between her legs, and her fingers found wetness. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her heartbeat quickened. Carefully, slowly, afraid to wake her fiancé, she parted her legs and slipped her fingers between the folds of her labia. She masturbated quickly, her head still filled with visions of penetrating tentacles, and sighed softly as she came.

  Instantly, humiliation and revulsion filled her. She turned away from Anthony, ashamed. When she drifted into a restless sleep, the dream did not return.

  The morning of the wedding, a watery sun dawned in a threatening sky. Eileen’s mother fretted about the weather, concerned that rain would ruin the day. Eileen herself remained quiet, reserved. The memory of the night before, her perverse dream and what she’d done afterward, lingered. She feared the dream meant she was some kind of sexual deviant, and worried what might happen if Anthony somehow found out. Had he awakened when she touched herself? Was he, even now, having second thoughts about marrying her, unwilling to be with a woman who would do something so filthy? He had already left, gone to the church early with his friends; her mother bustled about, adjusting her dress and fretting about the weather, and Eileen found herself detached, scarcely even paying attention as her mother turned her this way and that in front of the mirror.

  “Did you see that man of yours this morning? He looks so handsome in a tuxedo! No, of course you didn’t. It’s bad luck for a bride and groom to see each other before the wedding. It’s tradition, you know. That’s what’s wrong with these younger people today. No respect for tradition. I do hope it doesn’t rain. Rain would ruin everything. We don’t want to get your dress wet! I hope the limousine shows up on time. I sent your father to call the limo driver. They should be here early. It’s just not right, making a woman wait on her wedding day. Turn this way a little. Eileen? Are you listening to your mother?”

  “What?” She blinked and shook herself. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about other things.”

  Her mother’s face creased into a smile. “Oh, that’s all right. This is a big day for you! Your father and I are so proud of you. I’m sorry to be carrying on like this.”

  Eileen smiled back. “It’s okay, Mom. Everything will be fine.” Somewhere deep inside her, a nagging feeling told her there was something she was forgetting. Something important. Something about the honeymoon, perhaps? She couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

  Her father came in to announce that the limousine had arrived. The nagging voice in the back of her mind disappeared, and she swept up the train of the dress and hurried out the front door.

  Her mother’s fears proved unfounded. By the time they arrived at the church, the midmorning sun had burned away the forbidding clouds to stream down in all its glory.

  The ceremony went flawlessly. Eileen’s mother sat in the front row and glowed with pride as Eileen walked down the aisle with her father, cried in happiness as she and Anthony exchanged their “I dos.” Afterward, the entire crowd of people, nearly sixty in all, descended on the banquet hall for the reception.

  The afternoon was a frenzy of activity. Eileen’s mother fretted over the time. “I know the airline tells you to be at the airport two hours early, but you’re flying overseas. Shouldn’t you get there even earlier than that? Maybe you should leave now. Is four hours too early? Did you remember your passports? I knew it was a bad idea for you to leave straight from the reception. What if you left something at home? You won’t have time to stop and get it. Did you leave anything at home?”

  Anthony’s friend and best man Robert, who’d traveled from Chicago for the wedding, offered a long, rambling toast, filled with in-jokes and slightly off-color comments that made Eileen’s mother harrumph and shoot him disapproving looks. He ended more seriously: “As Anthony and Eileen travel forward together as husband and wife, they will face surprises and challenges as they adapt to their new roles. I am certain that they have it within them to adjust to these changes, and will ultima
tely find happiness in their new lives. To Anthony and Eileen!”

  The guests applauded, drank champagne, danced. The photographer took pictures of the two of them, their family, and the guests; the guests took pictures of each other. Eileen’s mother became obsessed with the clock, growing more and more agitated until finally she couldn’t take it any more. “Off! Go! Both of you! Right now! You need to get to the airport! Do you have your passports? Go!” Anthony laughed with good humor, and bade Eileen to change for the flight. He turned the wedding dress and his tuxedo over to the care of her mother. Task done, he took Eileen by the arm and escorted her to the waiting limousine.

  Chapter 3

  The trip to the airport went quickly. Anthony had packed an astonishing quantity of luggage, including a very large steamer trunk, locked with a heavy padlock, whose contents were a complete mystery. They checked in with ample time, and waited at the terminal, tickets in hand.

  “Do you feel any different, now that you’re officially my wife?”

  She smiled. “Not really, no. I feel the same as I did this morning, only maybe a little more tired.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I’m sure you will. I have plans for you this evening.”

  She slapped his hand. “Anthony! Stop that!”

  “Stop what?” he asked innocently.

  She lowered her voice. “Stop referring to sex! There are other people here.”

  “How do you know I was referring to sex?”

  She looked away without answering.

  Eventually, they were called to board. The layover in Newark was brief, and before long, the plane was winging over the ocean. Eileen, exhausted, settled back in her seat, and soon fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, where she remained for the rest of the flight.

  They arrived midmorning London time. After waiting in line at customs, they were greeted by a driver from the hotel where they’d booked their stay. Anthony struggled to wrestle the pile of luggage into the van. As they made their way through busy streets, Eileen watched the city go by with wonder and awe; this was her first time traveling abroad, and everything seemed strange and exotic. The buildings of the theatre district slid by the windows.

  When they arrived, the driver helped Anthony unload the baggage. Eileen listened entranced as Anthony spoke to a man behind the desk about their reservations. Everything, from the accents of the hotel staff to the unfamiliar road signs on the street, seemed to reinforce the sense that they were in an exotic, faraway land. She was almost disappointed when he finished checking in and they rode up to the penthouse suite.

  The disappointment vanished as they stepped into the penthouse. It was huge; larger than the first apartment she’d lived in. Five huge, floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room offered a breathtaking view of London, and gave the penthouse an open, spacious air. A huge flat-screen television dominated one wall. The dining area had a table large enough for six. The room even had its own office, with an equally stunning view. The bedroom, tastefully appointed in white and muted colors, sported the largest bed she’d ever seen.

  Anthony pushed the baggage into the closet. “Do you like this place?”

  “I love it!” she burbled. She jumped into his arms and kissed him deeply. “This place is gorgeous! I can hardly wait to go out and explore!”

  “Plenty of time for that later,” he smiled. “I think we need to unpack and get settled in first. Why don’t you take a bath? We’ve been on the plane for eleven hours. I’ll get everything put away.”

  She trotted into the bathroom, tiled in pale pink stone, and let out a yelp of glee. “Wow! Did you see the tub in here? It’s gigantic!” He smiled as he hung clothes in the closet.

  She stripped and drew a bath. The hotel had thoughtfully provided a variety of bath salts and bubble bath, and she relaxed in the fragrant water and let the tension flow out of her. She stayed there for a long time, daydreaming about what the city might show her. Two weeks hardly seemed like enough time to explore such a magical place.

  Her mind wandered, back over the wedding and the reception. The nagging feeling came back; what was she forgetting? She was certain she’d remembered to pack everything, but still, that voice told her there was something else she should be remembering,..

  She shook her head and pushed the feeling back. Whatever it was, it was too late now; if she had forgotten something, she’d have to replace it here or do without. She rose from the tub, rinsed, dried, slipped into one of the plush white bathrobes hanging in the bathroom. “Anthony,” she sang as she walked into the bedroom, “let’s go out! I want to explore…”

  The words died on her lips. Anthony was sitting on the bed smiling, naked save for the towel wrapped around his waist and a fine gold chain around his neck. He’d scattered rose petals around the floor, and placed a row of small candles around the bed. The lighting in the room was a subdued, soothing blue.

  He rose and took her in his arms. “The city can wait, don’t you think?” he whispered softly. She felt his breath on her neck as he nuzzled her. She moaned, weak-kneed. He turned her gently in his arms, kissed the back of her neck sensuously. His hands descended to her waist, untied the sash of her robe. He parted it, slipped it from her body. She tried to turn to face him; his hands on her shoulders stopped her. “Lie down.”

  She walked over to the bed and stretched out on it; one finger beckoned him over. He smiled and held up a small bottle. “Turn over.”

  She rolled over face down. He knelt on the bed, straddling her waist. She felt him shift as he opened the bottle, smelled peaches and honeysuckle. Something warm drizzled down her back, then his hands caressed her shoulders. She smiled and closed her eyes as she relaxed under his hands.

  He massaged her shoulders, strong and skillful hands warm on her body. His hands worked slowly down her back, kneading muscles tired from the long flight. He poured some more oil into his palms, then worked the small of her back, steady and thorough. She sighed with pleasure when his hands worked their magic on her buttocks, and made their way down the backs of her legs. By the time he reached her feet, she was nearly asleep.

  “Turn over.” He helped her roll over, drizzled more oil down her body, between her breasts. Softly, gently, his hands caressed her collarbone, slid down over her breasts, moved back up her sides. She moaned and arched her back as they repeated the journey, pressing her breasts into his hands.

  “Does that feel good?”

  “Mmm, yes. It feels wonderful!”

  He smiled. “Good. Here, put your arms over your head.” He took her hands in his, raised her arms, placed her hands gently on the edge of the bed above her head. “There. Just like that.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can do this.” He reached beneath the bed, brought out two lengths of chain, each ending in a wide, bright metal cuff, padded on the inside with thin leather. Before she could respond, he had locked the cuffs around her wrists.

  “Hey!” She pulled on her wrists, but the chains were fastened securely beneath the bed, and they would no come free. A strong feeling of déjà vu took her, and she felt a touch of irrational fear. “Take these off!”

  He moved down to the foot of the bed, drew another chain from beneath it, grabbed her ankle tightly. She squirmed and twisted as he cuffed her ankle. The fear turned to panic; she felt that there was something wrong, something she couldn’t remember. “Anthony, I mean it! I don’t like this! Take these off!”

  He crossed to the other side of the bed, grabbed her other ankle. She fought and kicked like a wildcat as he struggled to chain it down; twice, she drove her foot into his stomach, causing him to let out a “whoof!” of surprise. Finally, he took her ankle in both hands, pinned her foot to the bed, and sat on her as he attached the manacle. He was panting with exertion when he stepped back to examine his handiwork.

  She thrashed and struggled against her bonds. “Let me go! This is not funny! I don’t want this! Take these off of me right now!”

  He sat on the edge of the bed ne
xt to her. “You are a very beautiful woman,” he said. He reached out and touched her breast lightly; she twisted away and glared at him. “Oh, yes. You’re going to make a great fuck toy.”

  She stopped moving, shocked, and looked at him with venom in her eyes. “What did you just say?”

  “I said,” he repeated, “you’re going to make a great fuck toy.” He squeezed her breast tightly. “I’m going to enjoy using you for sex.”

  “How dare you! How dare you talk to me that way! Get your hands off of me, you filthy pig! I mean it!”

  He released her and arched an eyebrow. “Filthy pig? That’s not very nice.” His hand pressed between her legs; even as she squirmed to get away, he shoved two fingers roughly into her. She screamed.

  “If I’m a filthy pig, then what does that make you? You’re wet down here. I think your body likes this. What kind of little whore gets turned on by being chained down against her will?”

  “Stop it! Why are you doing this to me? Stop!”

  He slid his fingers from her and wiped them on her thigh. “I suggest you consider your position. I don’t think you really ought to be telling me what to do.” He grinned, relaxed and confident. “Let me be very clear here, so there’s no misunderstanding. I am not going to stop. I’m going to use you for sexual pleasure. I am going to fuck you,” a subtle emphasis on the word, “whenever I want, however I want, whether you want me or not. From this point forward, you exist to serve my sexual needs. Your job is to give up your body for sex. You wanted to be a stay-at-home wife; this is how you will earn your keep.”

  “I will not! Let me go, you…you…pervert!”

  He laughed. “Let you go? No. I want you to tell me that you’re my sex slave and you want my cock in you.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “You don’t want my cock inside you?”