Daphne nodded. She’d asked him to help her move something – she was worried about Arthur’s back. Richard had been hiding in the room he’d announced was his study all day. Neither of them had said anything about last night – or this morning.
“Fucking real estate agents -- cable ethernet my ass –“ Richard cursed as she slowly backed out the door.
She returned to Arthur on the second floor. “I’m sorry –“
“Ma’am, just let me help –“
“We’ll get to it. There’s no rush. We’re not going anywhere. Let’s try it again tomorrow – or hire some help from in town.” She thought of Jason with a flush. “Maybe we could get Mr. Gale to come up?”
“We could’ve – but I fear they’ve already left for the day. It seems they got an early start.”
“I think so,” she said, biting back a secret smile. “But if he says he’ll come up later, it’s okay to leave it alone until then.”
“What will you be doing for the rest of the day?” Arthur inquired politely.
A string of curses echoed out from Richard’s study, and Daphne sighed.
“I think I’ll be taking a walk outside.”
Daphne let herself out the back and into the fallow vegetable garden. A few untamed cabbage were bolting, sending up wide stalks of yellow flowers, trying to hold onto their place against the surrounding weeds. She wondered how long she could keep this pretense up – how long could she swallow her pride?
If Richard would just stay home for a whole month, if he’d just fuck her once a day, if he’d just loved her like she’d loved him before she knew about any of this – she sat down on a bench and couldn’t help but draw a comparison between herself and the garden in front of her, like so much perfectly tilled soil, her womanhood was going to waste.
The sun baked down on her – and then she felt an even more intense heat on her leg in the shape of one hand.
She’d almost forgotten about the ghost, between last night and hearing Richard this morning. He still was here for her. No matter what –
“Oh God,” she began to apologize, turning towards him. She thought she could feel her shoulder brush his. “Things haven’t been how I planned at all. We don’t love each other anymore, it’s clear, isn’t it?”
The ghost didn’t say anything and didn’t move.
“It’s just that I desperately want a child. And you can’t give me that – plus if I leave him, I leave here. You don’t want that either, do you?”
The hand on her leg squeezed it once.
“But I know I’ve been awful. Luring you in and then him interrupting, and then you watching me with him –“ She didn’t dare mention her time in the window at dawn. “It’s just – ever since you opened me up – I’ve been flooded with all these needs and wants and desires.” Daphne pursed her lips in thought. “I feel like I don’t know who I am now. I know who I used to be, but I don’t want to be her anymore.” As she said the words she started to cry. The ghost looped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Closing her eyes she leaned into him without fear and it was like he was there, really holding her as she sobbed.
“Everything is so hard. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle it.”
The ghost held her, and then set her straight on the bench, and disappeared.
“Wait – come back – don’t go –“ she didn’t want to be alone yet.
A shadow was coming up – Richard? More likely Arthur, with tea. She wiped at her eyes so he wouldn’t know she’d been crying, and turned and saw no one there. She looked again at the shadow, stretched long by the angle of the sun. Was that the man she was with right now? A sudden movement attracted her eyes – and she saw a stick moving, held up in front of the wall of shrubs that shielded the garden. A cane.
She’d wondered aloud if she was strong – and so he’d gone and found a way to prove it to her.
Daphne swallowed and stood. It made all the sense in the world, and none at all, both at the same time. But as the cane hovered in mid-air and the shadow neared, she knew what must be done.
She turned and grabbed hold of the back of the bench, bending over, presenting her bottom to the Master. A hot hand pushed her skirt up to her waist, exposing her ass to the sun. She was strong enough, she’d see, all she had to do was just hold on –
The first smack was an unexpected flash of pain. She didn’t know what she’d thought it would feel like – she hadn’t thought at all – but she didn’t know how bad it would sting. It hurt, it really hurt, there was so much pain she didn’t know what to do with it, where all of it should go, and before she could figure it out --
The second stroke one sent her up on her toes, hissing, fingers clawed into the back of the bench as she choked back more tears. Nerves just on the edge of quieting stung her, furious with her for letting them get smacked not once but twice –
And then the third blow landed.
She cried out, unable to help herself.
There was the sound of running on gravel and the cane dropped and she pushed her skirt back down, facing to see who had come to her rescue.
It was Richard. With the sunlight behind him, he looked like a knight in shining armor, and she felt ashamed about the painful streaks across her ass.
“I’m okay,” she said, trying to allay him.
“The market’s crashed in Paris. If I’m not there in person –“ he began, the second he saw her.
He kept talking as she tried to parse his words, blood rushing in her ears. He hadn’t heard her cry out and come running – he hadn’t come out to rescue her. He’d come out to tell her he had to leave, again. She was so dumbfounded by this that she blurted out, “You can’t go.”
He blinked and pulled back as though she’d slapped him. “I have to. The driver’s on the way.”
“No.” Her hands found the top button on her shirt-dress and undid it. “I’m your wife.” Her hands sank to the second button, the third. “I need a baby, Richard. This house – it’s too much for me, all alone.”
“I swear, the second I get back, we’ll make one – we’ll make twins, if we have to.” He was trying to make jokes, now that he realized how deadly serious she’d become.
“I want you now, Richard. I need you now. I need you to put me first.” She reached the last of the buttons and let the shirt dress fall to the ground. If the sun backlighting him turned him into a knight, then all of it on her exposed skin now turned her into a glowing angel. She could see the indecision on his face, how he fought with himself, the outline of his cock growing against his dress pants.
“Pet, I can’t. I barely have time to pack and print my tickets.” He crossed the space to her though anyhow, grabbing her to him roughly, his hands groping her ass where it still burned from the cane. “It’s only three days. I promise I'll fuck you the moment I return.”
She didn’t say anything, she didn’t want to grant him permission, or even tell him good-bye. He let go of her and, sensing her change, stalked off, to convince himself he was doing the right thing no doubt. She waited until he was gone, picked her dress back up to put it on, and found Arthur on her way inside the house.
“Please call Mr. Gale and see when he’ll be available next.”
“Of course, Ma’am.”
The caning hurt her for the rest of the day. Every time she sat she remembered it, and there was no way to avoid sitting. Instead of reminding her how she’d been strong and what she’d survived, the pain only echoed Richard’s betrayal. Off again. For ‘business’. Of course.
Daphne wandered down into his study, to where he’d set up his computer. She would order pregnancy tests, in bulk. Spending his money vengefully was the only thing she could do to hurt him.
The second she was pregnant, she’d be free. And nine months later when she was holding a baby – she would get a divorce. Keep the house, and keep the child, and that would be that.
She shook the mouse and the screen blinked to life. She was searchin
g for the most expensive shipping option when a small window popped up.
Beccababy93: You there?
The cursor fluttered in time with her heartbeat.
Call me?
Can’t, Daphne typed back, slowly. Wife.
She ruins everything :P
Daphne puckered her lips, looking at the screen, trying to decide what precisely to do next. A few short days ago she would have closed the screen and just stepped away. But now – like a child who couldn’t stop playing with fire, she knew she wanted their conversation to go on. Not everything. She gives excellent blowjobs.
You said mine were better! Low. Daphne squinted at the screen. She couldn’t push too hard – but what would look better in divorce court than a transcript of some woman recounting memories of her time with Richard?
I did? She hit return. It was the kind of imperious thing Richard would say. Remind me which one? In particular. Use details.
A long pause, in which Daphne feared she’d overplayed her hand.
Paris? Or London?
Both, Daphne typed, and then sat back.
What followed were fairly pedestrian narratives. Funny stories about getting caught in the rain, hiding from a gendarme in a park, fate throwing them together – or throwing her at his cock. Daphne watched the words scroll across the screen and it felt like someone else was reading them, not her. She said nothing, which only encouraged the other woman to go to greater lengths, perhaps fearing she was losing her dearest Richard to the warm arms of his wife. Daphne breathed in and out dispassionately as the woman finished up, and cut and paste everything into a separate screen to print it off for later.
Is everything okay? BeccaBaby93 had nervously asked in ‘Richard’s’ absence.
Leave her hanging? Write things out of spite? Tell her the truth? Pretend ‘Richard’ was getting called away?
The moment hovered, stretching out uncomfortably long, and then the temperature in the room jumped up around Daphne like someone had turned on a nearby oven. She waved her hands around herself -- the ghost was near, not tangible yet, but close by.
Everything’s fine. Keys on the keyboard in front of her moved, soundlessly, and the letters the ghost was typing appeared.
You were so quiet, Becca typed back quickly.
My hands were too busy to type.
Daphne straightened and turned. Had he been reading over her shoulder? Had Becca’s pathetic retelling of a blowjob turned him on? She flushed with anger and shame – she couldn’t be losing out to Becca with the Master, too.
Tell me what you’re going to do to me when you see me next, Becca prompted.
Daphne rolled her eyes.
Do you really want to know? the ghost typed back.
Yes.
Are you sure? the ghost teased, after just the perfect amount of time passed. Daphne could imagine Becca wriggling in her seat on the far end of the line, a worm caught on a hook.
Yes! Tell me!
You want to see into the filthy blackness of my heart?
You know I love it when you talk dirty. Daphne almost felt bad for the girl then, trying desperately to keep her husband – a man who clearly played with women like dice – interested in her. And then Becca typed in some emoticon, a smiley face with large innocently blinking eyes and Daphne wanted to swat the monitor to the ground. I hope the Master gives you what you deserve, Daphne thought, and pushed back from the keyboard.
The ghost took this for the permission that it was, and words began to flood the screen.
Chapter Twelve
What if I did more than talk?
What if I really were dirty?
What if there were things about me that I could never change? Things I’ve never dared to show you? Things I’ve been dying to share?
Daphne swallowed and leaned forward to read.
I just bought a new estate. Imagine my surprise when I was unpacking our first night and found a hidden door.
What was behind it? Becca asked.
Shhh. I’ll tell this story my own way, at my own pace.
Another pregnant pause.
Just for you.
I opened up the door and walked down its stairs with a flashlight. There were cobwebs and dust, and I knew that no one had been down there for a very, very long time.
And when I got to the bottom of the stair I looked around – there were things there. Strange pieces of furniture, wood and metal, bound with dark leather. I walked among them and stroked my hand along their smooth curves and knew what they were for and felt…at peace. As though, despite the entire house being mine, and having owned houses before this one, that I had at last truly come home.
Daphne crept to the end of her chair, imagining Becca mirroring her on the far side.
Do you want to know what I would do to you there? If you were here? If my troublesome wife weren’t in the way?
Daphne pursed her lips at the word troublesome. No doubt that was how Richard thought of her, and yet.
Yes, Becca typed and the ghost continued.
I would blindfold you first. Then I would take your hand and pull you to the stairway I’d found and take you down the stairs, one by one by one. You would have to trust me with the blindfold on. You’d have no choice.
I could always take the blindfold off, Becca typed.
But you wouldn’t. If you take it off, the story would be over, wouldn’t it? And you don’t want it to end yet, do you?
The cursor blinked beside the question mark for a long while. No.
Good.
Another pause, as if ‘Richard’ were deciding whether or not to go on. Daphne knew her husband was as straight as an arrow, and he’d never put a hand on her, during sex or otherwise. She wondered if his relationship with this Becca were different…or if Becca was stunned by the slightly dangerous turn this story was taking. If, wherever it was that she was typing from now, she were turned on.
I lead you down into the basement – no, not a basement, that’s not the right word for it, though that’s what it is. It’s a dungeon. And it’s full of things that haven’t been used in years…and I’m desperate for a chance to use them.
There’s a table. Waist height. I take you over to it and push you down on it, and you can feel its chill against the weight of your breasts as I tie your arms.
You feel my hand against your back, stroking the softness of the skin I’m about to mar, and you flinch, not knowing what will happen, only that you’re chained and you can’t do anything to protect yourself against what’s coming next –
I swat you, with a tease, open handed. The sound of it echoes in the small room, the crisp sound of flesh on flesh. You shiver and whimper, a little scared, but more turned on.
Shall I spank you again, dearest?
Daphne swallowed. The ghost was playing with Becca – and with her.
Yes. Becca’s response was tentative, but Daphne’s wasn’t. Daphne let her knees slide apart, and started slowly moving her hand up her thigh.
A torrent of words filled the screen. The ghost explained in intricate, daring, detail what would happen to the kind of girls who left themselves blindfolded in strange houses at night. Whatever fear or shame Daphne might have had fell by the wayside as she read each delicious line – knowing he was writing it for her. Becca’s presence was merely an afterthought – but knowing that she was waiting on the far end, just as eager as she was for the next word, was a strange turn on. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. Daphne’s fingers were circling her clit through her underwear, in turns rough and soft, and her breathing was coming out in shallow pants and she was holding onto the chair with her freehand because she might fall over if she let go – she was so close, her toes were pointed, her calves tight, as she imagined herself tied to the table, as the Master’s cock started to slide in and out – she bit back a moan and rubbed herself harder.
Words flared on Becca’s side. Husband home! GTG!
There was an excruciating pause where Daphne kept her heat u
p, willing the ghost to go on with his story –
We HAVE to do this again, Becca typed, before logging off.
“Please –“ Daphne begged in real life. “Tell me the end.”
The sensation of heat, outside and within, began to fade.
“No – I’m so close – please –“
The screen went black, and Daphne sagged back against the chair, sitting in a pool of her own desires and frustration.
Daphne spent the rest of the evening before dinner looking for the door. She had no doubt that it existed – the ghost described it too perfectly for that. But how to get there from here? That was the question. She began her inquiries on the upper wing of the other floor.
She traced her hand around floorboards, underneath the massive bed left behind, and against the back walls of closets, knocking, listening for hollow points.
The house was so complicated and so old though – there could be twenty hidden passageways – the whole thing could be like an episode of Scoobie Doo, and she wouldn’t know until she tripped into the right wall sconce.
During all of her searches, she knew the ghost was near. Watching her. Feeding off her hope and her frustration, probably laughing to himself at her grasping blindly at anything that could get her back to that table and his cock.
“This is epically unfair,” she complained alound, after searching the last room. She thought she heard him chuckle from beside her – and then Arthur ring for dinner.
“Arthur –“ she asked by the third course, “Do you know of any secret passageways? Or rooms?”
Arthur seemed taken aback by the question. “No, Ma’am. Have you found one?”
“Oh, no.” She let her voice drift off. “I was just thinking. A big house like this has to have two or three.”
“They used to put them in on purpose in the old days, so that you wouldn’t have to see the servants scurrying about.”
“Really?”
“Well, and to hide treasures. In the old days, it was also hard to count on banks.”
The Haunted (Sleeping with Monsters Book 1) Page 8