The Black Onyx Pact

by Baroque, Morgana D.

  - Prologue

  - Chapter I

  - Chapter II

  - Chapter III

  - Chapter IV

  - Chapter V

  - Chapter VI

  - Chapter VII

  - Chapter VIII

  - Chapter IX

  - Chapter X

  - Chapter XI

  - Chapter XII

  - Chapter XIII

  - Chapter XIV

  - Chapter XV

  - Epilogue

  The Black Onyx Pact

  by

  Morgana D. Baroque

  ~

  Copyright 2012 by Morgana D. Baroque

  All Rights Reserved

  ~

  This novel is a product of the author's imagination.

  The characters and events are fictional, except in the case of historical figures, places and events which are used in a fictitious way.

  Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

  ~

  Cover image:

  Gold and Onyx

  by Chiara Manca

  “Dedicated to all the souls

  who are not afraid to love.”

  Morgana D. Baroque

  ~

  “A grateful Thank You to my husband,

  for embracing me tightly,

  when I needed.

  And for laughing at my fears,

  helping me to diminish them. ”

  ~

  “A Thank You from the bottom of my heart,

  to my friend Lisa;

  for her encouragements,

  and for her picturesque way of telling me off. ”

  - Prologue

  “A man with outward courage dares to die; a man with inner courage dares to live.”

  —Lao Tzu

  ~

  In Autumn evenings the city of Paris shines like a diamond caressed by the Moon. And now that it's raining it seems even more enchanted, touched by the drops which sparkle like a myriad of watery crystals on a blooming meadow. It is a dreamy vision, an inspiring sight.

  Sibylle is in her large apartment located in the Trocadéro area of Paris, a luxury apartment furnished in a Baroque style, with rare and valuable pieces.

  Sibylle is a painter and a young woman of refined beauty, the kind of beauty that impresses for its exquisiteness. She has a slim body, bright emerald eyes and dark long wavy hair that fondles her back. She looks so delicate and fragile. This evening she is wearing a sexy purple satin chemise, a silk blue robe and a fine pair of bedroom transparent shoes with silver heels. She spent hours to make herself beautiful, since that's a special occasion: it's her birthday and she wants to seduce her husband. Hoping he is in the mood. She strokes the two cats sleeping on the red satin bedspread and begins to light up all the candles scattered around the house, then she puts on a sensuous music.

  She feels a bit tired so she goes to lie down on a red plush sofa in Louis XVI style, and as soon as she closes her eyes she fall asleep. She finds herself in that dream again, a recurring dream that dwells in her mind since some time now. The dream always begins suddenly and sees her wandering barefoot on the streets of Paris, during a violent uprising. It's afternoon, but the sky is strangely black. She marches with other people, protesting, screaming and shouting something unintelligible. Suddenly the anti-riot police advance vehemently, and in the chaos of the escape she manages to get away from the crowd rushing towards a desert side street. She runs all the way but when she turns she stops and looks at the wall in astonishment, realizing it's a dead end. She looks around thinking what to do, but she petrifies when she sees a man of the riot control standing at the entrance of the road. He is frightfully tall, massive and menacing as a nocturnal predator. He is dressed in black fatigues, a pair of combat boots, a bullet-proof vest, a balaclava and a helmet. He stares at her with a shield in one hand and a truncheon in the other. She slowly steps back and then runs to ‘hide’ behind the corner flattening against the wall with her back, panting silently, hoping he will leave her alone. But the man appears, and she can't hold back a moan of fear when she sees him: he is colossal! She feels in danger but, strangely, she also feels aroused.

  Dressed in that white dress with light green reflections, barefoot, with her legs shaking and her chest moving fast she feels deeply helpless. She looks at the man with her shoulders trembling in fear; and she feels even more exposed when gazing into those green eyes of his. They are so piercing that seem to have the power to touch the soul. It's a different green from hers. She has vibrant emerald eyes, while this man's eyes color is a middle ground between green and amber, streaked like those of a feline. They are of a lighter color around the pupil which it becomes darker in the outer part of the iris, and finally the contour is black. That makes them sublime. What incredible charming eyes, the eyes of a lion.

  «P—please, don't hurt me.» she begs in a gasp when he raises the arm holding the baton.

  But he doesn't hit her, he softly touches her face with that rigid bar. Caresses her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders, her chest, staring at her. With those eyes... Then drops the baton and the shield to grasp her wrists tightly in his strong hands, holding her arms above her head. She looks at him, confused and timorous.

  He holds both her wrists with her right hand now, and with the left one he rips her dress off. She screams and struggles, but can't even move away from the wall. That grip is really powerful. She looks at him with eyes shining of fear.

  «Please», she sobs, «I'm scared...»

  He brushes her hair out of her eyes.

  «I won't hurt you if you'll be good.» he whispers.

  Sibylle stares at him, charmed by that profound voice. The man's big hand slowly goes down to grab one of her delicate breasts. He moans satisfied, squeezing it; then he slaps it on the side, making her startle. He hits that delicate breast again and again, getting excited to see it bouncing erotically. He looks into her eyes seeing the same passion that he feels too. His hand goes down between her legs, and when his fingers touch her wet lips he inhales the air through his teeth from under the hood. He lingers there, making her squirm.

  «No!» she gasps, but with an intonation that expresses pleasure.

  He lets her go, but just to grab her head with both hands and bend over her to whisper in a deep voice:

  «Do you want me? If you'll say “no” I will leave your dreams forever. If you'll say “yes” I will mount you roughly, like a beast. And I'll keep coming back.» His eyes touch her directly in her heart, and she is almost sure he is smiling under that balaclava. «So, my petite leveret, do you want me?» asks him again.

  She closes her eyes and wets her lips.

  «Yes...»

  He turns her around making her bend forward spanking her hard, and when her bottom turns red, he smirks and frees his stony member to penetrate her with one long thrust, like a deep sensual stab. Sibylle breathes heavily now, feeling her legs trembling while that colossal man holds her firmly by the waist plunging into her femininity with bestial vigor. Those deep thrusts fill her lustfully, making her feel in his complete possession. Everything is so intensively erotic. Hearing the man groaning of pleasure makes her even more aroused. She feels the orgasm approaching, and when she starts to scream she wakes up. She sits and touches herself between her legs finding herself pulsing of pleasure.

  «Oh come on, Sibylle, at your age coming because of a dream! You are not a teenage anymore!» she accuses herself before getting up and looking at the sofa which now is lightly wet. That man... He has a strange effect on her, every time she dreams him he always asks that question, and she always answers “yes”.

  «I must really say “no”, soon or later, so he will stop coming in my dreams.» she g
rumbles.

  A funny noise echoes in the room: a video call on her laptop from her three best friends. She runs to answer it, already laughing. Standing in front of the screen she clicks on the keyboard, and three girls appear in a large window. As soon as they see her they gasp and greet her with an amusing insult, yelled in unison. They all laugh. The three women are Virginie, Nora e Alma.

  Virginie is a transsexual, she has delicate Asian features and long black hair. She cares about her beauty in every detail: her smile, her movements, her gestures. If it wasn't for her baritone voice she would have seemed a biological woman.

  Nora, the youngest, is a girl with short dark hair, always dressed in Gothic style and black makeup.

  And finally there is Alma, the oldest, a beautiful Black woman in her forties, with long dark weaves and expressive sweet eyes always shining of maternal gaze.

  They talk about Sibylle's apparel and of the plans for the night.

  «We are coming to pick you up at eleven, Sille!» asserts Virginie.

  «Why? Where are we going?» asks Sibylle excited.

  «It's a secret, dear. You just have to come as you are, we'll bring your dress.» explains Alma.

  That night there would have been a surprise for her in the villa of Amelie — an old friend of Sibylle's mother — known for her amazing parties in the large ballrooms. This time, in honor of Sibylle, the would have been a 1920's themed party with a Charleston music orchestra and guests dressed in original 1920's dresses. While Sibylle is laughing and joking with her friends, the entrance door opens and she closes the call at once. She runs to lean on the door jamb, looking flirtatious. But she actually feels ridiculous. Claude closes the door and she admires him: he is a tall and handsome man. He has dark hair and brown eyes, and his gaze makes him look even more manly. He is a man who certainly doesn't go unnoticed. Is dressed in an elegant blue suit, and he is holding a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a velvet box in the other.

  As soon as he sees her he raises an eyebrow.

  «I thought it was your birthday, not mine.»

  She smiles warmly and goes to hug him. The man returns the hug, but his face doesn't express any emotion. Sibylle looks at him and gently touches his lips with hers.

  «Oh, honey, these flowers are beautiful. You shouldn't have, love, you are my dearest present.»

  The man walks away heading into the living room, where he throws the flowers on the table.

  «These flowers aren't for you, they were for a colleague who didn't come to the office today, so I brought them home.»

  Sibylle look at them, without losing her sweet smile.

  «They are lovely, anyway. You did a kind gesture toward your colleague.»

  Sibylle is sincere saying that, she is a goodhearted person; she doesn't seem able to feel anger, envy or resentment toward people. Claude goes into the bedroom, he shoos the cats off the bed and throws the box on the bedspread.

  «That is yours.»

  «Oh! May I—?»

  «No. Come here.»

  He sits on the bed, takes off his jacket and his tie while she stands in front of him. He then touches her thighs and her stomach.

  «Turn around.»

  When she turns, he caresses her bottom while licking his lower lip. Gosh, that firm, smooth, perfect bottom...

  «Claude, I was thinking: since it's my birthday, maybe we can do something different.»

  She turns again to look at him and he motions her with his hand to go on.

  «Maybe we can realize some of our sexual fantasies.» she adds shyly.

  «Like what?» he asks, strangely interested.

  «I don't know, those that we keep looked inside us since long time. We should confess them to each other, we have been married for 5 years now, we should share our desires and maybe dare to realize them. What do you think?»

  «I think that it isn't a bad idea. You first. Tell me your sexual fantasy.»

  She lifts a shoulder in a shy shrug, feeling embarrassed but determined to open up to him.

  «I have more than one.» He seems surprised hearing that, but remains silent. «But there is this one in particular that we can easily realize. It can be fun too.»

  «I'm listening.» he says, deeply curious.

  «Well, I—I like the idea of you playing the role of a burglar who enters the house, and not finding anything interesting he gets upset and decides to retaliate against me using my body for his pleasure.»

  Claude turns up his nose.

  «How stupid. In this house there are pieces of inestimable value, only an idiot thief wouldn't recognize them.»

  «Claude, it's role playing. Have some suspension of disbelief.»

  «Come on, Sibylle, no one would fuck you in retaliation, you are almost frigid.»

  She tightens her robe on and steps back.

  «Claude, please—»

  «What? Isn't it true? When I fuck you it seems you don't even like it.»

  «Please, don't use that word, sweetie, you know I don't like it. And yes, of course I do like to make love with you. It's just that I cannot express myself because I know it bothers you, so I restrain myself.»

  «Of course it bothers me! You scream like a slut when you come! I feel like I'm fucking a whore!»

  Sibylle turns her face to the side, holding back the tears.

  «You don't like my orgasm, you don't like how I talk, you don't even like my pussy!»

  «That's not true. It's warm, it's welcoming, it serves its purpose. It's just that aesthetically it's vulgar. You will agree with me that those large labia and big clitoris are indecent. Is not your fault, but your pussy isn't good-looking at all, dear.»

  Sibylle looks him straight in the eye, no longer able to hold back the tears.

  «Is there anything else you don't like about me, Claude?»

  Claude takes off his shoes and sighs annoyed.

  «You want me to list them all? Fine.» The man takes off his clothes and goes to the closet to wear a new suit. «You are a failure: it has been years since you painted something good, you only fill canvases of just black paint now. Sometimes you cry for no reason. You care about those stupid animals more than you care about yourself. I hate your friends. You've got small boobs. Often you stop our sex because you need to pee. And I hate when you talk to the city. It's stupid and childish, it is crazy, do you realize it?!»

  «You say that because you're not from Paris, otherwise you would see Paris as a mother, as a friend, as a muse. It's clear that you can't understand what a child feels towards a mother like her!»

  The man begins to dress in an elegant suit. Sibylle looks at him, calming down.

  «Honey», she calls him softly, «I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be aggressive. Please, forgive me. Let's stop arguing, okay? We are going through a bad time lately. Let's try to be more understanding towards each other, okay?»

  He finished buttoning his new shirt, wears a tie and looks in the mirror smiling. She smiles too seeing that beautiful smile of him. She loves his smile, she loves him, despite everything.

  «You know what, Bille? You are right, that's enough. Enough with everything.»

  He goes to the bed, takes the velvet box and hands it to her. She thanks him with a big smile and takes it with trembling hands, then opens it: it's a letter. She goes to sit down on the bed, to read it carefully, and then she looks up at her husband fluttering her eyelashes several times and smiling incredulously.

  «What is it?»

  Claude looks around with his impatient attitude.

  «You've become illiterate? It's a letter from my lawyer, I'm asking for a divorce.»

  «No... Why? Claude, why? We spent many wonderful years together! We traveled, we shared the same passions. Please tell me what you want to change in our relationship and we will change it. Is it me? I'll be more careful from now on, I'll be what you want me to be, I promise.» She gets up going to grab his arm. «I promise I'll take care of myself, I will bloom again. I'll paint as before, I w
ill travel abroad with you. Please, Claude, I'm in love with you as the first day! I'm sorry I disappointed you, it won't happen again if you give me another chance. I'll be good, please, I beg you, Claude! Please, don't leave me, I'll do whatever you want, please, I don't want to lose you, please! Give me another chan—»

  «Get lost!» he yells, releasing his arm with a tugged.

  «Claude—», she begs.

  The man holds her chin and squeezes it hard, leaning on her face to hiss:

  «You can accept this situation with dignity and thus be able to keep me in your life as friend, which will spare you a lot of humiliation; or you can force me to do it with anger, in that case I will have the pleasure to ruin your life, just for fun. So, which one you prefer?»

  Her beautiful green eyes wander in his severe look.

  «All this hatred: where does it come from?»

  «Which one you fucking prefer?!» he yells.

  She bows her head and lets out two sobs, before to say in a broken voice:

  «I just want to be in peace with people. Please, I don't want you to ruin my life.»

  He nods with a smug smile then goes to get his coat and heads to the exit. She stares at the corridor in which he vanished but when she hears him coming back she feels her heart swelling with hope. The man appears and makes a wry smile.

  «Oh, I almost forgot: happy birthday.»

  He goes away and when the door slams, she feels alone as if she were the only human being in an unknown and hostile world.

  She feels her head light, her ears buzzing and the mouth dry. It is so unbelievable, so horribly unbelievable. Her legs feel so unstable that she falls sit on the floor beginning to cry silently, weeping sadly. She feels her soul crying, her heart sobbing, and the sensation is visceral, and it doesn't seem to have an end.

  The cats go to rub against her and she caresses them. After a while she gets up and goes to dial a number, feeling her heart pounding. At the fourth ring a male voice answers: it's Guillaume, her father.

  «What do you want?» he asks roughly.

  Sibylle swallows, narrows her eyes and tries to speak, but is unable to say anything.