The Sect

by Lane, Courtney

  I flopped stomach down on the bed, never bothering to turn on the lights; the moonlight was enough. The door clicked, announcing it was open the moment my eyes closed. I didn’t dare turn around. The heat rifling up my back prevented it. I felt as though I’d be consumed by a breath-stealing fire if I turned around. I lifted my head, looking at the camera, noting it was down.

  The layers of unfeeling peeled away, leaving only the burn between my thighs. It was uncontrollable, despite my fight. It was involuntary, despite the pain. The heels of his shoes clicked against the floor, pounding with a slow rhythm, serving as a backdrop to my wildly beating heart.

  I slipped my hand underneath me, touching my stomach, forcing my body to remember that he’d hurt me there. In forcing myself to remember a time he tortured me and opened me at once, I remembered every single act of violence he inflicted on my body. He attacked with the viciousness of a monster. Not because he had to, to keep me safe, but because he took pleasure in it. He wanted it. I was fooling myself in trying to believe he was human by rationalizing his behavior.

  He said he lied to me often, and I chose to believe the lies were all the positive things I held on to—for a reason I couldn’t discern.

  What he said to me in the bathroom was a game with words to make me feel when I’d shut down. He didn’t deserve a single reaction from any patch of skin on my flesh. He’d hurt me repeatedly. He liked hurting me. He manipulated me into someone who liked the way he made me feel. Nothing he said or did could be believed as actions done because he truly cared. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me any longer. It scared me more than the thought that his manipulation over me was working no matter what thoughts filled my mind.

  The more he came closer to me, the more I felt things I tried to deny. He didn’t deserve whatever I felt at the moment. Desire. Lust. Affection.

  “Please, leave,” I gritted through my teeth, regarding the man whose scent filled my nose and pulled me deeper into the feelings I hated.

  With his hands on my hips, he rolled me over swiftly, making me dizzy. His hard form pressed against mine, pushing me deeper into the bed. His warmth increased the internal temperature of my body to something beyond sweltering. With his hands firmly wrapped around my waist, we locked eyes with one another.

  I reached up to do something I’d learned not to do. Physical touch with the opposite sex was abandoned when that touch equated to fear, pain, and decimation. Whatever invisible force hindered me before began to fall away. My fingertips just barely grazed a stray lock of dark hair—untucked from his neat tapered hairstyle—that touched his forehead. He slowly closed his eyes, behaving as though my touch was a soothing drug.

  He never stopped nearing me; his chin tilted down, his hands grasped my waist with a biting strength, ensuring I had nowhere to go. He looked freshly showered as in—he rushed to shower and came to me. His shirt clung to him in ways that pulled at something between my thighs. His cotton pants hung in a way that revealed there was nothing underneath.

  When his lips touched mine, a thick heat had arisen between the both off us, turning denser as he held his body against me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, kissing him back as passionately as he kissed me.

  He separated from me, taking in a sharp breath. “Did you do that for me?” he asked, his smoky, soft voice vibrating against my lips. “Were you thinking about me, Keaton?” He posed the question again, more aggressively seeking an answer.

  With my left hand twirling the soft strands of his hair, I blinked at him, unable to reply.

  He grabbed my right hand down from his shoulder so quickly he made me gasp. He closed my fist, forcing my index and third finger to straighten and slid them inside his mouth.

  It hit me hard and my body sank deeper into bed. “Yes,” I said, almost moaning.

  He shoved my dress up and quickly pulled down his pants. He drove with very little resistance into my sopping wet core, pushing the full extent of his hardness inside of me. The moment I whimpered, he covered my mouth.

  He rolled his hips back, building up a momentum, stroking inside me harder and faster. He fucked me with a hurried need; his eyes were wild and filled with a fast, growing desire. The bed creaked with every violent pounding he forced my insides to endure. His eyes were trained on my face, studying my every reaction, and biting his lip with pleasure the more I moaned against his hand.

  The rise was quick. The grinding of his groin against my clit and the slamming of his cock—repeatedly and swiftly—inside me drove me to an edge so far I was afraid he’d make me scream.

  We both shuddered, coming apart completely, our sexes clinging to one another as a mess was created between us. He closed his eyes for a moment, holding his breath as he palmed the bed and pushed his upper half away from me.

  I reached up to touch his face, but he pushed my hand away.

  He lifted off the bed, pulling out of me simultaneously. Stepping backward, he pulled up his pants, hiding his impressively sized and wet cock. His eyes narrowed, glimmering like slits against the moonlight. “Don’t ever do that again. Do you fucking understand?”

  I pushed up, closing my legs. My eyes darted to the floor. I began to recall the bad memories that had been thrust aside the moment he touched me. The times I spent with him where he was purely a sadistic bastard became recollections I couldn’t suppress. They filled my head, reminding me of how unwise I’d been. How unwise my heart had been to feel anything for him. He took and he never gave. Maybe he never would because he was incapable.

  I turned my back on him, my forehead touching the post of the bed as I slouched. A sob resounded as my back shook with my cries. “Just leave, Noah.”

  “Don’t”—his voice was quiet rasp without demand—“fuck up more than you already have.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Because I thought about you, you think I want you? I don’t.”

  “You do,” he replied, his voice hoarse and deep. “You know it was me you wanted. You wanted me to watch you. You made sure I did. I came here to give you what you masturbated about so you won’t do it ever again.”

  “You watched me, did you?” I swept the tears from my cheeks and looked at him from over my shoulder. “You have no idea what I felt or what I thought about.”

  “My cock is still covered in what you thought about, don’t placate me or have the stupid notion of thinking you can lie to me. Even if I hadn’t come here tonight—through the camera—I know what you felt.”

  “Did I turn you on, Noah?” I turned around fully to face him. “Is that why you had to shower? It obviously didn’t work if you had to go through so much to come here and get what you wanted.”

  “What I wanted?” His voice grew even raspier with his disbelief. “Princess, I think you mean what you wanted.” He marched toward me with purpose. Standing in front of me, his hand reached out to clutch the back of my head, tangling his hand in my hair and holding me still. His palm slid down to my torso, pressing hard against the silk fabric of my dress, touching the fading chemical burn scars he’d placed there. “Do you remember this? Do you remember any of the things I did to you? Do I need to do it again for you to realize what I keep telling you?”

  I hated that I still wanted him. I further hated the way he commanded my body, ensuring I was addicted to every toxic drug he gave me. The toxic drug that brought about emotions and sensations I’d rather not have. I pushed him away, shaking my head and scooted back on the bed. “Go, and don’t help me anymore. I don’t need it.”

  “You don’t make the rules around here,” he threatened me, his voice rough and foreboding. “What I do and what I want to do are my choices to decide. Do what you are told and nothing more; stop trying to be cute and creative because you think you can control me. Because you think you can…pick my pocket.”

  Stunned, my eyes lifted at him, my jaw dropping.

  “That’s an order, not a warning,” he said, behaving as though my reaction didn’t matter.


  I tucked my knees underneath my dress and folded my arms, guarding and protecting my body the only way I knew how. “But you do? You make the rules? You could’ve told those men not to touch me. They didn’t penetrate me, but they hurt me just the same, because you told them to.”

  “Reven made me watch it, Keaton.” His voice faded, barely able to project the words. “I know what happened to you. I told them to make it look real.”

  “He made you,” I choked, “watch?”

  “He wanted to make sure I felt nothing, and I showed him I didn’t.” He glanced at the door. “The camera’s been off too long. I don’t have time to baby you. From here on out, follow my orders. You’re on borrowed time, Keaton. Play the game the way it should be played. Since you don’t know the rules, and I do, be smart about it and fall in line.”

  He left me, and when he did, the feelings I often felt after my encounters with him began to flood over me; I was gutted and thrown into complete and utter bemusement.

  THERE WERE thirty days left of the seminar. I had hopes that if things continued the way they had; I would never face the ending I was threatened with.

  I was only inside the lobby of the theater for a moment before I was handed a key by Nadine.

  I went to the house alone, recognizing the number imprinted on the keycard.

  Inside the familiar home, Mrs. Sherman was available to greet me. She held up a champagne glass with a smile. “I’m hightailing it out of here earlier than the rest. It’s my last night in Rebirth, Keaton. I thought since you and a particular gentleman had such great chemistry, I could finally get my fantasy fulfilled and happily”—she looked at the view—“never return to this crazy place again. Reven spouts a bunch of crock if I’ve ever heard it. Quite a few associates referred me here, stating that the place left them renewed. As it turns out, I’m quite glad I came. Not for the reasons most do, but…I happened upon a more fulfilling reason.” She handed me the glass of champagne. “To true love and contraband.”

  I took it quickly but paused when I looked at the cameras.

  “Off per my request. Whatever the member wants, the member gets.” She balked waving her hand at something invisible. “I refuse to label myself as others do. Followers of Reven. F-O-R’s.”

  I sipped the champagne slowly, relishing in the taste. I almost choked on it when Noah stepped out of the bedroom, wearing a tuxedo shirt unbuttoned at the top and dark slacks. I wanted to look away, but his appearance, the glow of his bronze skin, cleanly shaven and almost flawless was hard to ignore. Under the jagged edges of a twisted and unpredictable individual lay a very delusively prepossessing man.

  I closed my eyes, remembering how I bared witness to his evil acts. Ugly acts from an obviously very broken man.

  “Ah, that’s wonderful to see,” Mrs. Sherman said. “You don’t see it too often here.”

  I looked at Mrs. Sherman with question, but didn’t want to ask and receive a punishment for daring to do so.

  “I had a chance at love,” she explained, “although he was never able to be my husband and our relationship was chaste, he was the love of my life. He died in a car wreck caused by a drunk driver.” With her eyes welling up, she pointed inward. “While I was left with nerve damage”—she cleared her throat, roughly rubbing the tears on her cheeks—“he…never woke out of his coma. I know I don’t deserve it—believe me, I relive his death every single day—but if I could just witness what should’ve been, I think I can die a happy woman.”

  Suddenly, I wanted to give it to her. Beneath the ugly and sinister nature of the place, she wanted something beautiful and meaningful. I was touched enough to forgive Noah, to forget all the horrible acts he’d done to me and many others. Not only to help a grieving woman, but because I hoped after all was said and done, I would procure the one thing I wanted the most.

  I nodded my compliance and turned my gaze back to Noah. He grabbed a black box from the coffee table and sauntered to the kitchen, placing it on the counter.

  “You look mighty frightened,” Mrs. Sherman beamed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I know chemistry when I see it. Given what I used to do”—she cupped his hand over her mouth—“but we aren’t supposed to talk about that.”

  Noah approached me, leading me to the box and lifted off the top. Gauging my face for a reaction, he studied me carefully. When I looked down at the black, long cylinder shaped glass with a thick middle and a smaller attachment that looked like bunny ears, I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or be very frightened.

  The moment my head turned to give Mrs. Sherman my ire, my arm was grabbed. Noah leaned down, warning me without saying a word. He tugged, forcing my reluctant feet to shift into the kitchen. He removed a black scarf from the box while Mrs. Sherman made herself comfortable in a chair that gave her a prime view. Grabbing both of my arms, he forced my wrists to touch and tied them together in front of my body. He kept his eyes on me the whole time, speaking words without sounds. It served to relax my body even if my mind was on the brink of a war.

  After he was done he turned me around, directing me to bend over the counter. I felt the smooth, cold glass move down my spine to the cleft of my behind through the thin silk fabric of my dress. Distracted, I looked over my shoulder, watching Mrs. Sherman, who seemed pleased with the show. Noah reached over and jerked my chin, forcing me to look forward at something less interesting.

  I felt the tool underneath the dress at my sex. I jolted only to be shoved back in position. It rocked there, slowly, gently. I clasped my hands together as I remained bound. His grip firmed at my thighs forcing them to open. Fear and discomfort forced my body to chill, erecting trembles from within. His warm hand pressed against my spine, serving as comfort and warmth. The cool glass manipulated my lips, making them part and give it unfettered access to my slit. He rocked the toy up and down, teasing my clit and making me wetter.

  My eyelids became too heavy to keep open. A moan moved up my throat, shocking me, moving the pending war in my mind into a chaotic battle that would likely be lost to what I needed. The sounds of my wet sex resounded. The slickness allowed my clit to be fully stimulated. It throbbed and hardened, turning sensitive. Turning me around, he wrapped his arms around me and propped me up to sit on the edge of the counter. My legs were splayed to the side, allowing Mrs. Sherman a view. Noah placed my linked arms over his head to rest on his broad shoulders while my wrists remained tied behind his head.

  Our eyes locked, and I found myself unable to look away from the warmth of his hazel-blue gaze. Inside them was something new that entranced me. The room began to disappear. My war began to wane. My less happy memories began to fade. A safety I had never felt or seen here threatened to take over my fear.

  Reminding me of what we were here for, the tip of the glass rocked at my opening before gently urging its way inside. My hips receded only to have him pull me back down with his arm hooked around me. He lifted my chin over his closed fist, forcing me to look at him again. The cool glass moved slowly, in and out; the ears of the tool manipulated my clit. He looked down between my legs, visibly taken by the sight of my sex surrounding and welcoming the glass scepter. He leaned forward, grazing his nose against my cheek.

  The electric pulse began to strengthen, pervading from my core. My soft moans became more ragged and increased in volume. My body writhed, confused as to whether to take the pleasure or run away from what I shouldn’t have been able to feel.

  “Noah,” I whispered, scared of what was happening to my body.

  His teeth sank into his bottom lip, a small skewed smile appearing. His eyes asked if I was ready, and I wasn’t sure what for. Until it hit me.

  My body arced, my neck became weak. Sounds came from my mouth that could’ve been screams. The fire was consuming, burning, and strong. His movements never stopped, rocking the tool inside my wetness with ferocity. The sloppy wet sounds added to my cries of pleasure. I shook rigidly around him, weakened, almost falling off the counter with my erratic moveme
nts. His arm wrapped around me, holding me close as he slowly removed the toy.

  My eyes popped open, staring at him as he stared at me. Biting the corner of his smirk, he touched his forehead to mine, gazing at me. “Do you still feel like an object, Keaton?” His words draped me in warmth, relaxing me, and drawing me at the same time.

  I shook my head, whispering, “Please give me more.”

  His smirk brightened. “The toy or my cock?”

  “Neither.” I swallowed back the dryness in my throat as uncertainty took over.

  He pinched my chin, forcing me to continue with his inquisitive eyes.

  “I don’t want the toy and I don’t want just your cock,” I said softly. “I want you.”

  His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments. He quickly grabbed my ass, forcing my legs to wrap around him for fear of falling. He walked with me wrapped around his body and set me down on the arm of the couch, unzipping and pulling out his erection while never taking his eyes off me. He grabbed my head while he flexed his hips, shoving his way inside.

  I responded with a moan and a shudder. He stroked inside me with a force between rough and gentle, commanding and controlling me with every flex of his hips. My bound hands remained locked behind his head, keeping me close to him and him close to me.

  I stopped fighting the reaction, allowing him to bring me to wave after wave in quick succession. Every peak a little better than the one before.

  He suddenly tensed, his eyes freezing on me. Lurching forward, he clenched the swell of my bottom lip between his teeth and exploded inside me with a hoarse, sexy groan. I shook with him, feeling as though his pleasure exacerbated mine. With panting breaths, we slowly kissed each other.

  “Smile for me, princess,” he whispered against my lips as he tried to catch his breath. “Every time I make you come, it’s more intense than the last time. Careful with the way you’re looking at me, I might start to think you’re feeling what I predicted you would.” His panting breaths flittered about my nose as he raked his lips down the length. “Be very careful. I want your pussy, not your heart.”