The Abduction of Veronica X

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  “Yes, yes, it is,” she sounded more sure of herself, but then, that might just be placating her husband.

  “Now, take off your clothes. I think it’s time you had a graphic reminder to quell the rebellious beast in you.”

  At the sound of the order, Daphne threatened to blush—a queer fact of the moment that made her oddly embarrassed as she faced a husband ready to punish her weakness. But because the strange thrill in her gut would not let her flee the shed, she unbuttoned her blouse like a sheepish kid, unhooked her bra, then pushed her shorts to her feet and stepped out of them and her pink sandals.

  Meanwhile, Emerson, who had apparently planned well for such an occasion, pulled a leather strap from the wall. It was not two feet in length, but it was a good three inches wide and would pack a mean punch on a deserving behind. Seeing it, Daphne shivered to the bone.

  Emerson’s long shirtsleeves were now rolled to the elbow. Most men on a warm day like this one, in a casual vacation environment would dress in t-shirt and shorts. The fact that Emerson chose instead to dress like a banker in slacks and a crisp white shirt attested to one of the many ways he thumbed his nose at the Woodstock hippie 60’s. For the occasion, it gave him the upper hand with his wife. He looked exactly like the young autocrat that he was pretending to be that day.

  As Daphne looked at his bared forearms, the sinewy muscles, the tanned skin and the blanket of bleached-blonde hair, her excited shivering expanded.

  This was right for her. She needed a man who could settle her quandaries, who forced her to turn off her obsessive thoughts, who brought her back to the body that longed at its core for ripe, raw, sexual pleasure.

  “Grab that bar above your head,” Emerson pointed, and she turned to follow the instruction, noting the yard long steel bar that had been bolted to the wall. It looked like a heavy iron towel rack, although its original purpose in the building was unknown.

  A tremor of lust rifled through her body as Daphne reached up and grabbed the bar, stretching to her full height, nearly on tiptoe. Her fists clutched the rod so tightly that her knuckles whitened from the effort. With his wife in place, Emerson stepped up and measured the distance thoughtfully. Then with an angry passion burning in his gut and extending through his arm, he began to thrash his wife with repeated blows to her white round buttocks. Her skin reddened as rapidly as the blows turned plaintive moans into shrieks.

  The first smacks were like a tonic that added to her lust, but the lovely feeling ended abruptly as her bottom began to sting. It might have been her imagination, but she felt that with every blow of the leather, Emerson increased the strength. The fiery blade soon delivered such a rain of woe that she nearly slumped to the floor. Thankfully, Emerson chose that moment to pause, which allowed the surface burn to penetrate deeper. The heat wound its way inside where it upped the intensity of her lust, turning pain into another form of pleasure.

  This sensation, along with the deep satisfaction she felt in being justifiably punished, made her nearly orgasmic in a matter of minutes. Emerson noted this with some curiosity, but he had no intention of doing anything but punish his wife until his own ire had abated. He then jerked her out of this near ecstasy by changing implements. Using a cat of braided leather falls; the effect was instantaneous. Against her back, her shoulders, her buttocks, her thighs, the nasty tool inflicted a damaging thrashing intended to turn her entire backside raw and her whimpering moans into a pleading scream.

  “Oh, please, no more!” she vented over and over. But the blows kept raining down.

  He loved to hear that tormented voice, every plea, every cry, every wounded grimace. He wanted her hurt. He wanted this justice hard. It wanted his ire satisfied until it was wiped from his body. He wanted her hurt as much as Daphne desired to be hurt. And more important than anything, he wanted her to understand how much he owned her.

  She was his wife, goddammit, and she was bound to be everything he desired her to be. He was the sadist, she the masochist and this was how they would live.

  Perhaps there was some cosmic force that joined the two and made them play out this scene with such horrifying fervor. Could it be called cruel or violent if they both reached a heightened state of pleasure in sadomasochistic bliss? Or was this just the way they best knew how to love?

  After a time, time being relative so it was difficult for them to gauge, Emerson had had enough. He dropped the whip and moved in close to Daphne’s thrashed behind. He kissed her neck, while his right hand teased its way down her side and fondled the swell of her hip.

  She shivered darkly, having just one thought pouring from the mindless stupor of pained pleasure. When Emerson’s hand drifted between her thighs, she gasped, her body jerking slightly.

  “You need to come,” he said.

  “Un, huh,” she could barely breathe, let alone form words to speak.

  It took seconds, not minutes, of one lean finger snaking between her labia and finding her wet clit.

  “Oh, my!” Her body instantly tensed. She still clung to the bar, but she leaned back into his chest, her mouth open wide in awe and her body shaking, with the climax moving through her in spasmodic waves.

  In the midst of her finish, Emerson withdrew his erection and slipped it without protest into her ass. His orgasm erupted nearly as quickly as hers did, joining in the last of her spasms and breathless cries.

  He whispered again: “You may doubt yourself, Daphne, but don’t doubt me. It’s something unique that we do here, exceptional and worthy of our best efforts. It may be morally wrong, but we won’t know that until it’s finished. And if it is, you can trust me, we’ll survive it and move on.”

  This is what he believed.

  Chapter Seven

  Sadie

  Was it not a bit of hubris to believe you had the gods on your side and anything you did was right? That is what Emerson Gray seemed to believe.

  Daphne

  Of course, it was hubris. But you have to remember the times. We didn’t know if the world was going to blow up, or the government was going to be overthrown by angry student radicals. That kind of talk was not unusual in universities and for those like us: a group of fledging writers. As much as Emerson vowed that he was not influenced by the times, he was. It was written in a different form of rebellion and Veronica X made sense.

  That night, after I was so meanly thrashed—and was as a result in a sort of awed acceptance—after Emerson and I left the shed and headed back to the porch…I believe I was wearing only my shirt…Emerson had Zack released the bound Kathy Ann from the tree. She was led back to the cellar where by the dim light of candles, Kathy Ann was ordered to make love to our bound captive.

  I honestly don’t know what happened in my friend’s mind while she was tied to that tree, but by the time she was released, all the torment in her was gone. She moved on Veronica X as if she were in love with the girl. Her nakedness shivered over the stretched out form. They’d removed the gag so the two could kiss. And how they kissed. I can still hear the tiny smacking sounds and see Kathy Ann’s tongue tenderly snaking its way about her victim’s mouth.

  Kathy Ann straddled her crotch and ground her big hips into that lovely woman. She held the girl’s breasts in her hands and squeezed, while we listened to her mewling cries. They fucked without cocks, but there was nothing empty, nothing missing in the rhythmic movement of their bodies and their easy ecstasy. They writhed like snakes, Kathy’s hands pouring over that immobilized flesh, and yet, it looked as though the girl was reaching out and holding her lover’s body as closely as Kathy held hers.

  Kathy came, you could easily tell. She had this odd little shimmy when she was getting off and she seethed in a way peculiar to her. Veronica? I would guess she came too, but her response was obviously more subtle than Kathy’s.

  For a young woman who had been made captive just the day before, she was remarkably yielding and without fear. One wonders if perhaps she was more lesbian than hetero, since it seemed her later revolts
were primarily aimed at the men. Kathy Ann proved Emerson’s point about our captive so vividly during that hour that no one could escape the truth.

  We were astonished. Even Emerson for all his certainty was amazed.

  If nothing else, Veronica X understood that sex was what she had been kidnapped for, and she might as well enjoy it. At the same time, Kathy Ann got a shocking demonstration of her own lust. One she wouldn’t easily deny.

  Sadie looking at Daphne thoughtfully

  And were you successfully whipped into shape?

  Daphne

  Until that incident, getting thrashed by Emerson was an occasional performance, something that was used more as turn-on than punishment. Even though I eventually came, that day defined what punishment meant. It became a new method he used whenever he found me thinking too hard and tying my mind in knots.

  Sadie

  It almost sounds parental, like a father admonishing a child.

  Daphne

  Oh, it was! Very parental and that was half the turn-on for me. To this day…although perhaps less so than thirty years ago, the very act of punishment, even talking of punishment, does extraordinary things to me both mentally and physically. I get horrid rushes of body excitement, all tied to a sexual end. But then, a sexual end isn’t even necessary at the time. I’m sure it’s beyond the mental and physical, it’s a psychic thing that taps my spiritual core.

  Parental? Yes. It appealed to the little girl in me who needed someone strong to take charge of my life, since I could not easily take care of myself.

  Sadie

  That would require an extraordinary amount of trust in a single person to allow them to make choices for you. Since Emerson’s was certainly questionable, you gave yourself up to a false god.

  Daphne The woman’s assessment concerns her, even though it’s perfectly logical

  At the time it was right for me. As haywire as it could have gone, I can’t cede that point. But that was a very long time ago. It could be Emerson and no one else. Would I choose the same sort of man now? No. Perhaps, it’s time to end this topic, she thinks? I think we should move on now. She smiles.

  Sadie

  Certainly. So, can I assume that the sequence of events outlined in Emerson Gray’s novel, Pygmalion Whore was an actual account of the …she pauses searching for a word…seduction of Veronica X?

  Daphne thinks a minute, then nods

  For the most part. He did candy-coated some of it and certainly left out some details and events.

  Sadie

  Then we’ll have to discuss that. But just to clarify, in general, his methodology worked?

  Daphne

  Emerson was systematic and faithful to his plan. The second session with Kathy Ann was really jumping ahead quite a bit from his original scheme. Somehow the events of the day required it. Kathy Ann and I required it to secure our unfaltering allegiance. Since Emerson couldn’t afford any major rebellion.

  But he took the task of Veronica’s sexual awakening quite seriously. There were five days when she remained bound by hands and feet to the pallet in the cellar. She was only let up to eat, toilet and for the erotic massages. She became quite hungry for those sessions, behaving exactly as Emerson knew she would.

  Sadie

  No rebellion? There is some rebellion described in the book.

  Daphne

  Yes, there was rebellion, almost as soon as he gave her more freedom of movement. The event was startling to us all, and of course for me, as you can imagine, as someone who thrives on punishment, was quite a turn-on. I think the others responded the same way.

  ***

  During the second week of Veronica X’s captivity, there were five in the cellar when Emerson made a slight change in his usual protocol. Bo had a doctor’s appointment he couldn’t miss, so he wasn’t there that day.

  For the first time, Emerson stood the girl upright and bound her hands to a rail above her head, leaving both sides of her body vulnerably open. She was blindfolded as usual, but had long ceased to wear the gag, something that she seemed to appreciate. However, the new position on her feet seemed to be particularly disconcerting and her body jerked frenetically when she was touched despite Emerson’s soothing words.

  “Yes, it’s different, but there’s no need to fear,” he coached her.

  “Oh, please…”

  She spoke, the very first words anyone had heard. Whether she was actually prompted by some command from Emerson not to speak, or just rarely had any comment to make and thus was silent, no one was quite sure. Regardless, hearing the sound of her voice gave a new dimension to her and the scene. Everyone waited anxiously to see what would follow.

  “Please what, Veronica?” Emerson returned. “You’re perfectly safe here.”

  She shook her head defiantly, red hair bobbing in its crazed tangle.

  She had been played with, manually masturbated to orgasm several times, kissed, fondled, caressed, even pinched in her horizontal bondage. All with the same submissively yielding results. It didn’t seem reasonable that she would suddenly be provoked to fear, but obviously she was.

  Emerson read her mind with little trouble. He smiled, as his hand ran gently down her back to her ass, which was rarely played with, since it was normally not exposed. Having her backside accessible was exactly why Emerson had made the change from lying flat to upright. Perhaps she sensed his plan.

  As his fingers moved lower down her ass, she jerked more ferociously. Then as one finger jutted into her anal cleft, she shook her head violently and spoke again, “Oh, no, you won’t do that, please!”

  “Hush! It’s not for you to choose, Veronica,” Emerson reminded her, and he penetrated even deeper.

  Her face twisted into a grimace as she felt his finger at her anus. She whimpered softly, “No, no, please…

  “Do I need to gag you?” Emerson shot back.

  The girl shook her head no.

  “Then relax just as you have before.”

  She bit her lip, attempting to try very hard. But as he started to press the finger into her anal hole, she suddenly jerked hard and screamed, belligerently, “No!”, stomping her feet as she did.

  Emerson instantly pulled out and spanked her ass.

  “How did I tell you I’d treat any show of defiance?” he barked, for the first time using the deriding tone that everyone else knew well.

  The girl did not reply. But it was easy to see that she must be crying behind her blindfold.

  “I’d hoped not to have to do this,” he said, which was a bit of a lie, “but I think it’s time for that punishment I spoke of. A lesson in obedience.”

  “Oh, please no!”

  “Oh, your behavior demands it!”

  Pulling a spanking paddle from the wall, where he’d hung a number of punishment tools, he then returned to his captive’s side and leveled her ass with a dozen quick, brutal blows.

  “Oh, god no, no. Please!” she wailed.

  Her cries had no effect; they only made Emerson more aggressive. He nodded at Zack who moved in front of her and took both nipples between his thumb and index fingers, giving them a painful squeeze. From behind, Emerson resumed her punishment, using the paddle and a leather slapper, then finally a cane that made her scream the most.

  As soon as the punishment was over, he ordered Penelope to her knees in front of the girl, where the woman needed no prompting as she lapped the succulent virgin portal to a crashing orgasmic release.

  Before the last spasm shook the captive’s body, Emerson moved on her ass again with his fingers probing deeply. This time there was less resistance. He even heard a murmur escape her lips.

  “That’s it, luv, nothing there will hurt you. It’s just another means of pleasure, one you’ll find you love.”

  One, two then three fingers breached the opening. He worked carefully, but with little restraint, making sure to work the opening enough to have the girl understand what might be waiting for her next.

  “Go ahead,
feel it. Let it take you. Yes.”

  She began to writhe erratically, fighting herself and Emerson’s fingers, but not with the same vehemence as previously. She seemed to float for minutes on the edge of a profound realization, but then backed off agitated, dodging her own desires. The more Emerson worked her ass the more he felt her relent. He could hear her silent pleas, the protests and the urgent desire.

  “That’s it, girl. Let go. Let go. Relax. Let go.” She seemed to ride on his words, with every phrase taking her just a little further away from her disgust. Then at the edge of her climax, he motioned for Daphne to join him.

  The blonde moved in. Her sweet lips kissed the girl tenderly, in such a contrast to the awesome thing that was happening her in behind. Daphne played with her wet pussy, lightly grazing her clit and the open doorway of her vagina. She moved her body against Veronica’s nakedness and purred in her ear. “It’s okay to come again,” she whispered to her, disobeying Emerson’s strict orders. He didn’t seem to mind this time, because it was all the girl needed to rise above her discomfort and let loose the climax trapped painfully inside her body. She contained her cries, but that made it no less astounding to see her twist in her confinement as her lovely form spiked with pleasure.

  Veronica learned that day to take a sizable dildo up her ass. She learned too that she’d be wearing one for several hours every day. Luckily for her, by the time the five left the cellar, she was no longer adverse to the anal penetration. Too much pleasure came from that part of her body to deny herself. With this, she was one step closer to being fully realized as a sexual woman and accepting of her own awakened desires.