All Acts Of Pleasure: A Rowan Gant Investigation

by M. R. Sellars

  My hands were already starting to throb where I had pulled them down into the restraints. I knew that the scrapes were going to start getting inflamed, and swelling would be quick to follow. I wasn’t even sure that I would be able to extract my hands as they were now, but if they became swollen, there wouldn’t even be a thread of a chance. Of course, I also knew it was going to take more than a mere second or two and some obvious strain to accomplish, if at all. Therefore trying to make it happen while her attention was actually focused on me was out of the question. That would only prompt her to tighten them more or do something even worse. What, I didn’t even want to imagine.

  “So,” she finally said, still regarding me as she puffed gently on the Cuban stogie. “How do you know about Papa?”

  “I read a lot.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead she hooked her dainty finger around the cigar and pulled it from between her lips. With a quick flick she knocked ash from the end, aiming it directly at my face as she had done earlier with the cigarette. Then, pursing her lips, she blew gently on the burning end of the roll, making the ember glow bright reddish-orange. Turning it in her hand, she then carefully placed the lit end into her mouth and closed her lips tightly around it.

  Once again a billow of smoke began to encircle her head as she blew out through the cigar. Just as I knew from my research, that the cigar was intended for Papa Legba, I also knew that what she was now doing was, in effect, smoking it for him.

  After a few moments, she extracted the cigar from her mouth and grinned at me. Once again, without warning she set about her regimen of torture. Reaching forward to my chest, she took my left nipple between her thumb and forefinger, squeezed hard, and then twisted.

  This time my subconscious didn’t intervene. I immediately yelped as the pain shot through the sensitive nerve cluster then grimaced as she continued to pinch and twist.

  “How…” she began.

  Even through my pain, I could tell that she had caught her breath before she could get the sentence out of her mouth, and that could only mean one thing. She was getting aroused all over again.

  “How does that feel?” she finally said, managing to get out the entire sentence before she began to pant as she had done before.

  The throb in my skull ramped up and seemed to pulsate in unison with her oncoming orgasm. I fought to concentrate through both it and the pain she was inflicting on my chest. I knew an opportunity was soon going to present itself; I just had to be able to take advantage of it. Unfortunately, whether or not that would happen was going to be directly connected to how much pain I was going to be able to endure and still remain conscious.

  She let go of the sensitive skin then slowly raked her nails across my chest, digging hard at the earlier burn as she continued watching my face.

  The influx of pleasure that was overtaking her seemed to be coming faster—and even more intensely than it had the first time. If this was the normal pattern then it had to be like a drug. Something akin to the neuro-psychology experiment where a rat was wired to be able to self-stimulate the pleasure centers of its own brain with the press of a bar in its cage; which it did with relish, foregoing food, water, and sleep, until it simply expired. Only, this wasn’t an electrode-wearing rat in a lab. This was my wife’s body, and a malevolent spirit was using her as a vehicle in order to experience the same repetitive rush.

  Given what I was seeing now, it wasn’t hard to extrapolate what had occurred at the various crime scenes. If progressively intensifying sexual climaxes in return for increasingly cruel tortures were how this Lwa worked, I couldn’t even begin to imagine what level of rapture the actual kill would trigger. I looked back up at her and watched as she carefully regarded the burning end of the cigar, flicking her gaze between it and me. It didn’t take a genius to see what was coming, and I wasn’t entirely sure I was prepared for it, even with the advance knowledge.

  Still, the last climax had kept her occupied for a few minutes. If this was going to be even more intense, I just might have enough time to get free. What I was going to do after that was anyone’s guess, but at least I would actually be in a position to do something other than die. I decided quickly that as insane as it seemed, antagonizing her into the next phase of cruelty was my best course of action. Judging from her present state, it wasn’t going to take much to set her off.

  She started to grin then pursed her lips and blew on the end of the cigar again, brightening the ember and creating a thin stream of smoke.

  “Just what is your kink, little man?” she finally asked. “You males all have one. What does it for you?”

  “You haven’t found it yet,” I croaked, my voice slightly strained from the earlier cry of pain.

  “But, I will,” she replied breathily.

  She was starting to undulate her hips against me, and her chest would occasionally swell each time she would draw in a deep breath between the ongoing shallow pants. The ethereal moan was starting low within her, and her own voice was adding a nasal whimper of pleasure to the mix.

  “We’ll see,” I returned.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “You haven’t impressed me yet.”

  She took hold of the tender nipple once again and twisted hard. I held my breath as I grimaced and clenched my teeth, struggling to keep from screaming. When she finally let go, I let the heated contents of my lungs spill slowly out then calmly as possible took a fresh breath.

  After a moment I said, “Is that all you’ve got?”

  She smiled back down at me, seeming to take great joy in my defiance.

  “Tell me that you love me,” she ordered.

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Mmmm-hmmmm, that’s the idea,” she whispered.

  I closed my eyes the minute she started to lean forward. I felt her touch the business end of the stogie to the nipple she had just tortured moments ago and then begin to twist it slowly. I could tell by the amount of pressure applied that she was purposely maintaining enough air space between the ember and my skin to keep it lit and hot, so I knew this wasn’t going to be quick.

  On top of that, this time she not only had more fire, she had picked an even more sensitive spot on my body to attack. Once again my subconscious kept out of the way, not just because I wanted it to, but also because I could no longer contain myself in the face of the agony. I screamed out, giving her possessor auditory evidence that she was causing me excruciating pain. I felt her thighs tighten against my sides as she tensed, the first real wave of pleasure hitting her hard. She continued to press the cigar into my blistering flesh, moaning and whimpering in delight with each deliberately languid twist.

  My own body tensed out of reflex, and my arms pulled inward, tugging hard against my bonds as I squirmed beneath her, wailing like a wounded animal. As I did so, I actually felt my hand slip deeper into the cuff and at the same time, the cuff bite deeper into its flesh.

  Suddenly, the pressure that had once been firmly positioned on my stomach lifted. I twisted my face upward and squinted my watering eyes toward her, seeing that she was arched back once again, literally squealing with ecstasy as she struggled to catch her own breath.

  The cigar had been forgotten and was now lying on my chest, smoldering as it singed hairs and blistered a new spot. Even though I suspected I would have longer than I had the last time, there was no guarantee, and I had to make my bid for escape now. Things were only going to get worse, and though I had repeatedly experienced death and torture on an ethereal level, I was now coming to the conclusion that facing it in this realm was just as bad, if not worse.

  Pressing my thumbs in tightly against my palms, I gathered my fingers into a point, trying desperately to almost fold my hands. I continued to pull hard, feeling the leather cuffs raking my flesh and tearing my skin. I’m not sure if it was sweat or blood, but my hands were starting to feel slippery. I didn’t take the time to look. My attentions remained focused on my possessed wife as she tossed her head back an
d emitted what sounded to be a mixture of both a groan and a delighted giggle.

  I felt my left hand move slightly, and a sharp pain instantly radiated up my arm. I grimaced through it and continued to pull with renewed fervor, and a split second later it popped free of the cuff. Giving the right a hard tug, it too came loose, minus several layers of skin across the back and knuckles.

  My hands were free, but my legs were a different issue. I wasn’t quite sure what to do, but at this point I was committed. Once she settled down she would be ready to start again, and the fact that my hands were no longer bound would be plainly obvious.

  Knowing I had no choice but to act, I sat up quickly and pushed Felicity off of me, using her somewhat prone position against her. A quick glance showed me that the restraint for my legs took the form of a mummy-like wrap of the bed sheets. Tearing at them with my raw hands, I rolled in the opposite direction of my preoccupied wife. In my haste I fell completely out of the bed, as I fought to disentangle myself from the twist of fabric, and crashed onto the floor. I heard Felicity and the spirit moaning in unison. I kicked and tore at the sheet, pulling one leg free then the other, partially. I scrambled up to my feet, tripping over the wound fabric as it fought to cling to me, managed to catch myself before hitting the floor yet again, then aimed for the bedroom door. As I barreled forward, I cast a quick glance over my shoulder and saw my wife reaching for me even as her body was being racked by an ethereal orgasm.

  Just as I pulled open the door, the displaced Southern voice was screaming from her throat. But, even in my panicked haste, I easily made out the words “No! Stop!”

  I didn’t bother to pay them any heed.

  CHAPTER 27:

  With everything that had been happening in that room, my attentions were obviously occupied. Even so, given the amount of noise I had made along with the various sounds emitting from my wife, it was a wonder the dogs hadn’t been trying to tear down the door. That was something I would have had no choice but to notice, preoccupied or not. But now, in a sudden flash of gut-churning retrospect, their presence was something I realized had been conspicuously absent. Still, due to the circumstances, it hadn’t even dawned on me that they were nowhere around until that very moment.

  As if I wasn’t biting back enough fear to begin with, a new one added itself to my list. Even though there was no doubt in my mind that unless I could bring an end to this possession, my wife was going to do everything in her power to kill me, a fresh concern took to rampantly overtaking my mind: What had she done to the dogs?

  I quickly twisted through the opening and slammed the bedroom door shut behind me, but the lock was on the other side, and I had no way to barricade it. I knew it wasn’t going to stop her if she came after me, which I was betting she would, but I hoped that it would at least slow her down. I immediately spun and lurched down the hallway as I was plunged into darkness, my eyes fighting to adjust as I bounced from the walls and tripped over my own panic-stricken feet. I wasn’t hearing any movement behind me—yet. However, I was certain it would be coming at any moment.

  For some reason I still couldn’t stop thinking about the dogs. I suppose it was more comforting to be concerned for another being’s life instead of my own. Whatever the motive, it bounced between the forefront of my brain and the pit of my stomach. I didn’t know to exactly what extent Miranda’s cruelty reached, except with regard to human beings of the male gender. Since killing animals is sometimes a part of a serial killer profile, I certainly wasn’t going to put it past her. All I could really do, however, was hope that I was getting ahead of myself.

  As callous as it felt, I fought to put the fear out of my mind because right now my brain had no business doing anything other than figuring out a way for both Felicity and me to survive this nightmare.

  My wife’s commandeered voice, still thick with the Southern accent and now filled with anger, was bellowing from the other side of the door, demanding that I stop. I wasn’t about to pay it heed. Of course, at this particular moment that was just about the only thing I knew for a fact that I was or wasn’t going to do. My next move was still a mystery, even to me. Her demand was followed by a shriek and a small crash, as if something had just been launched at the wall. I just kept moving.

  The fresh blisters on my chest were still burning, sending hot pains inward through my flesh to join every other ache that was plaguing me. My hands were stinging and had grown sticky with the blood I already knew was seeping from the abrasions. The muscles in my arms throbbed from being stretched and overworked during my escape from the bonds. Tying it all together was the almost blinding pain in my skull. In the back of my mind, I knew grounding and centering would probably go a long way toward at least dulling that last angry stab, but I wasn’t exactly in a position for such an exercise.

  Exiting the hallway, I immediately slammed into the corner of a chair, catching it with my hip and yelping as I careened from it before stumbling out into the living room. Going from the lighted bedroom straight to the darkness of the rest of the house was playing havoc with my sight, not to mention that my eyes were still blurred and watering from the torture I’d just endured. If that weren’t enough, my glasses were still on the nightstand.

  I suddenly noticed that the atmosphere in the house actually felt warm against my skin. Since it was still dark, I knew the offset on the thermostat shouldn’t have caused the temperature to rise just yet. It was then I realized that the warmth was relative. The bedroom had simply been colder than the rest of the house as a side effect of its unwanted ethereal occupant.

  I aimed myself to the right, heading through the dining room and crashing against the table then stubbing my toe on a chair leg. I knew it wasn’t only the darkness causing me to keep falling over myself; it was the rampant fear as well.

  Quite the opposite of what Helen Storm had assured me when I had relayed my suspicions about my dream, I truly was afraid of my wife. Not just of her, but for her as well. Of all the horrors I had so far experienced in my life, and they were countless, this combination was the worst of them. So much so, that even my body had stopped responding to the signals from my brain.

  I tried to wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and managed only to foul them somewhat with the blood. I pressed forward, trying to control my wild frenzy and blinking hard as my eyes continued adjusting to the dimness. There was a dull light coming from the kitchen, so I headed for it, still totally unsure what my plan of action was to be other than putting distance between the two of us.

  For a split second, I thought of simply bolting out the back door, climbing into my truck and leaving. That would certainly get me out of harm’s way. Of course, it would also mean turning around and getting my keys, but that wasn’t the worst of it. If I left, it would mean Felicity would then be alone, except for the Lwa inhabiting her. I knew from experience that wasn’t a stellar idea. The last time it had happened, she disappeared, and it had taken several hours to find her and almost cost a man his life. In reality, even finding her then had only been accomplished by the grace of pure luck.

  My only option was to stay and face her down. Even with what she had done to me, I was still stronger than her and had both a height and weight advantage. Of course, the last time I had taken that particular path, she had fought back hard, and as much as I hated to admit it, she won. The simple fact that gave her the upper hand was that she had been perfectly willing to inflict damage. I, however, was not.

  It was no different this time around. It didn’t matter what she had done to me so far, or would do in the coming minutes, because I knew it really wasn’t her. I simply couldn’t bring myself to harm the vessel I knew as my wife, no matter what the consequences for myself.

  I half fell through the doorway of the kitchen, grabbing the frame and swinging myself around behind the wall where I finally stopped and waited. Listening intently, at first all I could pick up was my own pounding heart and heaving breaths. I reached for my chest and flinched as my fingers bru
shed the blistering burns. Then I continued to hug the wall as I strained to hear anything more than the sounds made by my own body.

  I furtively glanced up toward the microwave and saw the large, luminous numbers on the digital clock. They read 3:47. Turning my head back toward the doorway, I pressed myself against the cool wall and watched the darkness as my breathing began to slow and my heart rate shifted down from overdrive and into the lower gears of panic. I kept listening, but still, I heard nothing.

  My fear was still fully intact, but it had become a manageable burden as I concentrated on picking up auditory cues. However, as I stood there, a new hollowness filled the pit of my stomach. My revolver was loaded and resting in my sock drawer back in the bedroom. Felicity knew right where it was, and that meant so did the Lwa. While I suspected she wasn’t through torturing me for her pleasure just yet, she had also demonstrated a definite instinct for survival. I could easily conceive of a bullet shattering my future, and Felicity’s as well.

  Still hearing nothing out of the ordinary, my mind started to race. If she actually had the gun in hand, she was liable to take one of two different paths. Either she would come around the corner at any moment and splatter me across the front of the refrigerator, or she would simply sit and wait for me to come to her. I suppose it all depended on whether or not she was afraid I would actually leave.

  Either way, simply sitting here waiting wasn’t accomplishing anything.

  “Think, Rowan, think!” I admonished myself in a low whisper.

  Unfortunately, ridding oneself of malevolent spirits wasn’t as easy as it was made to look on television. Three drop-dead gorgeous sisters, clad in the latest fashions, whipping up a “potion” from ingredients they had lying about the attic, then vanquishing evil without mussing their hair or smudging their makeup was undeniably a spectacular visual. But, it was also flat out Hollywood fiction.