For the drama of the weekend to finally end, all the females entering this creepy habitat will either free themselves by making it to the far end of the nightmarish maze or they’ll be been captured and imprisoned. What awaits us in either event is unknown, as is my fate. Even if I do give Dominick his Evie crawling on her knees, what guarantee do I have that I’ll be granted my freedom? He could easily find reason to rescind that flimsy promise of freedom; there was never any sure declaration, certainly no signed commitment, no contract signed in blood. I’m on my own to hope that the goodness of the man’s heart will see the wisdom in my desire and grant me what I’ve asked for. I’ve given him all he’s asked for ten years. I’ve been his dutiful slave; I have submitted to his demands—even though reluctantly at first; I succumbed at every turn. I’ve been a stellar slave by all standards of comparison. I know this and so does he. He can hardly fault me, having given him so little to complain about. I only ask for a chance to earn a new life.
I don’t know how many times I’ve gone through this litany in the last couple weeks. I know this is just an attempt to rationalize something that is inherently irrational. But this is what I do inside my heart as I move deeper into the maze of hedges. The justifications give me hope. The self-talk helps me keep my wits about me. If it were any other labyrinth event, I would have thrown myself whole-heartedly into the madness, letting go of my mind. If only I were so lucky this time. I’m bursting at the seams with thoughts and desires running rampant; I can barely think straight—which has to be my aim. Evie will be inside this place soon enough, and I must intercept her with a head that’s clear and free of fear.
If the task were only that simple…
At every turn, there are decisions to be made: right or left? Go back or plow forward? Go for the sound of voices or avoid them? How will I ever find the girl? How would she find me? If only I’d been given some warning. This is madness!
The receding daylight fails to shine down through the trees; my eyes meet shades of black and white as if I’ve just entered into an old movie. Flickering images pass before me. The terrain changes, the corridors of the maze widen, then lengthen into tunnels that seemed to have no end, until I abruptly run into a brick wall and am forced to turn back. But go back how far? I continue at a breakneck speed, flinging off panic as I move, darting into a small opening between hedges that eluded me before. Making another abrupt turn, I suddenly find myself inside a long but wide corridor of stately trees, surrounded by the inner borders of the maze. I stop, taking a deep breath, and see some distance away, several women running toward the far wall, their faces filled with terror and the enormous mastiffs chasing at their heels. The barking, screaming sounds of chaos knock the breath from my body and I have to lean against a tree to calm myself. Danger looms before me; I can feel it, sense it, even taste it on my tongue, something sour, even acrid. The air reeks of scents that give rise to memories so deep that I swear they come from long before I was born, from some primitive existence, long forgotten now.
If I could only turn back. But that would gain me nothing.
I know I cannot stop. Though there is no hungry dog pushing me forward, I can feel an urgency pressing at my back, as if Dominick himself were nudging me forward with his hand. Deciding that this open space in the maze may be the one place where I can wait for Evie to appear, I move toward the center of the circular area, running in sure steps across the grassy path before me—much easier to traverse than the rocky stones inside the maze. I dart behind trees, hoping they will provide me some degree of safety from the terror that drives the other women from this place.
But I can’t linger long. Some inner urging demands that I move forward. I have to press on. I have to stay sane. Yes, stay sane, Lana! Think clearly! Don’t let your guard down… not now, not ever… The self talk goes on relentlessly, though amidst the commotion, it only lays the groundwork for confusion, hallucination, mayhem…I almost feel my mind tumbling into an abyss.
Then something catches at the toga and my body flies forward, a dozen pictures pass before my eyes in that split second, and as if the earth has risen up to greet me, my face, my chest, my thighs smack against the green and the light goes out.
Chapter Seven
Dominick
Perhaps I have loved her, perhaps not. I have a way of idealizing women until they are incapable of meeting my expectations. I’m sure I did this to Megan, the slave before I happened to stumble onto Lana McCarron. Megan followed all the rules, she played the game like a perfectly dutiful slave, but she grew tiring. Some say, they all do eventually. It was certainly true of Megan, but that did not stop my enthusiasm for seeking the true permanency in my relationship with Lana. I suppose it was not so much that I tired of Lana as I knew that she would grow increasingly disgruntled with slavery. I suspected as much from the very start—this woman would not become more slavish as she matured. There has been too much ego, too many hopes and dreams inside her pretty package to expect that she would contently submit forever. Even as loosely as I framed our agreement, there was just not enough room for both my desires and her fantasies to happily reside for a lifetime.
Although I knew that life with her wouldn’t last like the blissful nirvana that I envisioned, she has been my favorite slave so far. I realized I chose more with my crotch than my head when I chose Lana. Alec told me that. The first time she entered his labyrinth world he informed me that she’d be a big mistake. ‘Just learn from it, Dominick,’ he said, as his sardonic smile creased his lips.
How interesting that both Lana and I knew when it was time to move on.
Evie will be easier to contain. She has a one track mind when it comes to her career. The total perfection of the dance is not unlike the perfection sought by a good sex slave. Both take focus, discipline and a healthy masochistic streak. Had I taken the time to think through my impulsive offer to Lana ten years ago, I might have steered myself away from her and chosen a different woman.
But then, Evie was not yet in my sights. I cannot regret what I have done, or how Lana will lead me into the arms of the woman who will take her place. But I have to hope that I have not made the game so difficult for my slave to win that neither of us achieves our goal. There were other ways to make this work, simple and more straightforward ones, but I’ve never run my life that way. I prefer to live by less rational rules, to look for accidents and happenstance, intuition and intrigue to dictate my next move.
It is just odd this time, that I’m less trusting than I’ve been before in the influence of magic to produce the results I’m after. This time the outcome matters more to me than it has at other times. I fear losing the prize I so desire. I’m unaccustomed to fear, and this time it’s very real: a fear rarely grabs after me like a hungry wolf.
I have obviously given the girl Evie too much power over me. But then, she doesn’t know that. If I end up owning her, I will have to be cautious with my emotions, especially in the first years. The training will be a tough but delicate dance for both the dancer and her teacher. I’ve never given myself a project quite like Evie. But now that I’ve set the scheme in motion, I’ll have to sit back and wait for my dear Lana to work her trickery before I’ll be able to work my own.
Chapter Eight
Evie
I don’t recall the first time I laid eyes on the black man, but it almost seems as if I’ve known him forever. Were there dreams before the actual sightings? I struggle to remember but any knowledge of him through my vivid dreams just slips away before I have my answer. I even grapple to remember if he was there the night that Joel took me to the club on River and 6th streets. I can’t be sure, but my mind seems to insert his face into the myriad of faces that swarmed around me that night.
I suppose that it’s easy to see him in that setting—he certainly belongs there. The same sort of extreme sex takes place in the dirty building they call The Rose—rose as in soft petals, sweet fragrance and brutal thorns. Joel thought it would be a gas to see what the per
verts do. I can’t quite understand why my boyfriend would even think of such a thing; it was so different from his usual tree-hugging environmentalist politics and all his obsessive blogging. We went to satisfy whatever kinky streak he had, though it was such a cursory visit that I hardly got a chance to lap up the atmosphere. What he didn’t know is that while he was into ridiculing the collars and chains set, I was salivating on those that wore them. I was like the kid who’d just walked into a new candy store with a whole array of confections laid out before her. Of course the candy has a steep price, and one that I was not willing to pay. To lay out my fantasies for Joel to mock was the last thing I wanted to do. I made the mistake of being too eager the night he smacked my bottom while we were having sex. I never heard the end of it, despite the number of times I’ve tried to assure him that I have no interest in kinky sex. No interest in kinky sex with him.
But with other men? With Alec West? Hum. Desire is a beautiful thing when it’s not being ridiculed by those who have no understanding about how it works.
Alec is not a nice man. He’s crude and demanding and impossible to reason with. I’ve given him my body and still he doesn’t seem satisfied. He discards me after we make love like I’m so much trash. So why do I bother? Because he promises me my dreams come true—as long as I let him lead and ask no questions.
I liked his attention at the start and there is certainly no lack of sexual appeal for me. All the descriptions of tall, dark and handsome fit him perfectly, so of course I was like a blushing schoolgirl, letting him woo me. He touches me and my body spasms. The sound of his voice makes me quake. After that first date in the boulangerie I would have taken him home and let him use me. I’m sure he knew this since I’m not very good at hiding feelings of desire. But is all this because of who he is, or because he claims to know the black man of my imaginings? I went with him to his soiree—just because I was pissed off at Joel—and found that remarkable world again with the same kinds of perversion that had flashed before me at River and 6th streets. And there I saw the black man once again. This was too incredible to be believed! Or so I thought.
When I mentioned the black man to Alec, he assured me that he’d make an introduction, meanwhile, he diverted my attention with an unexpected love affair. I call it an affair because I don’t know how else to describe it. We date. But we rarely kiss and we never make love—not unless we go to one of his wild parties. I fight him on this, hoping that we can just have a normal dating relationship, but he ignores my pleas. And yet, once inside those crazed places, Alec forces me to do things, to crawl and beg and suffer the most profound humiliation. I say I hate it, but I don’t. I cry, I weep, I assure him that I’ll never go back, but I know I will. If only to see the black man again. If only to have Alec introduce us.
But I’ve learned that nothing is that easy with Mr. West. He assures me that the black man knows who I am and that I’ll eventually meet him, but I’ve begun to doubt that’s true. In fact, I told Alec that I wouldn’t go back again, that if he wants a relationship with me it has to be more than my accompanying him to his soirees. Since then, he’s had my mind all screwed up. One minute I think he no longer cares about me, then suddenly he’ll walk into the performance hall, seek me out and lead me to some private place where he’ll prove to me how much I still desire what he offers. A few days ago, he arrived right after the rehearsal was over, as I was about to change in my dressing room. He grabbed me by the ass and pushed me through the cavernous area behind the stage. I literally couldn’t see inside the velvet drapes that enveloped our bodies. When we came to the back wall, he shoved me into the cement and started stripping away my leotard. I wanted to give in, but my body would not allow it until he angrily pinned me to the wall with his huge form and whispered in my ear, “Either you submit to me without a fight, or you’ll be left to fend for yourself naked—because I will take your clothes with me when I’m done.”
I shuddered right down to my bones! This kind of talk clears my head of all uncertainty. If nothing else I’ve learned that a man like Alec can, with his unambiguous commands, cut through my hesitation faster than a whole string of imploring arguments. I like to be ruled, to be told what to do. If I have to figure out life on my own, I tend to get mixed messages. Desire and fear are such close companions in me that I can’t often tell the difference.
Of course, I gave in. He wanted me, I wanted him. This was what I’d asked for—of a fashion. In his seething, pissed off voice, he made me raise my hands to the wall above my head. “And keep them there,” the threat was unmistakable, and did everything that a threat like this will do—which is make me yield.
He whipped out a knife—or something very sharp if it was not a knife—and began to run it over my naked body. I began to orgasm long before he was finished. As he was running it down across my armpits, I shuddered so deeply that he stopped, put his hand to my throat and with lips at my ear, he curtly said: “Don’t move, Evie. I can’t see much better than you, and I don’t think either of us would enjoy the moment if you ended up with blood dripping down your thigh.” Although there was a dim gray light surrounding us, he was right, I couldn’t allow that knife to slip. Unfortunately, that made his knife play more difficult to bear. No room to move a muscle, to gasp for breath, to let my body respond as it naturally desired to do. By the time he put the knife away and ran his fingers over the flesh he’d just explored at knife point, I was frantic with arousal.
I wanted to beg. But in Alec’s world, begging is forbidden. A woman waits for her pleasure. A man may give it generously, or they may take away with no warning and no recourse.
My desire built and so did his. Once the foreplay was over, he withdrew his cock, and lifting me by the thighs so my back rested against the wall, he entered me with long, steady thrusts—a dozen maybe before he crushed me with his torso and came. I smothered my face in his shoulder to prevent my cries from leaking into the atmosphere of the performance hall. Suddenly, there was not a moment to spare. As soon as he pulled out of me with his cock dripping onto my thigh, we heard Nan calling to me from beyond the curtains.
“I guess you’d better get going, darling,” he whispered, as he stuffed his cock back inside his pants.
I fished for the leotard on the floor and found it at my feet. To scramble back inside the twisted thing wasn’t easy, and I’m sure when Nan saw me coming from the far side of the stage where no one ever goes, that she wondered what I’d been doing. What choice did I have but to brush her off and ignore the strange look?
Alec was already long gone, though he’d left me with the impression that he’d continue to assault me any time he chose to have me. Was this any different than one of his weekend adventures? Or was I just trading one form of coolly detached eroticism for another?
After this last incident, I was convinced that I’d end my association with Alec West. He hadn’t produced the black man and I had no reason to believe that eventually he would.
But then the interview, and Lana McCarron, and my desires came roaring back. By the time I left her office my mind was changed again. The nameless black man, the phantom from countless dreams and daydreams seemed closer to me than he’d ever been. If I followed Lana’s advice I would have him.
As soon as Alec’s number appeared on my cell phone, I jumped on the call. Days riddled with obsession finally ended with my agreeing to meet him on Friday evening just two weeks after we’d had sex in the performance hall.
***
The stars were so thick that they swam before my eyes, but there was still not much light to show me the way through the maze.
“You go from one side to the other and I’ll meet you there.”
I looked back at Alec’s smiling face. “I just walk through the maze until I find you?”
“That’s how it works. A little scary maybe, but I promise you’ll survive.” When he wanted to talk nice, he could make me do just about anything. Not only had he persuaded me to walk into that haunted labyrinth, he ma
naged to strip me of my clothes, so as I entered the woods amongst the tall trees I was naked.
This was how my night began.
I moved erratically through the shifting universe of the maze having no idea where I was headed. I swear I’d met the trees and shrubs before, everything looked the same, every turn I’d taken just like the one before. My steps were halting, my trek way too slow, I knew that. But I had to wait for the clouds to clear overhead so that I could see to navigate my way through the dark night. My head was a little dizzy, reminding me that I didn’t eat but a small bowl of cereal at breakfast and it had been nearly twelve hours since I’d had any food. I had a terrible fear of falling over in a faint and never finding my way to the other side, or to Alex or the black man…or any kind of rescue at all.
I groped my way through a thicket of creeping vines, feeling their branches scratching at me like claws. There were shapes before my eyes that made me sure that an attack was imminent. I started to scream, but a hand came down over my mouth and I was lifted away by not one man but two, yes two: one with my legs, the other holding my torso. With my head cradled against the one man’s naked chest, I felt his strong muscles expand and contract as we traveled though the darkness. Finally, we moved out into the open, something I could tell because the air was not so close. I could breathe deeper and smell the fresh scent of something clean riding in on the wind. I was okay as long as I was carried above the ground, but when I found my feet back on the cool earth, all the terror that grabbed at my ankles, that clawed at my toes, that invaded my gut, tore away any assurance that I was safe.
Ropes surrounded me. A blindfold slipped over my eyes. I was fastened against something scratchy: a tree trunk, a tall granite monolith, a fence post? Exactly what became my jail is something I’ll never know, but I understood the effect through my entire body; though nerves that buzzed with fear and pores that sweat and a heart that raced too fast. The pain unleashed was hard and merciless. In my mind’s eye, I saw a dozen angry whips, taking turns as I received the first real beating of my life. I’d dreamt of that moment, a scene of breathless intensity that would bring me face to face with the desire locked in my body, and the man of my dreams to make it real. If only my hands had been free, I could have yanked the blindfold from my eyes and seen the truth.
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