“You’re so crude. There are other things in life, you know, besides sex.”
“I am well aware,” I told him, grinning. “The drugs are to die for, though the spirits come in a close second place.” Really, if you took away all of the pleasure in this world, life would be such a bleak, weary thing. Something I surely wouldn’t want.
No, I needed the pleasure. It kept my heart beating.
Koda shook his head, not saying anything else as he walked past me, leaving me alone in the hall. He probably thought I was insane for craving such things. He was such a goody-goody. I bet Bram would agree with me on it, though. Bram might be a tad psychotic, but when it came to feeling good, he was more like me than Koda was.
You see, if Koda wanted to be with Felice, he’d hold himself back. Me? I’d press and press until I was able to take everything and anything I wanted. Bram would do the same, although I was certain Bram wouldn’t so much go for the sex as he would something else. His favorite games were the deadly ones.
Once I was sure he was gone, once I was alone in the hall—as it should be, because on my nightly wanderings it was like this place was empty, without a soul to be seen—I turned my gaze forward, my feet slowly dragging me to her door. I heard not a sound coming from within, and I wondered if she was in there, asleep, or if she was studying or whatever else it was she did when she wasn’t with us.
I knew better than to try her doorknob; it’d be locked, and if she was awake, she’d only freak out. No, I’d have to simply imagine her, picture her and what she was doing. I wouldn’t be able to see her on this night—
A rush of cold air blasted me from further down the hall, and I turned my head to look. Sometimes, when you thought you were alone, you weren’t. Sometimes you could see other people, the ones who’d died here before.
Or maybe that was just me, being a little insane. We were all insane here, just in our own separate ways.
I drew myself away from her closed door, heading deeper into the hall, following the cold. The air always changed when things became…let’s just call it different. When things became different, this place wanted you to know.
A new door had appeared in the stone walls, fifteen feet away from hers. I supposed it wasn’t technically a door, but more of an opening in the stone. Human-shaped, too. Perfect for sliding in.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say the house wanted me to go in.
Sometimes Grimmstead taketh, sometimes it gaveth. You never knew what it was until you were past the point of no return. Me? I didn’t care which one. I was too curious not to venture into the newly-opened hideaway and see what this place had in store for me tonight.
I slipped through the new opening, coming into a dark hall. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, to the lack of light quickly. My breath and my body heat were the only warm things in this narrow, dank place. I inched along, bit by bit, until I came across something truly extraordinary.
A window. Although, I supposed as I came upon it, light flowing through it from its other side, it wasn’t truly a window. If it was a window, you see, the person on the other side of it would’ve seen me by now, and surely she would’ve flipped out, considering where she was and what she was doing.
Oh, my. This was something else, wasn’t it? Was Grimmstead giving me a taste of what Felice had to offer?
Felice was in the tub, her head leaning back, her hair drawn up and pinned to the back of her head. Her legs were open; I could tell by the way her knees rested above the water on each side of the tub. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, the bare skin showing tinged with the most delectable shade of pink I’d ever seen.
I stood on the other side of the mirror in her bathroom, if I had to guess. I doubted they were all like this—in fact, I doubted hers was like this thirty minutes ago. This place changed and morphed like a living creature, and right now this living creature wanted me to witness Felice in the water.
The best part, though?
She was touching herself.
With her knees open, her chest heaving, her arms must’ve ran along her stomach, pushing her breasts up further as she worked at herself below the water. Her eyes were shut, her full, luscious lips parted slightly. It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long, long time.
My cock twitched in my pants, and I felt myself growing harder and harder with each passing moment. It would be impossible to look upon her in such a position and feel nothing stirring between my legs.
God, I wanted to be between those legs. I wanted to discover what she felt like, how those legs felt wrapped around my waist as I drove into her. I could almost picture it perfectly.
I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. I knew what I had to do to relieve myself, since I couldn’t bust through the mirror and take her here and now, and I would do it with no qualms. I’d do it eagerly. I’d do it once, and maybe even a second time, depending on how long she was in there, how long I could watch her pleasure herself while doing the same to me.
My fingers reached beneath my untucked shirt, hurriedly undoing my button and zipper. Within a moment, I had my length in my hand, its hardness throbbing with desire. Yes, pleasure was my weakness, but I would ask: was it even a true weakness? Surely no man could walk upon a beautiful creature like her and resist being able to give himself some relief.
My fist pumped along my length as I watched her. I had to set my other hand on the wall beside the window. If I had to guess, I’d say it was her mirror, because I saw the sink just under it, the tub a bit further away.
Felice let out a low moan, and it was literally one of the best sounds I’d ever heard in my life. Light and fluttery, feminine in ways I’d almost forgotten. This place…it felt like we’d been without a woman for so long.
A real woman. A pretty woman. A woman who knew enough about her body to touch herself when she craved pleasure.
My kind of woman.
I could see movement in the tub’s water, her chest rising and falling, revealing her hardened nipples to me every few moments, and I picked up speed along my cock. Over and over, I ran my hand along myself, imagining having her lips there, on her knees before me, giving me a certain type of pleasure only an experienced mouth could.
Oh, yes. Oh, fuck yes.
My balls tightened, and the moment I heard Felice groan out loud, I lost it. My hips rocked forward, cum shooting from my tip, landing on the stone wall before me. I bit back whatever groan my body wanted to let out, swallowing it down as I pumped out the last few squirts, losing myself to the tingly feeling of the orgasm.
I breathed hard, my hand still on my dick as I watched Felice’s body shudder in the water. It would seem little miss innocent wasn’t so innocent after all. Innocent girls didn’t touch themselves. Innocent girls didn’t know how to bring themselves to orgasm so quickly.
There was, quite frankly, no fun being innocent in this life. You only got one, after all, so best make it count, right?
A low breath flowed from my lungs as I watched her eyes open, the hands between her legs slowly sliding out and gripping the sides of the tub. Her knees moved together in the water, and I waited, eagerly hoping she would pick herself out of the water and give me a good show. She was tall, slender, but beneath that dress were the curves that made her a woman.
Her breasts were ample, round, more than enough to grab and hold onto, knead and twerk. Those hips were to die for. I bet her back arched real nice when she was taking it from behind.
I didn’t have to wait too long; Felice got up in a minute, her body dripping water from the tub, and she slowly stepped out, allowing me to see each and every part of her. Her ass, her tits, her cunt, which I bet felt oh so tight. There was literally not a single flaw on her body, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of her.
She was literally perfect. So perfect. Some might hazard to claim she was too perfect, with her caramel skin and that warm brown hair, but I would never say such a thing. My vice was pleasure in all forms, but her perfection was visua
l. There was nothing I’d change about her. Just looking at her warmed my body up, and I almost wanted to jerk off again.
Alas, Felice reached for the towel hanging on the wall and wrapped it around her chest, thereby blocking my view of her sinewy, curvy form. I slowly put myself away, knowing I’d have no trouble imagining her naked when she was speaking to me next. Maybe during our next session, I’d be able to convince her to shed that dress and let me touch her…
My thoughts vanished the moment Felice moved in front of the mirror, her amber eyes sluggishly lifting, meeting mine.
I held in a gasp as I stepped away, my back ramming against the wall. Suddenly this dark hall felt too narrow, too small. Suddenly I wanted to get away, as if she’d seen me. I knew she didn’t, but still. It was almost too much for me.
Felice’s eyes fell, and I watched her breathe out a long sigh. Her chest pressed against the towel that was wrapped around her, and her fingers curled around the sides of the vanity. For a moment, she looked so sad. Depressed. Almost as if she didn’t like it here.
I couldn’t blame her if that was the case; it had taken me a long time to get used to Grimmstead and the strange occurrences that transpired within.
My heart beat fast, but its pace eventually slowed. I couldn’t say why I watched her undo the clip holding her hair back, why I stayed to watch her brush that long hair. I sure couldn’t say why I felt the need to linger, watching such an intimate thing.
Sex was a show for people, sometimes. But this? Standing in front of a mirror, while alone? That’s when a person’s true colors came out. That’s when you could see the things they were hiding, and Felice—I knew without a doubt Felice hid something. Something she wasn’t proud of. Something that nagged at her mind and made her doubt herself.
She should be confident, especially with those looks. She should have the world wrapped around her little finger and be in absolute control.
But she wasn’t. She wasn’t in control. This place…I didn’t particularly want to think about what this place would do to her.
Would it kill her? Would it change her? Would it allow her to be who she was meant to be? Would Grimmstead help her reveal her true colors to the world? Only time would tell, I supposed. Time was the one thing we all had plenty of here.
I lingered in that dark hall until Felice no longer stood in front of the mirror, and then I waited another minute or two, recollecting myself before venturing out the same way I came in. After slipping out of the wall and into the dimly-lit hallway that was so familiar to me, I threw a look over my shoulder, finding that the wall had closed.
No opening. No crack to slip through. Nothing at all to reveal what I’d done or where I just was.
Hmm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Grimmstead wanted me to fancy her.
The joke was on it, though. I already did, the very moment I laid eyes on her. I’d told her I liked pretty things, and it was not a lie. It was the one truth I had, the one truth I had to give. I would have Felice, that much I swore to myself.
My feet drew me through the hall. It was strange, feeling so content. It was true I could’ve busted through the glass and tried to take her right then and there, but I would only have her when she was willing. The fun and the pleasure only came from a willing participant…or two. Or even three—really, the body count didn’t matter. The more stray limbs the better.
I managed to make it back to my room, closing the door quietly as I breathed out. My palm flat on the wooden door, I stared at the back of my hand for a while. At the smoothness of the flesh, hardly a wrinkle, other than the ones on my knuckles. Not a blemish in sight. My skin was as perfect as Felice’s, though mine was a tad paler.
I turned towards the inner depths of my room, working to undo the buttons on my shirt as I moved toward the bed. Didn’t make it too far, though. Didn’t make it far at all, mostly because something was out of the ordinary here. Something didn’t fit.
Something was wrong, amongst the old gothic furniture and immaculately-carved wooden bed frame. And that something sat on the edge of my bed, no larger than a picture frame—and that, that was because it was a picture frame. Smaller than the ones you’d see hanging in the halls. The kind you set on counters and nightstands to remind you of memories and people you didn’t want to forget.
I had no pictures in my room. None hanging and none resting on their wooden kickstands on any of the surfaces. I didn’t like pictures. Sometimes pictures told the truth, whereas my appearance lied.
Things…did not always make sense here. Felice would soon see it, and she’d have her own truth.
Mine? Mine was an ugly, hideous thing. My truth made my gut clench and my heart nearly stop. It was a truth everyone faced in their life, everyone except me.
Until I neared the picture frame, that was. Until I stepped closer to my bed and saw what picture sat within the frame, behind the clear glass. My jaw tightened, every nerve in my body tensing up as I reached for it, picking it up and studying it.
This photograph…was of me. My truth. My reality that I didn’t want to face.
The man staring up at me from the picture was not as handsome as I was. His blue eyes were not as bright; they were less lively, more tired. Bags hung under them. Stubble lined his jaw, and even his smile appeared strained. This man was not flawless perfection in the shape of a male like I was.
This man…I didn’t want to look at him, even if he was me.
I would not. I refused.
So I did the only thing I could think of to do: I took the picture to the window, unlatched it, and tossed the frame out into the black night. The sky was clear, but even with the moon’s light shining down, it was almost pitch-black outside. I heard its glass shatter, and I hoped that wherever it landed, I would never see it again.
It was probably too much to hope for.
Pulling myself back into the room, I shut the window. I finished taking off my shirt, tossing the white bundle of fabric on the floor as I kicked off my shoes. I shed everything from my body before climbing into bed, and then I reached for my nightstand, where a new bottle of rum sat.
Every night it was the same. I’d wander, unable to sleep, and then I’d wind up back here, feeling tired. I’d get naked, climb into bed, and drown my mind with booze until I could no longer function, until my nerves were warm and tingly with that relaxing feeling, until my mind shut itself off to recover from the massive amount of alcohol.
And then, the next morning, I’d wake up and feel fine.
That was my curse. Forever in search of something that would finally make me feel good, pleasure that wasn’t fleeting, but never able to find it. Never able to fully grasp what I needed to go on. I liked pretty things, and pretty things usually liked me back. I drank too much, put my body through too much, and yet when the morning came, dawn’s light shining in through the window, I felt perfectly fine, as if nothing at all had happened the day before.
Rinse and repeat.
Again and again and again until your mind went insane with the monotony. Who knew being in search of eternal pleasure would mean that no amount would ever be enough? A curse; it had to be. There were no other words for it.
Each morning there was a new bottle, and I drank it before breakfast. Each night another, and I did the same. I didn’t even realize I was in a routine until recently, and I wondered if the others under this roof had their own. They had to; a routine helped make the days go by.
As I took my first swig, I winced. It burned on its way down my throat, and I resisted my urge to cough. The stronger the stuff the better, although I found it ridiculously annoying that the stronger stuff usually tasted like acid traveling down your throat and into your belly, but as long as it helped me not to think about the truth—that fucking picture—I didn’t care.
The truth?
The truth was I was dying. We all were.
Chapter Eight – Felice
One morning I woke up to find Midnight sitting at the foot of my bed,
his yellow eyes slit and staring at me. He lounged about lazily, watching me with an aloof, uncaring expression, as cats often did. His tail flicked around slowly; he was content here in my room, laying on the bed with me.
I slowly sat up, reaching for him. Lucien had warned me that Midnight did not take to anyone, that the cat did whatever he wanted when he wanted, but I’d found that the feline had a thing for me. He allowed me to pet him, even to scratch his belly on occasion—something which most cats absolutely hated, at least from my experience.
My hands grabbed him around the belly, and I pulled him to my chest, picking him up. He let me, although he wasn’t too happy about it. His ears flattened a bit, but I snuggled with him, cooing, “Midnight, how did you get in here?” As I spoke, my eyes darted all around. I never opened the window, because it was always a bit too chilly, and the door to the hallway was shut.
Did he come in here sometime during the day? I assumed I would’ve noticed him if he was here before I went to bed, or that he would’ve meowed or scratched at the base of the door, wanting to be let out.
But I never once woke up during the night, hearing noises like that, which begged the question: how the heck did he wind up in here?
I moved my legs from under the sheets, standing and slowly walking to my door. “I’m sorry, kitty,” I told him, setting him on the ground before opening the door for him. I wore a pair of soft pants—I’d found them in the corner of the closet, beside all the dresses—and a lacy shirt.
Yeah, I wasn’t a big lingerie fan, but I had to make do with what I had. There was no way I’d be sleeping in those dresses too. Bad enough I had to work in them. I had gotten better at zipping them up myself, though. At least there was that.
Once Midnight pranced away, I got dressed. I couldn’t remember waking up last night, but my sleep was…fitful. I couldn’t recall my dreams now, of course.
Grimmstead Academy: A Villainous Introduction Page 8