by Saber Vale
“…she begs for my seed inside of her like a feral cat begs for food, bending over to present her quim like a depraved slut when only a few weeks ago she was a wide-eyed virgin… I have trained her well…”
“I hate the word quim,” I said, making a retching noise.
“This is pretty hot,” Cormac said, flipping more pages, “if I didn’t just fuck you I’d be hard as a rock…”
“Shut up,” I snapped, “we are not doing this…”
“We literally just did already…” Cormac unhelpfully reminded me.
“Well, we aren’t going to do it again…”
“Oh, ok, fine,” Cormac said with a laugh, picking up his bolt cutters, “anyway, do you want to go explore some more or what? That’s what I came here to do. Fucking you was just a perk.”
I rolled my eyes at him for what felt like the millionth time.
“Fine,” I said, “let’s go.”
We went up another flight of stairs and found a locked door with a huge ancient padlock. We must be at the top of the spire, way up where the clouds gathered darkly in the late spring evenings.
“I came prepared,” he said, hoisting the bolt cutters up over his shoulders.
“I’m worried about what we’ll find,” I breathed.
“How could anyone be more shocking than the dungeon?” he asked, elbowing me gently before stepping up to pop open the lock with a heavy snap.
We pushed open the door and the first thing that hit me was the smell. It smelled ancient, like we’d just opened Tutankhamun’s tomb.
It was dark, no daylight was seeping in, but we made our way through the hallway to a large, cavernous room that had stone walls and almost no light coming in through the shuttered windows. Cormac walked over, his shadowy figure moving confidently through the mysterious room, and pried the wood off of the arched window, letting in a golden gush of afternoon light.
“Wow,” I gasped, surveying the room.
There was a simple, elegant wooden canopy bed, and huge tapestries on the walls of battle scenes, men and dragons fighting other armies. On the floor was an almost completely threadbare rug woven in a complex pattern of vines and roses. Over a wooden chair in a corner, an old embroidery hoop was resting, still holding a fabric sewing project, and next to it was a chest. An ancient deer’s head and several portraits, religious in nature, the virgin Mary and St. John the Baptist, embellished with gold leaf, hung on the walls. Everything was covered in a thick veneer of dust.
“This stuff looks like it’s from the middle ages,” I said, “it’s dusty, but pretty much in perfect condition…”
“Those paintings…”
“They’re priceless…” I breathed.
“Wow,” he said quietly, “this is unreal.”
Cormac walked slowly over to the embroidery hoop and picked it up gingerly.
“This feels like it could fall apart in my hands,” he said, brushing dust away, “it’s a few flowers on a tunic, I think…”
“Wow,” I said, looking it over, “I can’t believe this is still here…”
“I mean, why wouldn’t it be?”
“These paintings, the furniture, were worth a fortune a hundred years ago,” I said with a shrug, “I can’t believe no one sold them.”
“Your family used to be rich, Astrid, why would they have wanted to do that? The wealthy acquire expensive things, they don’t get rid of them…”
“Ok,” I said, wishing he wouldn’t mansplain rich people to me, “anyway, we need to get them restored, probably, that costs thousands. I’d probably donate them to a museum.”
“No way,” Cormac said, “they’ll go in the hotel.”
“There will be no hotel,” I reminded him in a sing-song voice, even though I wanted to scream.
Back in the kitchen an hour later, we opened another bottle of wine and Cormac lifted his glass in a cheers.
“What are we cheers-ing?” I asked, lifting my glass.
“The end of a wild couple of days,” he said, “I’ve had fun.”
I sighed, but had to admit hanging out with Cormac in the castle had been more thrilling than anything I’d experienced in a long time, maybe ever.
Cormac made a simple dinner. Pork cutlets with fresh wine and tomato sauce, cheese and crust, buttery bread. It smelled amazing, and distracted me as I flipped through one of my great-grandfather’s journals in the living room.
“You’re a great cook,” I said after I took my first bite, surprised at how much he’d done with simple ingredients.
“I like to cook, I can’t often because I travel,” he said, “its one thing I miss about staying in one spot.”
“Where do you live when you aren’t traveling?” I asked, realizing once again how little I knew about him.
“I live here, sweetheart, I wasn’t joking,” he said, “I was staying in a friend’s condo in New York just for a few weeks, near the park, and as soon as I heard about the castle I made plans and left. I hate New York.”
I laughed.
“Me too,” I said, “I lived in Berkeley, or I did, in student housing, but I just graduated…”
“What a second,” he said, “you don’t have a house either?”
“Nope,” I said with a shrug, “I literally have nowhere else to go.”
“So we’re both going to wait each other out here…”
“Yep,” I said, “and, like I said, I have no where to go and no money to buy anything, so I’m pretty sure I can wait longer. But, hey, why were you staying in a friend’s condo? Aren’t you a rich CEO?”
“I am now,” Cormac said with a laugh.
“...and before you were only the son of a billionaire?”
“You really didn’t know anything about my dad, did you?”
“No, I only met him once and he basically disregarded me, I’m not even sure he knew I existed,” I said.
“Well, that makes two of us,” Cormac said, raising his glass, “he always told me I’d get his fortune over his dead body, and in the meantime, I could work for myself.”
“Wow,” I said, “he didn’t support you?”
“No, not at all,” Cormac said, “I rose through the ranks of our company without anyone even knowing I was his son. He always resented my mother for being born into wealth, and he took it out on me.”
“I’d say that I was sorry, but that’s a better deal than most people get,” I said.
Cormac laughed and shrugged.
“I had a lot of privileges,” he said, “but a loving father wasn’t one of them. I couldn’t afford a place close to my corporate offices in Manhattan, so I had to rent from one of my prep school friends.”
“At least you have prep school friends,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“This coming from a baroness?”
“Oh come on, I don’t think anyone would recognize me as a baroness, and anyway, I grew up poor,” I said, “like, bouncing checks, new school clothes from the thrift store, going to bed hungry poor.”
“Right, because your mother spent all of her money making sure she looked good, keeping up appearances so she could land a man like my dad…”
“My mom didn’t have any money,” I said, feeling a queasy anger in the pit of my stomach.
“Where do you think your mom met my dad? At a country club. Judging by her debts she’d taken out loans to join it.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I insisted.
“I’m just pointing out that you weren’t as poor as you thought you were,” Cormac said easily, even though he was driving a dagger through my heart, “I mean, your mom could have sold this place and you could have bought all the school clothes you ever could have needed. If she’d sold it, you’d have enough money to last for both of your lifetimes…”
“How dare you,” I hissed, “she…”
“...and you’re doing the same thing. You could sell your half of the value of this place to me tomorrow and you’d have enough to live anywhere in the w
orld, but you’re too proud…”
I felt a tear break through and stream down my cheek.
“This is all we had!” I cried, “you don’t know what you’re talking about!”
Cormac stopped, for a moment, startled by my emotions.
“I’m sorry, Astrid, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said with quiet sincerity, “I think it’s shameful that your mother, and my father, for that matter, treated us the way they did. That’s all I meant. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
I wiped the tears from my eyes and nodded.
He was probably right.
“Really, Astrid,” he said, leaning in, putting a hand on my shoulder.
For a moment, I thought he would kiss me.
“If you don’t want to sleep together again until we get this sorted out, that’s fine,” he said, “I want you to be happy, honestly.”
I looked at him coldly, feeling angry and sad.
“That’s probably for the best,” I sniffed.
I’d never said anything I meant less in my entire life.
Maybe, I realized, I was proud.
“I’m going to bed,” Cormac said, “it’s been a long day.”
“Sure, me too,” I said.
I’d only laid alone, awake in my sad little twin for fifteen minutes before, feeling weak and almost helpless, I sneaked out into the hall and slipped into his bedroom. Cormac took one look at me and lifted the covers, not saying a word or even giving me a teasing look as he invited me to join him in his big, warm bed.
Chapter 8
I woke with a start, tangled in silk sheets and Cormac’s strong, warm arms.
Had I heard a sound?
“What was that?” I asked, my voice a tight whisper, shaking him awake.
“Huh?” Cormac said dreamily, nuzzling me as if to put me back to sleep.
Then I heard it again, a woman’s laughter, and the sound of a door closing. Cormac seemed to go suddenly still.
“Cormac,” I whispered, “I heard something…”
He lay awake beside me, his eyes open, his body slightly rigid, listening.
“Did you hear it too?” I asked.
“Shh,” he said, “I’m listening.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I whispered, and his arms tightened around me.
“Who said anything about ghosts?” he asked quietly.
There was a very, very distant thud, like the sound of a heavy book falling flat on the floor, and we both flinched.
“The library,” I whispered, and Cormac nodded and slipped from the bed, pulling on his boxer briefs in a swift, graceful motion.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
“Like hell I’m staying here!” I whisper-shouted, jumping out of the bed and pulling on the black slip I’d found in Caroline’s room and had hung over the chair beside the bed.
As soon as I put it on, a chill fell over me, like a shiver that penetrated to my bones.
“Ok, let’s go,” Cormac said, picking up the lantern and lighting it, illuminating his beautiful face.
We made our way through the dark, stone-walled hallway, our bare feet padding silently along the cold floor.
“I don’t hear anything,” he whispered, and I strained to listen.
We opened the door to the library quietly, almost nervously.
“There’s nobody in here,” Cormac said, “but there’s an open book on the floor, did you leave that there?”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head and watching Cormac move to pick up the book.
“...I tied Caroline in the Lotus position hanging from a brass hook in the dungeon, upside down so she could suck my while I played with her perfect little pussy, licking her, penetrating her with a dildo I bought in Paris, and licking her swollen little clit until she whimpered and begged for relief…”
“Jesus,” I sighed, imagining a woman hanging upside down with a cock in her mouth, tied in some wild posture.
“...she slipped slightly, and I saw the rope tighten around her neck, her face turning red quickly as she struggled. I untied her immediately, but realized how dangerous this play could be, how I needed to be more cautious and respect the discipline of it as much as the fun…”
“Do you think that’s how she died?” I asked, “he didn’t untie her in time and she strangled to death…?”
“Who knows,” Cormac said, “but it’s eerie that this book was here like this…”
“I’d say so,” I breathed, feeling another shudder of uncanny fear.
We heard a noise downstairs, and our eyes locked.
“What the fuck is going on?” I mouthed, and Cormac shook his head and shrugged.
“This is a big, drafty castle,” he said, “it could be anything.”
“It doesn’t sound like a thing, it sounds like a someone…” I said.
“It does…”
“We should go back to the west wing,” I said, “it’s less creepy.”
“Ok, but from now on you sleep in my room, even if we’re fighting,” Cormac said, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me close.
“Sure, my hero,” I said sarcastically, even though I appreciated it.
The next morning, I was in a good mood, like the problems between Cormac and I were, at the very least, on ice. Cormac took some time after breakfast to work, and took the opportunity to go snooping around the servant’s quarters.
I found the little apartment the groundskeepers had lived in, where there were plenty of cleaning supplies and a washer and dryer. It was tidy and well-kept, obviously had been used until recently, with bare, modern mattresses on the beds, little dressers from the seventies that had been emptied. The rooms were small and efficient, probably in better condition than anywhere else in the castle, having been lived in most recently. There was even a working TV with a collection of VHS tapes, but all of the movies were old and dubbed in German.
I went downstairs to the garage, turned on the lights, and gasped when I saw two cars and an old motorcycle, all under canvas for protection.
The first car I uncovered was a Mercedes town car from no earlier than the seventies, in a soft powder blue. The second was a candy-apple red Aston Martin roadster.
“Cormac!” I called, “come look at this!”
I’d heard him in the yard, and I knew he’d probably like to see the gorgeous cars I’d discovered.
He popped his head into the garage in just a few moments.
“Holy mother, is that an Aston Martin?” He asked, laughing affably.
“It sure is,” I said, satisfied with my discovery, “there’s a motorcycle too, I haven’t pulled the canvas yet.”
“Oh, please, please let me do it,” he said, practically jogging down to pull the dusty canvas off of the bike.
“Wow,” he laughed, “an Indian Chief, I was going to buy one of these, but I guess I already own one…”
“Your dad doesn’t have a huge car collection stashed somewhere?”
“He wasn’t much of a car guy, he’s got art, a yacht…”
“A yacht?”
“Yeah, I hung out on it once, with some of my college classmates, he wanted to show it off more than anything, that I got to keep, but I haven’t been to it yet, it’s in Monaco…”
“Must have been pretty fun…”
Cormac laughed.
“Nobody knew I was rich, really, so it was embarrassing more than anything, but I guess my blokes had fun…”
“I wonder if the motorcycle runs,” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh, well, it was probably shut down for storage, but maybe if we throw some gasoline in it she’ll start right up. I have a gas can in my trunk, give me just a minute…”
Cormac grabbed a gas can from his car and, with some effort, rolled the motorcycle through the garage door. I offered to help, but he ignored me, focused on his task.
He added air to the tires from an ancient looking compressed air can, filled the gas tank, and checked a few
things on the bike, before throwing a leg over and turning the key in the ignition.
I started with a shocking roar.
“Wow!” I shouted, laughing.
“Weren’t there some helmets hanging up in there?” He asked, and I nodded.
“Go get them, let’s go for a ride!”
“Ok,” I said giddily.
“You don’t think this is dangerous?” I asked him, breathless as I handed him a helmet and slipped the smaller one over my own head.
“Oh it’s certainly dangerous” he said, “come on, let’s get going.”
I slipped onto the bike behind Cormac and wrapped my arms around his thick, solid trunk. It felt thrilling to be pressed against him, the motorcycle roaring between my legs.
Chapter 9
We rode over sprawling country roads, through fields with wooly, white sheep and sprawling wine vineyards. The engine of the bike roared, and I laughed with terrified giddiness as Cormac revved the engine. My hands were tight around his waist and belly, and I could feel him breathe and laugh at me when I got scared.
We ended up at a town over, a cheerful little village with a tiny grocery store, a small restaurant, and an attached inn.
“Let’s stay the night,” Cormac suggested spontaneously, “give the ghost a night to themself.”
“There’s no ghost,” I said as he helped me off of the bike.
“Ok, well whatever it is,” he said, linking arms with me and walking with me through the sleepy Bavarian town.
“I have no clothes,” I reminded him.
“You’ve got the one’s you’re wearing,” he said, “besides, you didn’t bring very much to begin with. We’ll pick up some toothbrushes at the grocery store.”
It was so quiet that we could hear our shoes crunching the leaves beneath our feet as we walked down the sidewalk, and the air felt crisp and damp, the horizon fogging as the sun began to set.
We walked down country lanes and along a long wooden fence behind a tiny farm, where little white sheep stood watching us in the mist. I don’t think we saw another person the entire time. Everything was charming and perfect, and we could be anyone, random travelers on a European motorcycle back-packing trip, maybe even on our honeymoon.