EXTRACT FOR
The Abduction Of Veronica X
(Lizbeth Dusseau)
Introduction
Sadie Curtain is a literary researcher looking
into the facts behind a book written by writer Emerson Gray called Pygmalion
Whore, which was released in the early 1970's. This work of fiction centered around the abduction and seduction of a young woman. While
the work was alarming for its time, it also won quite a cult following. It
was recently rediscovered by a Millennium audience, some of who have used
it almost as a textbook for certain unconventional sex practices. The
interviewer's intention is to delve deeper into the experiences on
which Gray based his novel. She assumes that there are things left unsaid.
Daphne McGill, Emerson's former wife, was willing to candidly share the truth
with her. Chapter One
Her heart beat as if it were going to run
away, tormented, frightened and in anguish, but aroused, all in the same
confounding, splendid instant. She lay back on the bare, striped mattress, legs
spread like a wide Western vista; skin shiny, venting the incense of sex. He
came toward her for the third time that afternoon, penis edgy with testosterone
overflowing, raw muscled extremities breathing with feral power. He loomed and
thrust unrestrained into the succulent sheath between her thighs and she drew
him in again, ready for more, for coming again, coming easier this time
perhaps, his vigor hardly abated but now laced with exhaustion. Their afternoon
had started at one o'clock and would end at five on the same old mattress in
the same barren room where they began. At
the window, a thin white curtain fluttered in the breeze. His
body sank into the cushion of her, into sweaty thighs and a satiny bosom
flushed with heat, sweat dripping down the sides. He kissed away one salty rivulet. As he
fucked her, his firm ass bobbed in and out of the flickering sunshine. He hit
deep and clawed for more, always more. Three times was never enough for him. And
what did she mind that he was such a sexual animal? She liked her orgasms long
and strong. And plenty of them one after another...after
another. The
sound of their skin smacking drove her mad. She thrashed back and forth. His
teeth clamped onto her nipple and he sucked it into a hard inch-long bullet of
tender sensation. "Yes,
yes, yes," she seethed, closing her eyes and feeling the wave of pain. "Hard, dammit it, harder!"
Grunting, panting, sweat dripping from her brow, she arched her back. Coming again...squeezing down to suck him dry. "Oh, more..." her
lilting voice drifted, as the waves of passion rode her body end to end. Then
he finished too, pressing his groin firmly against her center, muscles straining
while he moaned for the duration of his climax. Emerson fell away, naked body bouncing into
the mattress. They
stared upwards at the old cracked plaster, watching motionless as the ceiling
fan loped a bit cockeyed, stirring the overheated air. Without it one could
hardly breathe in the stifling room. Their scent was strong. "Probably
should have the place fumigated when we're done," he finally broke the silence.
"Oh,
I think the aroma is divine," Daphne returned with a sigh. She
turned to him, laying her hand on his chest. The hair there had been bleached
by the sun, like his close-cropped blond at the top of his head, already white
and it was just the end of spring. He could have been a beach bum with his
looks, like a West Coast surfer, but he was much more than that, much
different. She stroked him affectionately, letting her thoughts swim. He
was often quiet for minutes at a time, as he was now, lost in thought. Then he
came back revived enough to announce, "Let's get married, Daph." "What?" "It
can't be like this all the time," she said. "What?"
Instantly irked. "You making
excuses for not loving me?" "But
I do love you!" "Then
there should be no question about getting married." Simple as
that. The
thought had never occurred to her, since she never thought that Emerson would
ever consider marriage. Her boyfriend was brilliant; the most brilliant man
she'd ever dated, or knew, for that matter. He was incisive, biting, sexy,
charming when he wanted to be, or wanted something. But married? He lived to
defy convention. What could be more conventional than marriage? She
shrank back, shivering with nervous heat. "I think you have me scared." He
looked at her quizzically-he didn't understand her hesitation-then suddenly
smiled, opening up the broad expanse of his peculiar magnetism. "Oh,
Daphne, sweet," he leaned over her, staring straight into her hazel eyes,
curling a lock of her long ash blond hair between his fingers.
"You...have...no...reason to be scared," he enunciated with great care. "I couldn't
ever, ever love anyone like I do you. Ever!" The word
was almost tinged with anger. But still, he smiled. He gazed at her in awe.
"Don't make me beg. Please." He raised his eyebrows with melancholy wanting. Her
cold shivers took on some warmth. "Okay."
Her voice breathless and small. "I-I...don't... you say
this so suddenly... so get married, how do we do that?" "Elope,
of course. Tonight," he thought again, "no tomorrow, I need to get some cash.
We'll bring Zack and Penelope maybe, but no one else, unless you just want it
to be the two of us. I think I'd like it that way, don't you? Just you and me. It's all about you and me." "I
don't know," she returned, still dazed. "You
don't know what?" he looked concerned again. She
saw a hint of hurt in his eyes. "No, Emerson, I do want to marry you." She
smiled, looking suddenly elated, then giggled like a
young girl. She was still young, twenty-three, a graduate student
looking for a publisher for her randy poetry and emotionally edgy short
stories. "Oh!
We're going to be quite the pair, huh?" He jumped from bed and climbed into his
clothes. Late
the next night, they were married by a Justice of the Peace. |