One would
think that an image with the power to break loose a wall of stifled passion
would be bold and shocking to the senses. But this image was neither bold nor
shocking. She was passing through a neighborhood with tall, leafy, sun-drenched
trees and large stately homes, some trimmed with neat iron fences painted black
or white, some without fences but with great lawns that stretched out open and
inviting. Marianne Ridgeway suddenly stopped short and stared, going into a
dreamy trance for a time, while her memories slowly converged. It was just a
gate, a black wrought-iron gate with a snarl of bushes behind it-there was something
a little wild and reckless about those bushes. Something about stumbling through
a gate like this to reach the other side... no, no! she
corrected her memory with a subtle shift; it was more like the black gate
leading to a hideaway she shared with Havel and Miklos.
So long ago.
She remembered the sweetness of the
flowers and the briars.
Her heart began to beat a little faster
than was normal. Her hands began to sweat. Fear trickled through her veins like
the creeping vines entangling the entrance to that lover's sanctuary, long ago.
She gulped and caught her breath then
started out walking faster than she had before, frantically gazing at house
numbers until she reached her destination where she delivered the package she
clutched firmly to her chest like an act of self-protection.
Returning home, she walked three blocks
out of the way to avoid the gate... and the memory.
But memories are not so easily
dispatched.
Returning
home to the big two-story city house, her belly ached, belligerently churning,
tearing away at her firmly practiced calm with reckless disregard for all she'd
tried to do these last few years. The façade began to crack like dinnerware and
threatened to shatter altogether. The house was empty, but like a womb-mellow,
comforting and throbbing with expectation. The afternoon sun cast shadows of
flickering leaves across the warm chestnut woods and the creamy plastered walls
danced with light.
Marianne sank down on the couch feeling
the leather swallow her body, sending her deeper into places of memory and
fear. Her mind began to unravel a scene knit so tightly she'd been certain it
would never work loose... and yet now, it appeared in her mind in exacting detail
...
...She moved
through the gate, barely hearing the metal clang as it hit the fence behind her.
Running gracefully up the path and the six creaky wooden stairs she shoved the door with her shoulder and entered the big wide
room. Clutter was everywhere-books, piles and piles of books both neatly shelved
and haphazardly stacked, beer cans, wine bottles, plates of day old food, clothes
thrown without thought to where they landed. Havel and Miklos
were there, too. Miklos,
as if he were waiting for her, spoke sharply as soon as their eyes met ...
"You
sorry bitch, you're late."
"I
am sorry," she bowed her head with a sheepish grin, thinking of the news she
had to tell him. But he didn't give her time to speak; instead, he strode across
the floor and grabbed her long dark mane of hair in his fist.
"You
bring me what I asked for?" he asked, as if he already knew the answer.
"No,
but-"
"But
nothing," he snarled.
He
pulled her to the saddle-his make-shift punishment bench-and thrust her roughly
over the bar. "Told you what you'd get."
She
didn't want this. In fact, she had the antidote to his vicious mood. But by
then the scene was set in motion and unalterable. Already, she could feel the
hot throbbing of his energy. The bar cut her thighs in two where it pressed
hard against the flesh. A draft of cool air tickled the base of her behind. She
did her best not to move a muscle, hard as that was.
A
fistful of birches came down across her bottom, biting brutally into her skin.
She shuddered, feeling a sob sweep through her and a sexual spasm make her bare
pussy dampen beneath her skirt. Dissatisfied with the effect of the birches on
a covered behind, Miklos flung the short skirt off
the flesh of her ass. Lustrously bare, the round globes invited his response. Beating
her bottom hard until it was a rash of scarlet and her eyes a fountain of
tears, he had his first satisfying feeling rush through him. It seemed to
conquer the inner demon for that moment. Nothing else could touch the thrill of
hurting her.
Dropping
the birches once his cock was stiff, he removed the thick member from his pants
and plunged deep into the velvety moistness of her sheath. His thumb rubbed her
anus as he pumped her hard. Then ready to explode, he grabbed her hips and
banged without stopping until he was quickly spent.
Pulling
out, he turned around and spoke to Havel, "You want her?"
Havel
looked up from his papers and sighed with contempt and longing registering in
his expression undisguised. "Not now," he answered and returned to his work.
Yanking
the girl upright, Miklos dragged her to the corner
and threw her down. Her collar hung from a thick metal chain that was bolted
into the crumbling plaster deep enough to hold.
"Buckle
it on," he ordered.
After
she finished, he pulled her arms behind her back and bound them together with
rope.
"Spread
your legs," he said.
She
looked up into Miklos' imperious eyes and slowly
obeyed his command, bending her legs and parting her thighs to reveal the
glistening snatch below. The juices from him had leaked out into her pubic hair
and were smeared against her thighs. Kneeling down, Miklos
reached into the wet furrow and cupped the nectar in his fingers, bringing it to
her mouth. She eagerly licked the sticky juices, while playfully grinning. Satisfied
with her effort, he stuffed his hand back inside her slit and asked: "You
horny?"
