Chapter 6

 

Consciousness. Intolerable consciousness.

If only someone would drug her again. Whatever she’d been given before would suit her nicely. Anything to send away reality’s constant weighty presence.

Such a small white room. Plaster ceiling. Long mirror on the far wall, ancient apothecary bench against the near one. The wooden shelves over the counter were pleasant to look at. They had small cubby holes, some with drawers, some open. The open ones were empty, but Gabrielle imagined there were potions behind those tiny doors. Magic potions. Something she could take to forget.

To forget you’ve been attacked, you’ve been assaulted by two different assailants?

Yes. To forget that.

Though, in a strange way, she didn’t want to forget. The last time Madame returned, she and her monkey butlers—Samuel and Gerard—had pushed a huge machine into the room. It reminded Gabrielle of those antiquated models of computers she’d seen, from… when? The 60s or 70s? Or World War II? Before her time, at any rate.

They’d brought this huge contraption into her little room and angled it between her legs. Of course, her legs were not open wide enough, so each monkey had to unlock the wheels on her stirrups and draw them further apart—so far apart her muscles burned with the strain.

“What are you doing to me?” she’d asked.

The monkeys made chattering noises, one to the other, like they were laughing at her… or laughing at what was about to happen to her.

When Gerard and Samuel teetered out of the room, Mme de Villeneuve closed the door behind them. Gabrielle’s drug-induced haze hadn’t worn off quite so starkly at that point, so she watched rather dizzily as the weird woman attached a phallic instrument to a rod sticking out of the casing.

“Is that leather?” Gabrielle asked—of all questions!

Mme de Villeneuve turned the phallus until it stopped. “You’ve never felt anything so soft in your life.”

In her confounded state, it hadn’t occurred to Gabrielle what this machine was for, much less what it was about to do to her. An inkling came, in trickles, when Madame powered up the motor. The gears ground into motion. The belts whirred. Mme de Villeneuve coated the phallus in oil as it lurched directly between Gabrielle’s legs.

“What… what is this thing?” Her muscles twitched. “Is it about to do what I think it’s about to do?”

“If you think it’s about to penetrate you, then yes. That’s precisely what it’s about to do.”

The leather phallus inched toward the eternal wetness between Gabrielle’s legs. The machine took forever to get into gear. Good thing. Gave her pussy time to adjust to the idea of being splayed open and filled to the brim.

Whatever cocktail of drugs Mme de Villeneuve had pumped into her system made her insides itchy as hell. Her pussy felt pulpy and thick, like a mango between her legs. Or a papaya. Something big and ripe and juicy. Always ready for action. Always craving it.

“Very nice,” Madame said, clasping her hands just beneath her chin. “Oh my dear, you look just wonderful.”

Gabrielle tried to catch a glimpse of herself in the big mirror on the wall, but the angle was wrong and, anyway, the mirror seemed warped. There was something weird about it. She couldn’t say precisely what, but she trusted Madame’s assessment. Whatever was going on between her legs would surely make for arousing footage.

Madame certainly had not been lying about the softness of the leather. Gabrielle had never felt anything so buttery smooth.

When the machine started whirring like a carnival ride, the phallus stuffed Gabrielle’s pussy. “Oh God,” she said. “Madame, is this safe?”

“Excellent question,” Madame replied. “We are about to find out, are we not?”

“What?” Gabrielle couldn’t conceal her fear as the phallus rammed her harder, faster. “Madame, what’s the lesson here? I should consider my beastly nature something that can’t go without electricity driving it? That it doesn’t exist independently of a higher power, or another force or… something?”

She winced to negotiate the pain of the pounding. She’d never been fucked so hard.

Mme de Villeneuve chuckled brightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Suzanne. I am merely taking my machine for a test run.”

“Between my legs?” Gabrielle shrieked.

“Of course, dear child. Where else would I test it?

She fought her screams as Madame’s contraption picked up the pace, but she couldn’t contain herself. Her hands formed fists. So much force built up in her muscles that she felt strong enough to break through the Velcro. She wasn’t, of course. She tried, time and again, but it never worked.

She’d never seen her body react this way. How strange it looked, her legs splayed and bound, her arms pulsing and veiny like two raging cocks. Her breasts heaved, nipples pointed, flesh bouncing as the machinated phallus pummelled her.

No amount of struggling would free her, but every time her limbs seized, her pussy clenched around the large leather cock. And every time her pussy clenched, the friction got hotter, the phallus felt bigger. Was it just her imagination, or was the leather inflating between her legs? Blowing up, heating up, hammering away at the last strand of Gabrielle’s sanity.

The tension in her muscles increased until she’d lifted her bum clear off the bed. She hovered there, concentrating every bit of energy on the machine as it pounded her, laying down sharp and brutal blows, working so vigorously she felt the soft leather warming her wet and swollen pussy.

“I shall remove my fine contraption now,” Mme de Villeneuve hollered over the rickety rattle of the working machine. “It works. That is all I wanted to know.”

“No!”

Madame grinned as brutally as the machine dealt out punishment. “You must be aching, young lady.”

“No! No! I…”

Another orgasm called her name and, like the one her captor had given her with just two fingers and a palm, this was a climax unlike anything she’d ever experienced. And yet totally, completely and entirely different.

“Oh god!” Gabrielle said, just a squeak, not that Madame would be able to hear her over the raucous machine. “Oh my god, I’m just… this is… Oh god!”

“Give in to the power of it, Suzanne.” Madame looked on with what seemed like voyeuristic jealousy. “Let the climax burst inside you.”

Watching her breasts quiver relentlessly, Gabrielle imagined her orgasm as a big balloon filling her pelvis. The leather phallus hammered her pussy until the tension in her muscles made her body a painful plank.

That didn’t last long. It couldn’t. Like a rope under excruciating duress, she’d reached her limit and she snapped.

Her body collapsed on the bed. She only fell an inch, but the tumble felt storeys high. And still the relentless phallus attacked her worn-out cunt. Her screams dissipated into the rattle and hum of the machine as it struggled to maintain its pace.

“Oh dear,” Mme de Villeneuve said, and the sentiment drew Gabrielle’s eye to the contraption.

“What’s happening?” Gabrielle asked, feeling as though panic might be necessary, but unable to arouse the feeling in her orgasmic mind. “Is that smoke?”

Madame pulled the plug from the wall socket. “Perhaps the machine has had enough for one day.”

“Ohhh…”

Gabrielle breathed hard as the contraption slowed like a chugging train. It took up every bit of space her pussy had to offer. The leather phallus couldn’t possibly have been throbbing inside her, but it certainly felt that way. Her pussy fluttered around the shaft as Mme de Villeneuve summoned her monkeys to escort the machine from her room.

The experience wasn’t consensual, strictly speaking, and yet if she had the chance to relive it, smoking motor and all, she would do so in a heartbeat.

There wasn’t much to think about during the long hours she spent flat on her back with her legs spread wide. She thought about her family, of course—about her sisters who probably wouldn’t notice she was missing even if she was gone three months. When she thought about her mother, whose death she’d caused, a sour sensation took hold of her stomach. She pushed it away and told herself not to go there.

If only she could have one day, just one, where she didn’t experience this shameful thought…

She couldn’t even think about her father, thanks to Mme de Villeneuve’s so-called “therapy.” Gabrielle was certainly not in love with her father. If the only boys she’d ever dated tended to share his warmth and tenderness, well, so what? Those were excellent qualities in a man. Didn’t mean she wanted to marry her father, or sleep with him, or whatever Madame had said.

Thank goodness he was in the states right now. If he wasn’t on vacation, he’d surely have noticed she was missing. They rarely went a day without talking on the phone. By now he’d be worried sick, and that was the last thing Gabrielle wanted. If she got out of Loindici Manor alive, she would never tell him what had happened.

And if she didn’t get out alive? She could only hope someone would cover her naked body before he found her.

The door swung open and Mme de Villeneuve swanned in like she owned the place… which she did, as far as Gabrielle could tell, so maybe the high-handed attitude was appropriate.

“All day you’ve been asking me when your session will begin,” Madame said. “Now it is time.”

“What time is it? There are no windows in here. I can’t tell if it’s day or night.”

“You do not require such information for your rehabilitation, Suzanne. When you seduce strangers, do you express any preference for time of day?”

“Do I…?” Gabrielle stammered.

“Your parents informed me they’ve walked in on you at six in the morning, twelve noon, eleven at night. You seem to release your beast on demand, with no concern for time or place.”

“Oh.” She could hardly argue. She wasn’t really Suzanne. “What do you mean, place?”

“Your parents have many times rescued you from police custody after you were caught engaging your beast in public areas.”

“Oh…”

“A public park, a theme park, a waterpark…”

“Waterpark?” Gabrielle’s imagination soared. “That’s terrible. There would be kids around.”

“A criminal act, to be certain. Do you understand, now, why this therapy is necessary?”

Gabrielle’s stomach plunged when she thought about the real Suzanne running around the woods, corrupting minors, having sex with random guys in public. “I’ve been so stupid. There’s a beast on the loose and it’s all my fault.”

“That is why you are here, my beauty. You will no longer allow the beast to control your actions, nor indeed your motivations.” Mme de Villeneuve raised a hand. It held the beast’s chain.

For a moment, Gabrielle could only think about Suzanne—the real Suzanne, fucking random men in playgrounds, corrupting young minds, not caring how her actions impacted other people. It was Suzanne’s fault Gabrielle found herself trapped in the seedy underbelly of this horrible place, under the control of this horrible woman and that horrible…

Beast?

Gabrielle’s stomach dropped as Madame pulled him into the whitewashed room. She’d been thoroughly drugged the last time he’d ravaged her. In her mind’s eye he was more animal than man. Now that the drugs had passed through her system, she saw the beast as he truly was: a man in a mask.

A brute, for sure, but only a man. A man with outstanding musculature, but only a man. A chest like sculpted leather, arms like carved wood, a cock like a fucking machine’s phallus, but no more animal than she.

The mask was pretty convincing, she had to admit. She could see why, in a drugged stupor, she wouldn’t have been able to tell where the edges left off. Now that she could focus on the finer points, she realized he had on the kind of false fur they used on movie werewolves. It looked real. Very real. But she knew now it wasn’t.

The beast was only a man.

Though that knowledge should have made her feel better about him, it actually made her feel much, much worse. It was one thing to be attacked by an animal who knew only nature. But a man? A man had a mind. He could make his own decisions. Why would he ravage her? He knew the meaning of the word NO.

“Go away,” Gabrielle said. “I don’t want him here. Go away.”

“Suzanne, my beauty, what’s come over you?” Madame wrapped the chain around her hand, keeping the beast close at her side. “All day you’ve been begging for therapy.”

“I’m not Suzanne. I lied before. I’m a good person. My name is Gabrielle.”

Madame looked stricken, and said to the beast, “Our patient seems to be experiencing a dissociative episode.”

“I’m not! This isn’t multiple personalities or whatever. I’m Gabrielle. I’m not Suzanne.”

“Gabrielle,” Madame said, inching closer, speaking softly. “Tell me about yourself, dear child. Do you know Suzanne?”

“No! I never met her in my life, except for five seconds when she got here.”

“How did she arrive?” Madame asked, slowly, gently.

“She got here in a car, in a black town car.” It was a struggle to keep her voice from quivering, but Gabrielle spoke as evenly as she could. “She was younger than me and she had on a floppy top and a jean skirt. She had a driver. She paid him to go away before your goons came out, and then she into the ravine and left me here.”

“Alone,” Madame said. “She abandoned you, as did your mother when she died in the fire.”

Gabrielle’s chest filled with a rage so uncontrollable she would have taken a swing at Mme de Villeneuve if she hadn’t been secured to the bed. “How dare you bring my mother into this? My mother was the nicest, sweetest person in the entire world, not that you’d know anything about it. You’re a cruel, mean wicked witch. All you want is to make people miserable!”

Madame smiled in that quaint way adults do when children throw temper tantrums. Without responding to the name-calling, she asked, “Do you remember the last time the beast came to your room?”

“Of course I do! What, do you think I’m stupid or something? Of course I remember!”

Madame nodded, leading the beast one step closer. “And the last time the beast was here, he was in control. He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Gabrielle said. “There’s a word for that.”

“This time,” Madame went on, “it is you who must exert control over your desires. They are strong, I know. You sometimes feel incapable of corralling them the way a cowman expertly corrals his herd.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you crazy old woman?” Gabrielle kicked her legs until her bed rattled, but it was no use. Even if she did manage to escape her binds, she’d never make it past the monster of a man Madame had in her control.

What was the use in fighting? She was doomed.

“Today,” Madame said, “you must slow the process. Your beast wants to rush you to action, but you must calm the instinct. Slow the process. Tame the beast. Do you understand?”

Gabrielle looked to the beast. She looked past the mask and focused on his eyes. Who was he?

It wasn’t long before Gabrielle noticed her gaze drizzling down the man’s chest. He wore the same collar as before, but his harness looked different. The last one had more buckles. This one was streamlined, also black, but with silver rivets down his ridged abdomen. It followed the path of dark hair leading toward his naked cock.

He wasn’t quite erect, but his shaft appeared incredibly meaty and thick. Gabrielle wanted to take it in her hand and stroke it like a pet. And the tip! Oh, how silky that skin looked. Silky in a way that shone, gleamed.

Lickable. Delicious.

And those balls! Gabrielle had never taken a good hard look at balls, but she good-hard-looked at his, that’s for sure. They were big and pillowy and appealing in a way she couldn’t quite figure. The whole package had been slipped through a metal ring at some point, but fat chance getting it back out now. His cock seemed to feed upon her gaze. It took notice of her.

Feeling the warmth of her desire, perhaps, it jerked.

Tempting. Touchable.

Unlatching the chain, Mme de Villeneuve released the beast between Gabrielle’s legs. “Remember,” she said. “Tame the beast. Slow your desire. The future is in your hands.”

Hang in there, kid. Keep on truckin’. Don’t worry; be happy!

Gabrielle’s inside quivered as the witchy woman left her alone in that whitewashed medical cell.

Alone, with a beast…