It several days later before Daphne saw McGill again. He was striding toward the chapel—her chapel, was how she thought of it now, although she hadn’t returned to it since the night they made love. She moved out quickly from the cottage, driven by the terrific tempest inside her that had been swirling about since his amazing declarations that amazing night. Emerson’s visit had only made the desire worsen. She had to see McGill now.
Breathless by the time she reached the chapel, she flung the door wide enough for it to bang back against the wall.
“Could I talk to you?” she called to him. He was sweeping the floor. She suspected that he had a reason to keep the place clean, although it didn’t seem as if he actually used it. Hearing the loud noise and her question, he stopped working and gazed down the aisle at her approaching form.
“You have my ear,” he said.
Daphne’s heart was pounding so hard that she could hear it in her temples. She was afraid, terrifically afraid. As afraid as she’d been that night. But she had to speak. She had to tell him. Tell him now. “I need to make that confession, McGill,” she practically shouted. She stopped speaking as quickly as she started. Stopped in her tracks, she waited for him.
McGill did nothing for at least thirty seconds, then he nodded first and finally said, “All right.”
***
Daphne knelt on the chapel floor, while McGill sat on a stool on the raised altar. His legs were spread in a masculine way and he leaned forward with his forearms resting on his open thighs…the position casual, open but authoritative.
McGill wanted her to tell him everything, but even though she’d called this meeting driven by the pressing need, it took some minutes before Daphne could finally spit out the facts. Her mind was filled with good beginnings, but still she didn’t know the right way to tell him the awful truth about her life.
“I’m not waiting all day,” he finally had to prompt her.
She looked up, forced her eyes on him. “Yes, I know. This is extremely difficult,” she whispered softly. She licked her lips, felt the words clutch inside her throat again, and then finally, feeling desperate to get this over, boldly blurted out, “We kidnapped a girl.”
To her surprise, he didn’t even raise a brow. But he also didn’t reply.
Waiting was miserable; the silence like a death sentence. With McGill not saying a word, Daphne was forced to move on on her own. “We, that is Emerson and two of his friends, Zack and Bo, kidnapped an anonymous girl. She was held captive in the cellar of a house we were staying in…for nearly four months. In addition to the three guys, there were two other women beside myself. The kidnapped girl was used for whatever kinky purpose we could think up. It was Emerson’s idea to seduce her, so we started slowly, carefully. She was eventually used pretty hard, forced to have sex in whatever way the six of us wanted. There wasn’t much we didn’t do to her. Oddly, she seemed surprisingly compliant the whole time. When we were finally tired of her and ourselves, I think, Emerson and Zack took her back to civilization. We all went on with our lives and we haven’t heard from her since.”
McGill waited for more and when there was nothing forthcoming, he said, “That’s all?”
“That it. A very brief version, but I think it covers all the pertinent basics.”
“Who cooked up this scheme?”
“Emerson. But we all participated. We were all at fault.”
“And how did you feel about it?” he asked.
“Scared…worried…excited…”
“You enjoyed the sex, didn’t you?”
“I enjoy that kind of sex, McGill.”
“And exactly what kind would that be?”
“Well,” she took a deep breath to gather he courage, “long before we took Veronica X—that was what we called her—Emerson and I were dabbling with sadomasochism. I guess it takes little to figure that I’m pretty submissive. I don’t do well trying to control things. I like to be led. And Emerson did lead, even though I think he’s half crazy. He’s also brilliant, maybe the two go hand in hand.”
“So be more specific.”
“Specific?
“About the sex…”
“Yes, about the sex… you don’t have a problem with what I just told you… about the girl?”
“I never said that. But I do want to know more about the sex.”
She shuddered. Her heart was beating so rapidly that she could hardly think. Two, three, four times, she wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. “Well, she, Veronica… was bound and blindfolded for much of the time. Penelope, Kathy Ann and I… we made love to her, prepared her for the guys, I guess, for being fucked, for the rough stuff we all liked. Oral sex, anal…everything.”
“So, you like the rough stuff too?”
“Yes.”
“What does rough mean?”
“It means…” she paused. Her eyes closed again.
But McGill jumped right on that. “Open your eyes, Daphne, and look at me.”
So like Emerson, she thought, but different.
“It means that I like pain sometimes, and bondage, and being forced, being hurt…” she abruptly stopped. Fear continued to collide with her will to speak.
“What else?”
She couldn’t think of anything else, except the bottom line truth she only now realized.
“I think…I think, I wanted to be her… Veronica X.”
“You wanted to be her, or do the things she was made to do?”
“Yes,” her voice rose with certainty, “I wanted to be in her place…in that cellar… bound… beaten… raped.”
“And do you think you deserve to be bound, beaten and raped?”
She didn’t answer.
“You feel guilty for the kidnapping?”
“Yes, very guilty.”
“And you want redemption, so you come to my chapel…”
“It looks like that, doesn’t it? But it’s not holy prayer and meditation that bring me here… but then you know that.”
It was McGill’s turn not to answer. He was deep in thought, while still staring at Daphne’s sorrow-filled face.
“You think I’m unredeemable?” she asked.
“I don’t think redemption is part of any equation. But you do. I think you even want to be punished. And if it’s redemption you need, I can certainly help you find it.”
Daphne stared at him wonderingly.
“But why? Why do you want me? Why on earth…”
He shrugged. His expression was open, accepting, without any of the judgment she feared. “You landed like a lost soul on my doorstep. I figure there must be a reason, and since you’re here and I’m going nowhere, I figure I might as well see this through. Is that a good enough answer?”
“Sure. But the sex? You don’t find that too absurd?”
He laughed, his smile was broad and knowing, the first emotion of any kind he had conveyed since her confession began. “I have an absurd mind. I think most people do. But it would seem that you and I are at least willing to accept that fact.”
Her whole body was trembling. She wanted to scream and cry at the same time. Was he the best thing that had ever happened to her, or the worst? “So, what happens now?” She spoke carefully, still afraid.
“Looks like you’ll pay your penance in the cellar.”
Her eyes shot open wide.
McGill smiled devilishly,
“Yes, there’s a cellar below this altar, a fine one made of stone and dirt. A perfect place for a worthless, sinning penitent to suffer. It will be your home for the next thirty days.”
Her trembling became uncontrollable, she started to cry, and McGill stood up, pulled her by the hair and exited the chapel through a small side door near the altar, which led to the cellar stairs.
***
Thirty days later, Daphne knelt in the chapel as she had before, although this time she was not alone and she was not surreptitiously enacting a ritual masturbation. Her body was naked and exposed, her arms spread wide in humble supplication. Her wrists had been cuffed and attached to chains that were attached to the walls on either side of her. Her head was bowed and her knees spread and throbbing from the hard stone that dug into her skin. Despite her terrific discomfort, she could feel the molten liquid gathering at her crotch as she waited for the next blow from McGill’s lash. He was beating her from behind—as he had before—although she knew this time would be special. Beatings had been a daily diet in the cellar below this sacred space. Only now had she earned the right to be beaten in the chapel above.
All thirty days before had led up to this moment, when Daphne gathered her desires together and focused not just on her redemption for her past sins, but on the eroticism that flowed as the man beat her back with hard, stinging blows.
His technique could be exacting or wild. But today it was very precise, none of the anger that sometimes surfaced and colored their previous sessions in the cellar. Perhaps, he too was working out his demons. She wouldn’t know that, however, until this period of her life was finally over.
Tonight would end the purgatory she had so longed for.
The lash came down across her shoulders. Then it traveled lower to her ass, which now burned with heat. She cried, her voice rising into the steamy air, almost joyous as each significant lashing cut with a beautiful pain against her flesh. It resounded through her body, made her crotch wet with sexual glee… she tripped out, nirvana happening all about her. The pain soon turned orgasmic, one swell of lusty heat built on the next. Then she began to soar, with her brutalized body taking her far away, at the same time paradoxically grounding her to this beautiful earth and the man behind her wielding the heavy leather lash.
She screamed, opening her mouth and venting a cry of exhilaration. “Ohhhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhhhh, ohhhhhh,” she panted. Her face screwed up in torment and she thrashed back and forth. The chains rattled and clanged as her body wrenched hard with each attacking spasm.
From out of the mindless trance, McGill was suddenly close, pulling her to her feet, while the chains still weighted her down. He bent her over, her arms out as if she were flying. He stuffed his thick member into her sex from behind and while he fucked her, he grasped her like a flopping rag doll, until he finished her off. His cries joined her lilting, mewling gasps of climax, until they were about to collapse in an exhausted faint.
The redolent essence of their mingling bodies christened the chapel with a potent incense that would linger in the air for hours afterward. They might even pick up the scent the next day when they returned.
“I’m going to take you home, back to your cottage,” McGill told her, as he quickly unfastened the chains that bound her arms to the wall. Then he turned her inside his embrace. “We’re going to sleep all night together, Daphne. The cellar is over for you; you’re moving on to something new. You’re going to write your books, you’re going to make love to me. You’re going to be happy. That’s going to be your life.”
Daphne stared into his shining eyes; hers were brimming with tears. She figured he must be right. If he said it would happen, she was certain would.
***
Three months later, we got word that Emerson was dead. You know the story, how he was swept off the pier into Lake Michigan. Pygmalian Whore had been released a few months before to rave reviews and some controversy. I didn’t even know he’d been writing it. Of course, it was therapy, even though the story was terribly skewed in some ways and certainly fiction. You would have thought the hoopla surrounding its release would have been enough for him, at least for awhile. But no. That wasn’t like Emerson.
Frankly, I really think he couldn’t handle the thought of Veronica X anymore. And he always wanted a new rush. I can see him now, as if I were there, standing on the pier in the middle of a raging storm, the water cresting over the rock and cement. He felt the rush, the waves, the pitch and roll of the water. He could never be content to settle for the mundane or ordinary. A powerful wave reached out and grabbed his life away. His death was as extraordinary as the way he lived.
He was in love with violence.
Violence? You think so? I never thought of our months with the Writers’ Club and Veronica X as violent. For me, the sex was all about seduction.
And have you been happy, being married to McGill? Being free of the intensity that was Emerson Gray?
McGill is everything that Emerson was not—steady like the Rock of Gibraltar, even-tempered, his footing on solid earth, and he hasn’t needed the exploration of great intellectual concepts. He lives them and that’s all he needs. He is a man to grow old with, of that I’m certain.
And you continue to reprise the SM sex?
Never in the cellar. But, yes, I still kneel at that old altar with my wrists chained. Sometimes I feel my need to be punished well up inside me—I don’t think it’s about Veronica X anymore, it’s just who I am, the woman I love being. I’m a much freer woman, but the essence of my desire is a river that runs deep in my soul and I wouldn’t for anything separate myself from my truest needs.
So, tell me… you loved Emerson Gray, or it was simply lust?
I loved him, of course. No matter what he felt for me, I loved him. I’ve loved both of my husbands, not equally but differently. I still do.
Thank you, Daphne. You’ve made this a very compelling interview, different than I expected. And so much more. I think back over all that you’ve confessed here and I’m honestly not sure what I’ll do with all this information.
Well, I leave that up to you. I am at peace enough to have told you the truth. Maybe it’s only right that Emerson’s admirers and detractors know the facts, rather than think Emerson Gray was something that he was not. I’m sure he’d like that. In that respect, I’ve done this as much for him as I’ve done it for myself.
Also by Lizbeth Dusseau
SEXUAL MISCHIEF
Bored and restless, Sausony walks away from her patronizing husband and her life of luxury, hitchhiking with anyone who’ll have her. Blonde, beautiful and foolish, she has no clue what risks she takes. Sexual fantasies turn real, when she’s fucked by a trucker in the back of a tavern, and is later spanked before a cheering audience. But when her naïveté is mistaken for solicitation, small town justice sends her to jail. Behind bars, her sentence takes ugly twists when she’s urged to ‘cooperate’ with her sleazy jailers. Later, she lands in LA, and is lured by the leather and dungeon crowd, exploring submissive desires she yearns to experience. But she’s dangerously out of control, until a concerned black S&M Master halts her downward spiral. If she wants to play in his world, she’ll first learn the true meaning of submission. While she may fight his methods, she knows he’s exactly what she needs. Includes both non-consensual and consensual S&M, with heavy training, bondage, gangrape, abuse, punishment, anal sex, public scenes, exhibitionism and a medical exam and enema.
21 SINS
Girls in her position give up their names and their lives… they’re sold as lots. This story is about Lot 21… Brought to the State Detention Center upon the death of her ‘guardian’ and sexual master, will Melinda/Lot 21 be reassigned to another guardian in a lifetime contract of indentured servitude? Or will her counselor, Sydney Wingate, release her to a mainstream life? A devious twist in the law makes virtual slaves of women—some voluntarily. As Sydney interviews Lot 21, she becomes intrigued, even aroused. Tales of sexual debauchery and S&M lure Sydney to the Underground Market for research purposes, where, while play-acting roles of Master and slave, she discovers why Lot 21 loves her slave life, and what her choice for the girl must be. Includes S&M, slave training, humiliation, bondage, discipline, piercing, anal fisting, anal sex, girl/girl and gangbangs.
SOUL CUSTODY
Her obsessive lust drives Hayley into torrid sex in stairwells with a Latin lover, then later wracked with shame, she turns to her friend, Jeremiah, who beats her in his dungeon. Still guilt-ridden, she becomes a Professor’s sinning slut, enacting ritual enema purifications, followed by painful punishment and sex. Still, none of these men gives Hayley what she really needs. Behind her reckless behavior is a sad, naïve and mixed-up girl in need of someone to take control of her life.
When Jeremiah suddenly refuses Hayley the dungeon scene she wants, Pierre Dysart, volunteers to take her down. Seems, Pierre is always around, rattling her nerves with his sexy brooding looks. The scholarly, light-skinned black man has her oddly aroused; he’s like no Dom she’s ever known. Their dungeon session leaves her reeling—immobilized in a yoke, a knife slashing through her clothes, the man forcing her to look him in the eye as he brings her to the bitter edge of orgasmic pain. Pierre takes her further than any man has and Hayley wants him bad. But to have him requires she give him not just her body and mind, but custody of her soul. Can she give up the others, submit to him in front of his friends, confess the humiliation of her dark past, and finally open herself to love? It would be the hardest thing she’s ever done. Exploring the far-reaching depths of female sexual fantasy, this novel moves through exhilarating but shocking scenes of female submission including dungeon torture, slave training, bondage, anilingus, enemas, breast and nipple torture.
More Erotic Fiction by Lizbeth Dusseau
Little Savage
Naughty Baby
In The Garden of Lust
Seven Days in Cell Block 7
Memoirs of a Sex Toy
Innocence Defiled
Honeymoon In Bondage
Labyrinth
Carly On Her Knees
Taken Before Dawn
Punishable Offenses
Betrayal of the Virgin Bride
Sexual Mischief
Bounty Hunter
The War of the Remingtons
The Truth About Marianne
Master For A Desperate Slave
Poor Little Rich Slut
The Humiliation of Hannah
The Scandalous Demise of Lily Lake
The Secret Sins of Lizzy Barton
Pagan Dreams, Lesbian
Outer Island
Into the Dark Wilds
Force Me To Obey
These titles and many more!
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For a complete catalogue of Erotic Fiction…
P.O. Box 632, Richland, MI 49083, 1-877-629-0051
E-mail: catalog@pinkflamingo.com
Website: http://www.pinkflamingo.com