Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  “What!”

  Leaning forward, I watch with feigned concern as her face turns ashen. She doesn't realise she had a panic attack when I took her photo. Her memory retains that association with me.

  “Oh God, Dad! Is she okay?”

  “Damn it! I wish I was closer now.”

  Tears of wealth flow. I love watching her cry.

  The cleansing begins again. Cry Shauna. This is the price you pay for disobedience.

  “I love you too. Call me the minute there's improvement. Thanks Dad.”

  I watch her hang up. Glistening blue eyes look into mine. Arousal clutches me. I love the way her lips tremble when she's distraught.

  “My mother. She was in a car accident.”

  I take the opening. Standing, I walk across to the fractured angel. Cradling her against my chest. Smoothing her hair. “I'm so sorry.”

  “With a truck …”

  She holds me, wrapping arms around my waist, pressing her soft body tightly against mine. Mild tears become sobs. I try to suppress the instant throbbing ache in my jeans. Rocking her gently I mutter soothing words of comfort while her redolence infiltrates my senses. I recall her screams, like angelic harmonies of erotic ambrosia.

  Yes baby, pain is your friend. We are building a kingdom not on Earth but in Heaven. You did this to your mother. God's army is mighty. I can reach anyone, anywhere. Fall again at your own peril. But fly back to me for purging. Succumbing briefly, squeezing her back, holding her tightly against me. You are mine. He can't have you.

  ~ Chapter 13 ~

  For the LORD your God in your midst is a jealous God—lest the anger of the LORD your God be kindled against you,

  and he destroy you from off the face of the earth.

  ~Deuteronomy 6:15

  Victor:

  I am confused. After her statement, Shauna got her car and let me follow her home. Cleaned up and went out again. I've tapped into the GPS signal in her vehicle to follow her movement without detection. She goes to Cape Town International Airport, then stops on her way back at Cavendish Square. I did notice she likes to buy organic and earth friendly products from The Wellness Centre. Then she returns home, with another woman.

  Turning the volume up on the speakers, I listen. This is Sarah. It's enlightening listening. They've been best friends since age eight. Sin after sin unfolds as I watch my angel become intoxicated with Sarah and the copious liquor consumed.

  They change, dressing up and dressing down the way Shauna did the other day. I did not know women do this. For fun. What is the point really? Sarah presents a housewarming gift, the deep kiss of gratitude that follows is a catalyst. I change attire without taking my eyes off them. Anger pumping through veins uncomfortably.

  •

  Shauna:

  Shauna and Sarah. I'd forgotten what a killer team we made.

  Halfway through the song playing, wearing nothing more than long hair, pink lace knickers and six inch heels with platforms, I giggle at her. She's wearing those hideous stripper boots.

  We did this as a fun act for a dare once, and we totally rocked the place. Neither of us Catholic in any way, unless someone asks very nicely for me to wear a very bad habit.

  Flicking my hair, I bend as she slaps my tush playfully to the music's beat. Crawling away, I roll back, sucking my finger, giving her doe eyes. She struts over me, legs akimbo, perfect view up her schoolgirl's skirt. The boob job looks amazing. She bends at the waist, her hair creating a dancer's veil of intimacy around my head, kissing me on the lips. Vanilla gloss. Sticky. Delicious. She twirls and grabs the pole. Typical Sarah. My housewarming present is a stripper's pole. She swings around it like an acrobatic fairy.

  Sitting up, I rethink this date with Mark. Deliberately sashaying over to her, delicately holding one of her new improved C's, I suck her bottom lip, cupping a pert bottom with my other hand. “Let's stay home.”

  “We could invite him here?”

  “No.” I'm pouting.

  Slipping my long nails into her hair, I grab a handful, tilting her neck back to trail my tongue over her perfume. “I'm desperate for sex. My life's turned to shit.”

  “What about the hottie across the hall?”

  I kiss her deeply to shut her up. A gasp exhales into her mouth as her hand deftly slips inside my underwear.

  “It's okay babes. Agony aunt is here, to relieve every agony.”

  I love being the sub. It works for me. Is that how I became a victim?

  Sliding back down together; hands, lips and breath combining in a blur of tantalising sensations, my hair splays over the pillows from the pillow fight. I get so horny when we play in underwear. We've definitely had too many cherry body shots. I could suck alcohol off her all night and not get bored. She has a goddess touch. Smooth, soft, but firmly commanding.

  The subdued evaporates as we sit up, moving hair away, staring soulfully into each other's blue eyes. We could have been twins. Rubbing hands inside each others underwear, legs around each other, nipples hard against each other, we both smile, climaxing together where manicured fingers penetrate.

  She bites my neck hard, I pull her hair in response. She slaps me.

  I laugh, picking up the pillow and threatening her with it. “I'll win shorty. I'll kick your arse with this here pillow. I'll make you scream my name before I let you cum again.”

  She gets up on knees, flicking straight hair back, “Make me.”

  I thump her with an upper cut to the jaw, pillow style. Pouncing back, ready, kicking my shoes off for stability.

  “I'll tie you down and tease you for hours. Then you'll be really pleased to see Mark,” she taunts, thumping me hard on the top of my head. My eyes close automatically, slender arms wrap around my waist as she plummets me to the floor in a Sarah scrum.

  I can't do this any more. I'm a little dizzy from the vodka shots. I close my eyes as a hot tongue slides inside my mouth. Why are her kisses so comforting?

  A knock on the door.

  Shit!

  Laying underneath her, watching her naughty grin morph voluptuous lips into a shiny rendition of wicked. She calls out sweetly, with two fingers clamping hard on my left nipple, “Who is it?” Crap, I bet the music's too loud.

  “Shauna?” says a male voice.

  She giggles at me, whispering in my ear, “Shauna, it's Victor. He wondered if he could be of any assistance tonight.”

  Breathless and dizzy I try to focus my thoughts, “Yes!”

  Nothing. Shit. I sit up, pausing for the room to stop spinning.

  “Go answer it. I want to see what he looks like.”

  I shake my head vehemently and mouth an emphatic, no.

  She nods, calling out, “One moment.” Sarah grips my hair, whispering into the ear she's yanked to her mouth, “I double dare you to answer the door like that.”

  “No!”

  “Oh come on. It used to be so much fun when we'd open our dorm door to the pizza guy like this.”

  Momentarily insane, this sounds like the best dare ever.

  I grip her arm, hauling her with me, arm in arm, breast next to breast. I pull some hair forward for modesty and open the door, giggling drunkenly. “Hi. Were we making too much noise?”

  The expression on Victor's face is priceless. Where's that camera now, hotshot? His eyes scour Sarah before snatching my hand, closing it around white material, retreating back to his own home without saying a word.

  •

  Victor:

  Harlot! Forcing me to interrupt. Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own; 1 Corinthians 6:19.

  Unfiltered rage grips me. Testing my self-discipline when I do not strike her down with Father's wrath. Forcing myself to retreat back to the darkroom. I have never desired someone's blood on my hands more than I crave hers on mine now.

  Sarah is early. How could I misread that email? And look at her! She has defaced the temple with dyes and paints.
An inflated chest that mocks the Father. Made perfect! They were made perfect! But vanity claims the body. Lust, greed, manipulation, for what? To tempt.

  She's just like Vanessa.

  A bar is the perfect den to scope for sinners, which is how Vanessa crossed my path. Sitting quietly at the bar, I observe. That's my role. When a twenty-something strolls past my view, inflated breasts straining against the buttons on her midriff baring silk waistcoat. The fake tan outlines hard abdominal muscles.

  As a man who maintains his own body with punishment, I appreciate the amount of work she invests in the thighs and calves of her legs exposed beneath an obscenely short skirt. Tottering on wedge heels to the bar.

  Swivelling, I watch her in the mirror behind the barman. Bleached waist length hair, curled within a millimetre of its existence, I'm surprised her hair hasn't fallen out. Fake nails run through the locks, as she obviously pushes her cleavage at the bartender, drawing his eyes down her petite frame, I watch as she flexes her seduction.

  Covertly I observe her for twenty minutes, before turning and surveying the scenery in the cubicles. The place is seedy, dimly lit, and I'm wondering what a sane woman would be doing in a place like this, alone. She catches my eye, smiling demurely directly at me. I meet her eyes with my own, before turning back to the barman for a refill.

  She edges closer and closer, until there are only three people separating us. Testing her, I get the barman to refill her beverage order along with mine. Without a message or acknowledgement of who ordered it. That's when she fell from grace, unsteadily sashaying to me, radiating offensive perfume.

  “Hello.”

  It's almost shy. Maybe I misread her. I nod, giving her the cold shoulder, sipping my beer in obvious preference for solitude. When she reaches her fingers out like tentacles, wrapping them around the bulge of my bicep.

  “Wow, do you work out?”

  “Do you usually touch people without so much as an introduction?”

  Throwing her head back, she giggles, before retraining calculating green eyes on me. “You seem lonely. I bet I could cheer you up.”

  “How do you plan on doing that?”

  Leaning in, pressing her breast into my arm, she stares woefully up into my eyes, almost as if she's about to kiss me, “I'm sure I can think of something.”

  Scanning the face presenting itself to me for approval, I force down the distaste at the make-up coating her skin. “You'll have to do better than that.”

  She pouts, leaning her elbows on the bar, keeping her side pressed against mine. “Oh.”

  “You don't pick up hints well, do you? How about introducing yourself?”

  She smiles, bleached teeth stand stark against pink lipstick, “I'm Vanessa. What's your name?”

  “Victor.”

  She giggles repulsively, running a hand up my forearm this time. “We're both V's. This must be destiny.”

  The signboard is there. This girl won't go home until someone takes her home. Leering and pawing at absolute strangers.

  Leaning in, I whisper, “So how do you plan on cheering me up, Vanessa?”

  Her reply is hushed, “I can make you feel really good. If you let me?”

  “Are you suggesting I go home with you?”

  She nods, nibbling a pearlescent lip.

  Slipping off the stool, I offer her my arm, along with a charming smile. Women fall for my smile consistently. “Take me home.”

  Her smile could power a football stadium as she slips her hand in the crook of my arm, leaning against me for support.

  Retrieving the tools from the M3, I let her walk me to a small house four roads away. It's modest, and I'm getting the impression that I'm expected to pay for this cheer-me-up.

  “Are you a hooker?”

  “No. No, just looking for some company, that's all.”

  She opens the door, letting me in, then pressing herself against me, a wandering hand moves to rub against the zipper of my jeans as she tries to kiss me.

  Snatching her wrists together, I shove her back, pinning her to the wall. “Do you enjoy using your fake body to titillate men?”

  Her eyes cloud with lusty anticipation, “Yes.”

  “It turns you on to tease?”

  “Yes.”

  Unbuttoning the waistcoat I notice the flesh beneath doesn't move without the restraint of the buttons.

  “Why did you do this to your body? Do women really feel empowered by desecrating their natural curves?”

  “Honey, these boobs get me noticed. And if you're asking if I like the attention, the answer is yes. They're better than natural.”

  Choosing to play along, I pick her up, finding the bedroom with ease. “You want to play? Let's play.”

  She laughs in her immature gush, winding frail arms around my neck.

  Placing her on the marine scene duvet, I discourage touching. Adopting my playful grin, “Now just wait. Let's have some fun.”

  Turning to the bag, I unravel multiple ribbons, tying her to the white tubing on her headboard.

  “Ooh, you kinky bugger.”

  Leaving her shoes on, I use the straps to hook the ribbon through, securing her feet to the base legs on the bed.

  “That's better. Better than natural you say? So you scorn the perfection you were born with? Have you no regard for how toxic those implants can be?”

  “They're perfectly safe. And you can stop talking about them and touch them now.”

  “That's your bait?”

  “What's your problem?”

  Grabbing a handful I squeeze the sac inflated breast as hard as I can, watching tears of pain form, “That's my problem.”

  “Don't be so old fashioned. It's my body, I can do what I want with it.”

  “That's what you tell yourselves. I'm here to remind you of who really owns that body.”

  I made her watch me make the incision. I was kind enough to numb the area first. Removing the sac, her screams were muffled with the tape. Ripping the tape off, I cut the sac open, shoving it into her mouth.

  “If it's natural, ingest that and you won't choke or die. If it's toxic, it will kill you. If you had to choose again. Would you choose God?”

  She nods, gagging on the sac, trying to cough. With my arms folded, I watched over her as her eyes glaze over. The garish make-up run from tears. How can they think this attractive? It makes them hideous, like demonic gargoyles.

  Untying her, I repack the tools, removing the acid from the bag. Spraying it liberally on every part of her body that touched mine, removing the trace evidence as her acrylic nails bubble off the deformed nail-bed beneath.

  Sarah is known to the Father; They have eyes full of harlotry, insatiable for sin. They beguile and bait and lure away unstable souls. Their hearts are trained in lust, children of a curse exposed to cursing!~ Peter 2:14. For her it's just a matter of time, and timing.

  Shauna, what have you done?

  But for those who are self-seeking and do not obey the truth, but obey unrighteousness, there will be wrath and fury; Romans 2:8.

  Sarah has tempted her to sin, she reaps what she sows.

  •

  Shauna:

  Giggling as we close the door, I unfold the gown, mentioning guiltily, “I'd forgotten what life was like, Sarah. I really bloody missed fun and satisfaction.”

  “He's hot. Bit quiet though isn't he?”

  Sagging down with the new gown barely concealing my exposed body. “He's perfect. Just perfect.”

  “I don't think he likes me,” she pouts.

  “He doesn't know you.”

  “Did you see the look he gave me?”

  “I think he's a bit introverted. He's not gregarious and flirtatious like you.” I lean over, kissing the frown off her forehead. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am, was … ”

  She grips my hand, tugging, “Come, we have men to charm, and I'm not missing this night out with Mark's friend Greg.”

  “Wait. I have to call Dad first and see ho
w Mum's doing.”

  ~ Chapter 14 ~

  The triumphing of the wicked is short,

  and the joy of the godless and defiled is but for a moment

  ~ Job 20:5

  Shauna:

  Two hundred and ten minutes later I have Mark's breath in my ear offering my wasted logic an irresistible temptation.

  “Let's ditch this place.”

  I nod, supported unsteadily against him as we retrace footsteps to the beach. The sun has long since gone down. Plied with at least nine Sex on the Beach's, a Screaming Orgasm, Blow-Jobs and Slippery Nipples, I'd say this guy has me completely inebriated on alcoholic innuendo.

  Leaning heavily against him, feeling uncontrollably giggly, we meander down The Drive away from Dizzy's, back to Victoria Road. Traipsing slowly down the beach to a black VW Polo. He kisses me as he leans us both against the car, one hand absently unlocking the door behind me. Teasing back, I slip my fingers into the waistband of his baggy jeans, while the other plays with his long ponytail.

  I don't even recall getting home. Two words return chilling clarity to my perception.

  “Dirty angel.”

  Staring at the periwinkle of my duvet cover, I can't breathe. I'm shocked, wanting him to stop, but he's caught up, oblivious to my change. What am I doing?

  “Mark, stop.”

  “Come on baby, I'm nearly there. You – filthy – dirty- angel.” Punctuating each word with forceful penetration.

  I'm being strangled with the tightening of every blood vessel in my body. I can't twist to stare at him, confront, or object. His hands firmly holding my hips as skin slaps. Desperation shortens breath. “Stop it!”

  The shuddering and groaning announces his pique. Scrambling to get away the minute he releases me, I perch on pillows, my back against the wall. Quivering terror seeps through my veins like hell's filtration system.