Darkroom Saga Omnibus 1

by Poppet

  “You got me.” A smirk widens my cheeks as one of her hands wraps around the rod.

  “You are absolutely right. Let's do this.”

  I even own you psychologically. You were born for me angel. You took the punishment, and you thanked me. Now show me what you can do when I give your rein some slack.

  My voice sounds alien to me. My little angel is really good with her equipment. “Shauna, you make me a very happy man.”

  Nipples followed by breasts press against my chest as soft lips flirt with mine. “I think I'm falling in love with you.”

  Gripping her head I take her mouth as savagely as I wish I could take her body.

  You aren't ever going to leave me now.

  ~ Chapter 24 ~

  May the Lord repay the evildoer according to his wickedness!

  ~2 Samuel 3:39

  Shauna:

  He's just so bloody sweet. My body is crying out for rest. Even my thighs feel tender now. But he's determined to make it up to me. Now I'm feeling bad for ruining his passion session by complaining. I am out of practice. It's not like me to bruise so easily or feel sore so quickly. Yet it's obvious he's sexually attracted to me.

  God alone knows how long the poor guy's been single, he's simply making up for lost time, with me. And I know most girls in my position would be glad for his help. He's taking the time to teach me self defence. He says we'll be doing it four times a week.

  His insight is pertinent. I hadn't thought of it, but he did. If I can sharpen my senses in the dark, that means I really can stand half a chance the next time Vengeance comes after me. I just pray that Vengeance never finds out what Victor's doing.

  In fact when I think about that, I feel like crying. I should take everything I can from Victor while he's alive to teach me. I'm alive. I'm having sex even though Vengeance would disapprove of how much I'm getting. If he ever discovers this secret, Victor's as good as dead.

  That's one good thing about the warehouse, it's so isolated that I doubt Vengeance will ever find out about what we do there. I'd rather Victor and myself sneak off to have sex and for him to teach me, there. My home is a trap. I'm staying out of it now as much as possible, and I don't care if I can't walk for the next year, I feel safe at Victor's. He's given me so many reasons to fight for my life and want to live. He's patient and so understanding.

  Looking across to him on the bench at St James beach, I feel horrid that he needed to make it up to me. The bruises will heal. My body will adjust to fervent sex. Lordy, look how sexy he is licking that ice-cream cone. He didn't even break a sweat. He looks like he's had a sedate morning. None of it shows on him, he's pristine and composed. I feel like ragged Annie next to him.

  What's he staring at?

  Following the direction of his head, as his eyes are hidden behind those midnight dark sunglasses, I see the old church. Oh I love old churches. That one is quaint and lovely. St John's with its perfect light stone wall and the stone arch worshippers walk through to enter the grounds. It's reminiscent of medieval architecture. I just love the huge stained glass window.

  I wonder if he's thinking about Vengeance again? It's bloody contagious. I've infected him with my paranoia. I give his hand a squeeze. This is so romantic, sitting in front of a scintillating turquoise ocean on a sunny African afternoon.

  January is a lovely month to be here. My life is becoming perfect. I have a hot man who wants to protect me, sitting with me holding my hand, while we lick cones he bought after the romantic stroll along the beach.

  Leaning my shoulder against his arm, I whisper after giving his hand a kiss, “Thank you.” My elated heart is trying to leap out of my smile. I can't suppress how incredibly deeply happy I am right now, this very minute.

  He smiles at me before staring back at the church introspectively. I should go in there and thank God for this delicious man and my new beginning. He's given me the one thing I didn't have. Hope.

  •

  Victor:

  That fucking church just makes me think of Faith. Another stupid lying bitch. Do any women operate with sincerity? The garden of Eden has made them all permanently evil, hasn't it?

  The only place to find hypocrites, is in church. Father hates churches. They blaspheme against him, turn the masses away from his love, turning them to the fake son. What a lie. Just like the women who go to church. Liars, the lot of them. Whores pretending to be pious while worshipping false idols.

  It's blasphemy that she's named Faith. Faith in what? In who? I've followed and observed her for five months. I know her secrets. Her family are Christian, and she is in the habit of joining them, for appearance sake, every Sunday. Mindlessly repeating hymns, nodding when everyone else nods, bowing her head went it's time to pray. Yet within seconds her eyes flutter open and she examines the other worshippers.

  In Isaiah forty-three verse eighteen, it says, 'Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago. Watch for the new thing I am going to do.' That's my cue.

  She thinks we are blind. On the chain hidden inside her cleavage is a pentagram. Father warned her. She sits here week after week in the middle pew, next to the royal blue stained glass window, bathed in ethereal light, pretending she's never heard Deuteronomy seven. 'Do not worships their gods, for that would be fatal,' verse sixteen.

  Father marked me, and it's my duty to carry out his promise. She worships the moon, and it is fatal. Isaiah forty-four verse five warns her about me. 'Each one will mark the name of the Lord on his arm and call himself one of God's people.'

  I've had this mark since my seventh day on Earth.

  Her name should have been Asherah. It's my birthright to tear down her altars and crumble them into chalk. She is a hypocrite. Pretending piety, only to go to gatherings on the beach at full moon and new moon. Greeting her friends with a Merry Meet. She calls herself a Gardnerian. Following the teachings of a man who believed in worshipping naked, inducing trances with endless stings on a bent over pert bottom, as the way to worship the divine.

  I'll show her divine. I will reveal the fatality of worshipping a false god. She's had ample time to repent, to change her ways. I know her routine, leaving the suffocating atmosphere of sinners coming to wipe the slate clean this Sunday, I walk away from the multicoloured sinner stained in the light of the window showing the dove baring the olive branch.

  “I beg your pardon.” I stammer after deliberately bumping into her as she exits her magical store for dragon's blood and herbs.

  “No problem.” She stoops to retrieve the bag, checking that no bottles are broken.

  Turning on the charm, I give her my bone melting smile, holding her elbow as if trying to protect her from passers by, “Please. I feel awful. You look like you could use a cup of coffee. Care to join me?”

  Wary grey eyes survey mine. “I really need to get going.”

  “I'm Victor. Let me make it up to you.”

  She shakes the hand I offer, “Um, okay.”

  I return her unsure smile, walking companionably with her to the Mugg & Bean. “I couldn't help but notice where you do your shopping. Are you Wiccan?” I deliberately drop my eyes to stare at the silver pentagram hanging from her neck. She fingers it self-consciously.

  “Yes, I am.”

  It's obvious she's expecting judgement. A guilty conscience is hard to hide. Beating her at her own game, “What a coincidence. So am I. I'm Gardnerian. You?”

  Her footsteps falter as warmth floods her demeanour, “So am I.”

  In an ironic twist, I have planned her death for 3:33 a.m. I have wooed her with dinner, discussed the beauty of nature with her, and listened to all the reasons why she worships the Earth's cycles. She worships what God made, instead of God.

  Misguided, but resolute and unwavering in her beliefs. I took her to the warehouse, under the guise of it being out in nature, a place for us to worship in nakedness without interference.

  She greets me first, kissing the pentagram onto my skin. As she kneels
to kiss the rod, I knee her in the face. Blood begins spouting from her nose. Her kind believe the magical number is three, and do everything in threes. Glancing at my watch, I get to work.

  “It's time to die the way you worship. Isaiah forty-six, 'I am the one who made the earth and created mankind to live there. By my power I stretched out the heavens; I control the sun, the moon and the stars.' ”

  Tying her hands behind her back, and then securing her feet to the log, I retrieve my belt, thrashing her with the silver buckle. Her pleas and cries fall on deaf ears. I do not care. Crucify those that don't comply. Death in the same manner of the false god they worship and bow down before.

  When her flesh is livid and bleeding, I ask, “Is your trance induced yet?”

  “Please, don't do this.”

  “Cling to your faith, Faith. Let your false god deliver you. If it cannot deliver, I am here to deliver you to the only one who can forgive you your transgressions. Even Matthew warned you, I have watched you in church Faith. I'm the witness to your crimes. In Matthew six verse five he told you, 'When you pray, you must not be like hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues, that they may be seen by people. Truly I tell you, they have their reward in full already'. Isaiah warned you, 'These people honour me with their lips, but their hearts hold off and are far distant from me.' Did you think God's angels weren't watching you?”

  She mocks me when she states, “Forgive them father, for they know not what they do.”

  Vengeance overwhelms me, and I punch her full in the face. Feeling the bone dissolve under the force, I am grateful for the leather glove that prevents my skin from breaking open. Unable to stop, I repeat the process, grinding her altar to chalk, pulverising the form she misuses which Alpha bestowed on her.

  Wiping the blood off the gloves, I remind her corpse, “Do not worship their gods, for that would be fatal.”

  That was a long time ago. Before I became a homeopath. Father was right though. The biggest sinners are hypocrites. I should have destroyed her on the altar of the church she went to for appearance sake. Or did she appease her conscience simply through attendance? Fooling herself that God's eyes are blind?

  Father is never blind.

  Staring at Shauna, I pause. Maybe she is the one. She goes blind during orgasm. Does this mean Father has already blinded her when she sins? So that she may know only darkness? My approach is wrong. She should be having orgasms, to keep her in the dark. Smiling widely, I run my hand up her thigh, wedging it between her legs. When we get home, it's time to try something new.

  ~ Chapter 25 ~

  A day of vengeance, that He may avenge Himself on His adversaries. And the sword shall devour, and it shall be satiated and shall drink its fill of their blood.

  ~Jeremiah 46:10

  Victor:

  She shunned me. Just when Father reveals his wondrous genius to me, the stupid little bitch tells me she's tired. Choosing to go home and sleep. To recover, she says.

  I am her maker. I have given her intense attention to detail and my coveted time, and the harlot brushes me off like a casual suitor too eager for her pleasures. How delusional is that tiny mind of hers? Can she not see who I am! Who the fuck does she think she is? I'll give her a bloody good reason to come knocking on my door tonight. I have my own keys and can open her sliding door and gate again, and then I'll accuse her of forgetfulness.

  Cheap whore! I take the time to purge her and she dares reject me!

  Watching while she sleeps, I dress. This time there will be no mercy. Rage blinds me, the leather too hot, stifling. Vengeance is mine. Let her feel my punishment. I can find her anywhere, and I'll take her whenever I choose. I have the power of the Almighty. His hand protects and guides me. I am invincible! Does she really think she can escape me for one second?

  Quietly I open the door to my balcony, checking to see if her door is open. Pathetic. She left it open. Subconsciously she knows I'm due to visit her and repay her selfishness with my own.

  I'm coming angel. Tonight our blood covenant will be different. Tonight you are going to scream my name in pain.

  I keep my hand clamped on her throat as she wakes. Large eyes stare up at me. No pity for you, my girl.

  “If you so much as speak, I will end your life. Do you understand me?” She jolts her head with difficulty. I can smell the panic rising off her in waves.

  “If you scream for that man to come to your rescue, he'll die too. You don't want that do you?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Why am I here? Do you know?”

  Her head jerks the negative response.

  “You think I can't see you. I can always see you. I'm going to discipline you for defying me. You can never defend yourself against God. I am Vengeance. His Vengeance. I am the sword sent out to cut the wicked fruit from the tree of life.” I give her neck a squeeze of emphasis.

  “You are wicked! I see you tempting and teasing him. Is he your next victim? I'm watching him now too. He's not very pleased with you. I'm not going to let you break another heart. This is a lesson you will never forget. I didn't purify you, to watch you toy with another man's mind. I purified you so you would cease those evil ways.”

  I use my left hand to strike her as hard as I dare through the face. Her wince is melodic and arousing.

  “My last words to you were, Remember that the Lord your God corrects and punishes you just as a father disciplines his children. Deuteronomy 8:5. Now I'm here to discipline you. Because you are a disobedient child. I am your master, and you will not defy me again.”

  She nods, her eyes wide, tears escaping and running over cheeks. Pathetic. Why do I bother? My own lessons would have broken this weakling. That's what she needs. A Father's touch will set her straight.

  Squealing accosts my hearing as I withdraw my hand, the tight fist coiled by strength. Releasing it, I keep her held down by the throat, releasing my knuckles into the weakness. Sitting on her, holding her down, slapping her head left, right – left, with clenched fists. I love leather, such a practical material.

  She cries out between sobs. “No … please …”

  “We are past the begging stage. I have shown you enough mercy. You take advantage of mercy.”

  Grabbing her hair I pull her off the bed, she crumples like a rag doll, limbs awry, her face contorted, grunting, whining, pleading. What is this? The little bitch is trying to scratch me!

  A swift kick to her knee releases her hold. Her pitch rising to a scream. Grabbing her neck again I haul her up off the floor. Dangling her feet in mid-air. I am this strong, bitch. I can hold you up with one fucking hand. I could snap this neck with consummate ease.

  “I said no screaming.” Nailing my point I smack her across her bedroom with the force of one punch. Shaky whimpers emanate from the lump. Deliberately I create metal noise, undoing my belt buckle and pulling the strap out, winding the leather end around my hand once.

  Angry, you make me so goddamn angry. How dare you reject me! I'll teach you the difference between master and servant.

  Despite curling herself into a foetal ball, the harsh slapping of my rage using the improvised whip, hit the mark. Shins, thighs, face, back, arms.

  “You can't escape God, Shauna. Now look what you've done. You force me to discipline you.”

  Slap, crack, slap. Low wailing moaning responds to the belt.

  “I'm sorry. I'm … sorry.”

  “It is God who executes vengeance for me and who brought down and disciplined the peoples under me, 2 Samuel 22:48.”

  Wrenching her hair, hauling her up and thrusting her back on the bed, I knee her abdomen before snapping her head back with my fist on her chin. “And if in spite of all this you still will not listen and be obedient to Me, then I will chastise and discipline you seven times more for your sins. Leviticus 26 verse 18.”

  Endless moaning. Broken sobbing. For fuck's sake. You can be grateful I'm your maker and not Father.

  Forcing her chin so she sta
res up at me I slap her repeatedly until her face is covered with hair matting blood.

  “I purged you of all your evil. I took the time to save you from damnation, exorcising you, and showing you the endless love God has for you. Do you return that love? Is it possible for you to end your selfish habits? You mock mankind with the way you love. Did I teach you nothing?”

  Gripping her slim neck I press harder, it's an illusion that she's suffocating. Keeping her still with force, I use a blade from the surgery to cut off her underwear. She squirms, shuddering as I caress her skin with the blade.

  “I'm taking you this time. Purging you myself, from the inside.”

  Manoeuvring her around, I thrust her face into the bedding, presenting her by shoving pillows underneath her hips, keeping a firm hand on the back of her neck. “Can you see how forgiving God is? I never stop coming back to help you, to give you another chance at redemption. My love is endless.”

  Father told me of how it's a woman's way to struggle against the teachings. Yet he could have had many wives, but he simply chose one, and she fought him when it was time to conceive. He covered her head to hide her shame. The veil she wore could not hide her sin. They are born sinners, it's our duty to ensure they don't die as sinners. He is with me always, giving me strength when I feel weak. He gives me rage to give me the courage to overcome the affection I feel for her.

  Disciplining her is necessary. She rejected the son of God. She's lucky I'm allowing her to live! I'll be as violent and brutal as the task requires. It's cleansing time. She's contaminated with evil, and I have the power to place inside her the antidote to that contamination.

  Absently I press the hollow, preparing her for the gift of my seed and purging. Planting a new seed inside her to expel the old. Better than a mustard seed, this one will not fall on hard ground, it will blossom, I'm sharing the grace with her.