Serenity's Key

by Charlotte E Hart

  “Does he?” Elizabeth said, sounding surprised as she wandered into the room looking tempting in a flowing grey gown. He scanned her and wondered if she might agree to pain of some sort, the agonising kind.

  “Hmm,” Lilah replied, as they met and she handed Elizabeth a glass of champagne. “You look lovely in that dress. Where’s it from?” She did, but that was not interesting nor relevant to the conversation—that being Alexander and the question of fucking. He opened his mouth to interject, only to have it closed by Elizabeth’s talk of some boutique in downtown Manhattan as they both sat. “Well, that’s great. You’ll have to take me there one day.” Elizabeth nodded and reclined into the seat, giggling as she did and taking a sip from her glass.

  Something was afoot.

  “What are you both doing?”

  “What?” they both said in unison, attempting innocent expressions, which looked horrific on both of them.

  “This friendship is not normal.” His Rose giggled again, making his cock twitch with enthusiasm for the groaning sound he could get from her on occasion.

  “No, but then life isn’t, is it? Not where we’re all concerned anyway,” Lilah replied, crossing her damned legs and acting like she knew everything. “I mean, I’ve just watched a man die horribly.” She turned her body to Elizabeth. “Have you seen him do it? He’s very, well, competent.” He narrowed his eyes at her and walked over to the drinks tray. Competent? Not when it came to bringing his damn child back here. Perhaps he should have a drink, Cognac preferably. An absurd amount of it. It would douse his anger in glorious displays of morbidity, where he could linger and sulk. This would, with any luck, result in excessive fucking which may numb the irascibility he felt at present. “And how’s your mother?”

  “Are you ready, Lilah?” Alexander asked, walking straight through the room and not bothering to wait for an answer as he picked up a bottle of whiskey and left.

  “Not quite,” she muttered anyway, nodding at Elizabeth and lifting herself from the sofa to walk towards the stairs. “You can put the fucking whisky down, though,” she shouted after him. He narrowed his gaze again, wondering what was occurring that he was, once again, not privy to.

  “What’s going on?” his rose asked.

  “I am perturbed, he is a moron, and Lilah is being secretive. I’m not sure what you are,” he answered, bored with her loveliness as he lifted the liquor to his lips and let it travel its way down his throat. It was so refreshing that he quickly poured another one and lifted it again, only hovering because Elizabeth giggled once more, sweetly. “Should you wish it, I could ram my cock in your mouth to silence your inanity.”

  “Ooh, someone’s snarky,” she said, rising herself and crossing the ground to him. He rolled his eyes at her strange noises and glared at her. “Is that what you need? We could ask Alex and see how it goes. To be honest, I’m a little fidgety myself.”

  He did very much need it, and would not hesitate a moment longer before he got some of it from somewhere. He threw the glass dramatically as he grasped her and pushed her towards the sofa again. Perhaps she could take some of this angst on Alexander’s behalf. She did love him, after all. That was what people did for love, was it not? The squeal that came from her delicate little mouth was so enthusing for his soul he groaned at its release.

  “Ouch. Jesus, careful.” Ouch and careful were not words he found particularly endearing at present. He shoved her again, stimulated by the way her chiffon dress ripped so easily in his hand and her body bounced off the arms of the furniture.

  “I am not in a particularly careful mood, my love. Should we find your limits, destroy them? Hmm?” Her moan at his words only furthered the need to tear her in half. “Perhaps he has been neglectful of your needs, too. Should we remind him what sluts such as yourself require? I can smell your cunt readying itself.” She twisted in his hold, apparently trying to fight back. He was not sure why. The chase always ended with him on top, or in her ass, or throat. Silly girl. Trusting. Sweet and good natured amidst this sin, and intolerably moralistic. She should rouse herself to reality, smell the stench of hate on occasion. “You should have beaten me for my indiscretions, hmm?”

  “What?” she spluttered out, attempting to shove at him while he began pinning her down into a useful position.

  “Alexander’s head, hmm?” She seemed confused. He supposed she was. Poor Elizabeth, always in the dark. A clever thing would have worked it out by now, found the connections and worked them through. “My cane. Where is it?” Still she sputtered and squirmed, not able to break away from him but trying nonetheless. “You should know the truth before you berate Lilah anymore.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re–”

  He had told her as much as he cared to. Bored with the effort to contain himself any longer, he tore at the material again, widened her legs and pushed her face into the sofa. He needed to fuck something that was submissive rather than arrogant and pig-headed. Something that would beg and whimper for help. Something that might make this exasperation disappear back to wherever it had come from. Either that or he needed to be fucked. He was not sure which, and cared little for thought on the matter.

  His fingers flexed on the back of her neck, holding her still regardless of the struggling that was beginning to amuse him the more furious it become.

  “Fuck you,” she mumbled into the material. Indeed. Fuck him. Anything could fuck him at present, Alexander preferably, with a beating to drive his point home, but Lilah would do, too. Maybe she could make the silence descend again, quieten him as she always did. Whatever they were up to, they were plotting behind his back again. Something that was becoming more and more vexing by the second.

  He did not bother himself with the scrap of lingerie that hindered his progress. He simply yanked it to the side and spread her legs wider. She had a good ass. It was fine and tight, just as he liked them. Not as small and pert as a man’s, but glorious irrespective of her gender. He licked his tongue over her, delving it straight into her waiting holes and savouring her unique flavour. She was nothing like Lilah. In fact, lovely as she was, he was sure it was simply Alexander’s need for her that drove him onwards. She was too pleasant other than that, tiresome in her constant need to tame the man. And why did she smile so much? Dull. Albeit, without her none of this would be happening, and he did thank her for that. Somewhat.

  “I missed you,” he said, irritating himself yet more with the fact that the words had left his lips, but acknowledging them at least. He bit into her cunt, enjoying the scream that came from her lungs and the way she ground herself back into his face. He might have missed her but he would not be gentle. She would scream for him, wail and cry. He hadn’t seen tears of pain for some time. Beautiful ones, dripping down cheeks from innocent eyes.

  “Please…” Begging. How delightful. He shivered, his cock rearing excitedly against his pants, desperate to sink itself into her and ravage her purity. Break it. Destroy it if possible in the time they had before Alexander came in and stopped him.

  “Get off her.” Ah. It seemed it was not to be Alexander this time. He smirked, attempting to contain his cock’s grinding against her ass, only to find it near impossible in this mood. Perhaps it would not matter if he carried on. What could Lilah do? She was not mastered yet in whips and chains, nor forceful enough to cause damage. He tore at the material again, shredding it across her back and exposing milky white skin. “I’ll ask you nicely one more time. Get. Off. Her.” Hmm. He unclipped his pants, choosing to ignore the comment and bring along a more angered Lilah who would most certainly deliver the stripes he needed if provoked enough. “If you put anything inside her, I swear I will strangle you and tell Alexander not to fuck you, no matter how much he wants it.”

  The remark half stopped him. Not the strangling part—that thought he quite enjoyed. However, the image of her talking Alexander out of anything was disconcerting. Not that he was sure she had such power. He turned to look at her face, and was inst
antly hit by the sight of her, enough so that everything stopped, time included.

  Whoever or whatever had created the goddess that stood before him should be worshipped for life. There was not one hint of nice on display. Evil was a better description.

  She was perfectly formed and hell sent as she stood there and glowered at him. She was strapped into black leather, buckles and plaiting lacing her skin, a corset cinching her in to impossible standards. Divinity itself could not be more welcoming. Leather caressed her arms and hands, encasing them with a devils glare of hate shining back at him. She wore heels so high he would surely lick them endlessly as she drove them into his tongue. Make up perfected and crimson lips that could stain him forever with simple bites of pain. Her hair, sharpened and extreme, cutting along her cheekbones and highlighting her sneer. Only the slight raise of one brow reminding him of the woman she had been in the zoo, or their magnificent park. That Lilah might still be in there, lingering inside and ready to hold him in his darkness, but this Lilah would be the one who discarded him to the floor and made him weep ceaselessly. She would undoubtedly ruin him, rip the guts from his innards and destroy what was left until she had it all in her hands to toy with.

  He fell back on his haunches, marvelling at this new creature who had arrived and near panting with need for her. His heart thundered inside him as he sensed Elizabeth move away and scuttle onto the sofa again.

  “Better. Now crawl,” she spat out, looping a striking looking whip around her neck and pointing to the floor beneath her feet. “Here.” He might have smiled had he found the wherewithal to think about anything other than her words. He might even have admired the vision he’d helped to form, but there was nothing other than surrender coursing through his blood. She was everything in this moment, casting both clouds of dismal concerns and rays of sunshine to brighten the gloom. He would dwell in that murky shadow as long as she chose to have him there. He would indeed beg to loiter within it, possibly waiting on death’s caress as he did.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d crawled. Probably for Lucinda, but this was nothing like he’d ever felt. There was nothing distressing about the act. It didn’t feel bewildering. There was no shame nor hindrance within his mind. It was sublime to travel on his knees for her. No one here would chastise him for it, nor see it as anything other than that which it was—need. And yet, he knew that no one here understood it like he did either. He looked at her black, patent shoes, bowing his head out of trance and respect for her, not because it was what she needed. Elizabeth did that for Alexander, handed herself over because of his needs, but she didn’t know what true submission felt like, didn’t understand its ethereal hold on souls. She knew not of its quiet, its patience, its adoration in safety, its intrinsic and limitless potential for hope. No one knew it like himself.

  “Elizabeth, come with me.”

  He barely heard Alexander’s voice in the background as he kept crawling endless miles to her feet. He hardly even registered it as relevant. Only the spot by Lilah’s feet was significant, and waiting for him to enter it. It beckoned him, calling to something Alexander had never managed to give nor receive: true connection. The kind of tie that only happened through the joining of bodies. The one that occurred only in the deepest of embraces.

  “I love you,” she said, softly, as he finally found her feet and waited by them. He knew that. Never would he question the fact again. Not one woman on this planet would dare do this with Alexander if they did not. And for the first time, he felt the words hit a place inside never found before. No one had talked of love while he was here, on his knees. Neither his headmaster, nor Lucinda, and certainly not Alexander no matter how long he’d wished for the words.

  He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. Speaking was only for when he was asked to respond. She would undoubtedly be lost in this role for a while, perhaps not understanding its relevance, but she would learn. Alexander would make sure of it.

  Eventually, after the silence had echoed for the perfect amount of time for fear to creep into his bones, she turned and walked away into the great hall, leaving him with little instruction on what to do. So he waited as a submissive should, listening to her heels clipping along her route and relaxing back onto his haunches again. He revelled in that feeling alone. The surrender was purifying, cleansing. It was enough that his breathing quietened to a bare whisper, hardly audible in the air around him.

  “Come,” she shouted. That he did smirk at a little, only through the sheer vibrancy with which it was delivered. Come. Such clarity in that word. He almost crawled some more to find her, feeling most comfortable down there and wanting nothing more, but chose to walk instead, hoping for yet more dramatic flair.

  The clacking of his own shoes on the floor brought with it a sense of peace he’d searched for for so long as he pocketed his hands. A connection of this kind he could dwell within and honour, love. He’d always hoped it would come from Alexander, nearly begged for it on occasion, even thought there was a chance when the collar had been strapped on, but there would be no begging this time. It was not needed. Lilah would service him correctly and then allow his freedom when required, as would he for her. She would no doubt venture further afield, no matter how much she said she only wanted him. He understood her truths, believed them infinitely, but it was only their mental need they required of each other, that and trust, love. She would fuck with abandon eventually, tearing shreds from men as she did and learning more each time. He could tell that by the way she had looked at the Thompson moron, scrutinising his worth as she did, ready to fuck him and find all his little secrets, drag them out if she had to. However, she would always return home, as would he. They would be as one, eternally, no matter the dark depths they drew from each other. They would live an eccentric existence, one of discord for many, but it would still be with each other.

  A scream sounded from the dungeon—Elizabeth. He smiled to himself at the noise and followed it, wondering what Alexander was up to as he began the climb down the steps. Another rang through the air, alerting him that a party of four was surely beginning.

  He stripped his jacket off, ready for whatever anyone required of him. His mood was correct for such shenanigans. He would either be angered or calmed, either one sheer perfection for the result he needed at present.

  “By the wall,” Alexander said, not even glancing at him as he pointed to the dusty surface. He looked at Lilah for confirmation that she too was happy with the scenario. She had found herself a barrel and was perched atop it, seemingly at ease with the encounter thus far. She nodded, flicking her hand at him and looking every inch the sublime deviant she was becoming.

  “You are superbly incorrigible,” he said, laughing slightly at her tapping fingers.

  “And you need beating,” she replied, dismissing him and focusing all her interest on Alexander, who was beginning to tie Elizabeth up into some elegant display of rope work.

  It took no longer than a few seconds to strip his shirt from his body. Nothing else was required. Pain from Alexander was always driven into his spine or ribs. There had been the occasional blow at his thighs or buttocks, but naked wasn’t necessary for the man’s precision with a whip. This would be severe. He understood that with acute clarity. He had not yet been punished for hitting the man, nor for leaving him on the pavement with Lilah to die. The most likely reason for the punishment would be the fact that he had not trusted Alexander. That, to Alexander, would be like slicing flesh from his bones. The man trusted few, liked even less. When he said he loved someone, he damn well meant it. To question it was tantamount to killing oneself. He knew that now. He would not forget again.

  Several more screams and bellows of pain occurred in the next minutes from his rose, but he was not concerned with that, nor the moans of desire that followed them. No, it was Lilah who consumed every thought as she watched on like a hawk. She moved occasionally, hitching herself around and trying to contain her need to join in. He could see it in her e
very twitch. Her fingers grated the barrel, her lips opening and closing as she began to enjoy the torment Alexander placed Elizabeth under, and her thighs clamped and released sporadically. Even under the tight leather skirt, he could see her struggling. Perhaps she would come simply from watching? Grind her cunt down and let her mind run riot? A wondrous thing indeed.

  He crossed his legs and leaned back on the wall, waiting for the inevitable and pondering what Lilah’s reaction to it might be. She had not yet seen real pain delivered onto his skin, nor heard the serene sounds of sin ringing through the air from another’s hand. Perhaps this would mould them all together perfectly, or perhaps she would abhor the notion and stop it before it began. If she did, he would let her, and then he would ask Alexander to leave. He knew that before the thought even came to mind because Lilah was what his life desired now. She was all he could ever need and that would do. He needed nothing more.

  The slam of the first blow sent him reeling to the floor, grabbing at his cheek as pain exploded through his head.

  “Don’t ever fucking hit me again,” Alexander ground out, looming over him with such animosity that he scrambled back to the wall for support.

  “Yes, Sir.” The voice that left his own mouth startled him. It was meek, mild, and unintelligibly weak. It had been so long since the words had left him without mirth attached that he said it again to ensure it was real. “Yes, Sir.”

  The second hit was a slap, hardly any force behind it, likely a simple reinforcement that the man could do it again should he choose to.

  “What did you do wrong?”

  “I did not trust you.” For that, apparently incorrect, response he received another slap, followed by a shove across the floor from his boot.

  “What did you do wrong, Pascal?”

  “I did not trust you.” This time the slap was firmer, and accompanied by his neck being dragged up the wall until he was clinging onto the hand that held him pinned against it. Eyes so blue they reminded him of Hawaiian oceans shone back at him as he began gasping for air. There were no black holes staring into him, no drifting into thoughts of sin. Sir was still here, wide awake and understanding exactly what he was doing, but he knew not what the brute wanted from him. He’d answered the question. He’d lowered his head and been respectful, honoured him. Trust—that was all there was in this conundrum.