Pagan Dreams

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  I watch as Tasia abruptly emerges from the house. Her appearance is a threat to me though I don’t know why. It amazes me that at this hour, Tasia is still dressed in all her gypsy finery. From her vantage point at the patio doorway, she watches Peach for some minutes as I watch them both. Then she moves toward her, I imagine very quietly, so that Peach doesn’t realize she’s there.

  Peach turns when she’s just a few feet behind her. Did Tasia announce her presence? I can’t tell. I open my window to see if I can hear them. Though it’s not so much what I hear as what I see that leaves me awed. My eyes tell me everything I need to know as I see Tasia reach out and caress Peach’s cheek. It surprises me that she doesn’t draw away from the woman who was such a bitch in her mind just a few hours ago. Tasia runs her hand through Peach’s hair as she puts her other hand against my lover’s hip. There’s a tenderness about this touch that is as impressive as it is frightening, for it looks as though they are about to make love.

  Tasia tugs gently at the sash on Peach’s kimono, so that the robe falls away. She kisses her and runs her hands eagerly along Peach’s body. My lover responds as she often responds to me, her body churning easily in lusty abandon.

  Tasia pushes Peach’s hands away as she tries to reach up and fondle the dark woman. And picking up the sash from the kimono, Tasia takes Peach’s hands in hers and binds them behind her. Peach remains willing as if she were asking for this.

  As much as I might wish to deny it, the effect on me is arousing. My own hand drops down and finds the soft damp place between my legs.

  I watch as the tenderness takes a nasty turn, Tasia is rude to Peach, in much the way the leather dykes were rude to me in the grove behind Gram’s. This seems more personal though. I’ve never seen my lover act so submissively. It’s as if she’s given herself over to this woman to do with as she wishes. All the more startling if Peach truly hates her.

  Tasia slaps her tits with a smack I can hear, even above the ocean roar. I hear Peach groan the way she does when she asks for more.

  Tasia slaps her face, and her tits again, and then taking some stick from out of nowhere, she forces Peach to bend over as she probes her back side with the rod. I see her press it along her bottom cleft, then she swats her hard with it across her fleshy soft cheeks. Peach falls to her knees and the woman stands back, and prods her more. I hear only the inflections in Tasia’s voice, most of her words are indistinguishable.

  At one effective prod to her side, Peach rises and scampers inside, no doubt to some vocal command. She’s more than eager to accommodate this horrid woman.

  This appears to me like some pornographic movie playing on a screen before my eyes. I expect to see the scene change to whatever happens inside, but reality hits as I’m suddenly made aware that the picture has moved beyond the camera of my eyes. I’m compelled to find the two actors who now play the scene inside the house.

  I bolt from the room, and for a split second, I sense that there’s someone else in the dark hallway. But I ignore the tingling at my back, the intuition that would make me turn. With my concentration fixed on Peach, I slip quickly down the stairs.

  I hear Tasia’s voice and follow it to a sitting room at the back of the house. With her back to me, she can’t see me standing off to one side with bated breath, waiting for their play to commence again.

  Peach bends forward as she had in the garden. Her hands remain tied behind her, her face pushed against the plush blue carpet.

  “You tease me, Samantha Clarisse, and you pay. I see the way you want this, the way you rant at me with your foul mouth, and yet you cannot deny what your body craves. You took far too long to give in to me, and I will not be easy with you for this mockery.”

  The black stick she wielded in the garden is the same one in her hand. The sleek thing is nearly two feet long, though seeing it now, it has a handle which Tasia grasps firmly, and a rounded end like a dildo. She has greased Peach’s ass and is now forcing the thing inside her.

  Peach cries out in agony, she’s not as easily violated there as I am, her sphincter never wants to give way.

  I wince feeling the pain in me. The rod slips in grudgingly to Peach’s woeful pleas.

  I want to rescue her, but Peach would not be yielding to this treatment unless she wanted it. The woman fucks her ass with the rod, until I think there’s surely ten inches impaled inside. I’ve never had such luck with my lover’s ass. Does she need this cruelty; does she crave being pried apart like this? I can understand the obsession for it is my own, but I never believed it would arouse Peach so. Have I neglected her desires as I’ve obsessively explored my own?

  “You should be violated often like this, Samantha Clarisse, I’m sure your little brat is totally deficient in this way. You love this, don’t you? Admit it.”

  “Yes, Anastasia,” Peach whimpers. I hear an earthy arousal in her husky voice.

  Tasia twists the rod again and pushes it deeper.

  An anguished moan escapes Peach’s lips. “Please bind me Anastasia,” she begs, resorting to our hostess’ formal name, as if she’s addressing her mistress.

  “You have a lot to catch up on, a lot to prepare for,” the dark mistress says. She exudes a self-satisfied manner of which I am in awe.

  The woman turns away from Peach and disappears beyond the open doorway. I back into the hall to be out of sight when she returns. I can’t believe I watch this without attempting some rescue. It would be futile, I know, but I feel as if I’m an accomplice in this rape, remaining passively immobile. I should leave, I think, but I can’t. I watch hypnotized as Tasia returns to Peach.

  The mistress makes Peach stand. The act is awkward with her hands still bound behind her with the sash, but Tasia gives her no assistance. Once Peach is standing, Tasia lets her hands free, though she immediately binds them in front of her body with leather cuffs. A two-inch wide collar appears encircling Peach’s neck. Her expression is one I’ve never seen before, some blissful vacancy in her eyes, while her mouth forms a mirthful smile.

  The smile is brief though. It vanishes into a painful grimace when Tasia clamps a chain to the collar, then runs the thing between her legs and fastens the other end to the back of the collar. It looks as if the chain will cut deeply into her cunt, especially as Tasia yanks it with her leather-gloved hand.

  “Yeeeaw,” Peach pants aloud.

  Is the binding more than she can bear?

  “You’ll sleep here tonight, let your brat despair alone in your bed.” She pushes Peach somewhere beyond my sight.

  I dash from the doorway and race up the stairs afraid of being caught aroused by such ungodly passions.

  I jump into the bed, hiding inside the downy soft covers, wondering how Peach will sleep, bound the way she is. Where? From what pagan source has this obsession of hers risen? This is my providence, I declare to myself as if the silence will speak back. But the silence doesn’t speak, it whispers only that I envy Peach. I envy Tasia’s attention to her.

  I block that thought immediately but I find my cunt wet and my clit hard and throbbing. I rub myself fast wanting to get away from my thoughts, but the orgasm doesn’t come easily, as if my sex angel refuses me the pleasure until I see myself so bound and abused the way my eyes saw Peach tonight. I play with myself forever it seems, taking all the twisted turns my mind creates until, at last, I cum.

  Chapter Eight

  I don’t see Peach in the morning, not right off.

  I charge my way to the breakfast table thinking it will be Tasia and me alone, but there are two genteel lesbians sitting with her, the three chatting conventionally about the flowering plants outside the window.

  “Where’s Peach?” I ask.

  “Samantha Clarisse is indisposed this morning, my dear.”

  I hate the stickiness in her voice. Those eyes of hers that moved me on our arrival are trying their best to woo and calm me now. But I’m beside myself with a thousand worries for Peach, and for me.

  “I need to
see her now,” I say, demanding.

  “She’s sleeping; I wouldn’t want to disturb her.” Tasia returns to her other guests while I turn away.

  “No breakfast?” she says calling to me. Her niceness makes me shrivel.

  “No,” I say politely turning back. I’m feeling so nervous I’m sick to my stomach.

  Tiptoeing along the corridor I look for the back parlor where Peach and Tasia were the night before. The door is closed and I know that she’s still inside because I can feel her essence in me. I always know when she’s this close. I try the knob, but the room’s locked.

  “I said, Samantha Clarisse is not to be disturbed,” Tasia calls to me as she suddenly rushes into the corridor. I shouldn’t be surprised to see her.

  “I have a right to see her,” I charge.

  “Of course, you think you do, but you gave up that right, being the whimpering ninny that you are. You could have given her what she wants but you didn’t, and now I do.”

  I want to tear the hair from her head, I’m so angry; but at that moment another woman appears in the hallway. A little wisp of a thing, she slips in and out quickly, giggling softly when she sees the two of us.

  She destroys my fine passion for an instant and I have to start again.

  “I want to see her now,” I demand.

  “Oh? Seeing her last night wasn’t enough?”

  I jerk back in shock. I don’t want her to see me react to the stunning disclosure, but I already have.

  “You’re a bizarre woman, Cassidy. So unbearably erotic and so cruel to yourself and your lover. I’d be surprised if Samantha Clarisse ever returns to your bed the way you’ve hurt her with your refusals.

  “You have no right to comment on what’s between us,” I say. I feel like I’m burning up inside hearing her accusations but I can’t let it faze me now. “I’m not leaving until I see Peach.”

  She smiles malevolently. “All right. Suit yourself, but you’ll be disappointed. She doesn’t want you here.” Tasia crosses in front of me and pulls a key from her pocket. The door opens easily and I follow her inside.

  Peach lies on a button tufted lounging sofa, her arms bound above her, the collar and chain as they were the night before. Her ankles are also bound to the far end of the sofa, spread so her cunt is wide open.

  Tasia picks up her black rod.

  “Samantha Clarisse, your slut needs to see you,” Tasia announces. She taps Peach on the thigh until Peach responds, turning her face to us. Tasia then shoves the rod into Peach’s cunt. We both gasp.

  “I want to see her alone,” I say.

  “No,” Peach shakes her head.

  “Please,” I’m begging.

  “This is between Tasia and me,” Peach says. There are marks on her breasts like those I received from Cozinne. On Peach they seem so cruel. I’m in tears though I don’t want Tasia to see.

  “Tell her, Samantha Clarisse,” Tasia says, as if she’s bored with me. She gives the rod a nasty shove, then drops it, while it’s still anchored in Peach’s cunt. She walks from the room as a cloud disappearing from the sky.

  I thought Peach would relent with her rude mistress gone.

  “Go away,” she says. “You’re interfering. I don’t want you here.” She says it coldly, so that I shiver from the chill. I think there’s a draft in the room and worry about Peach naked where she lies. But there are beads of glistening sweat on her belly. It’s me that’s frozen.

  “Please, just to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” she says.

  When she turns her face away, I leave.

  Darting through the hallway and up to my room, I pass a laughing Tasia.

  My life is out of control! I can’t imagine how it got this way, a gentle vacation becoming a horror story as the love of my life lies bound in a room below me, refusing to speak with me. Utterly alone, I cry; my tears refusing to stop until my eyes are stinging and swollen. I have no idea what this means, why Peach deserts me and betrays me with this woman. What could I have done to deserve this hateful treatment!

  I think of leaving, though it seems irresponsible to abandon her while she remains in the clutches of that woman—even if she’s spurned me.

  I moan about my plight until I can’t stand to be in this place any longer. Taking the back stairs down, I escape outside, thinking I’ll walk the beach to clear my head; but on impulse, I climb inside the Jeep and drive north. Still in a daze I’m not sure where I’m going until the picture of Miriam’s face passes through my flustered mind.

  I find her cottage easily and stop, hoping I’ll find Miriam there. Her house looks like it’s out of a fairytale, where I can find a welcoming pair of arms.

  “Come in,” she says when she answers my knock. Her gracious calm surrounds me the instant her eyes meet mine. She’s not surprised to see me. “You’ve been crying,” she notices.

  I begin to cry again, realizing the safety of her gentle counsel. Taking me in her arms, I cry more, feeling foolish with all these ridiculous tears. Yet she caresses me, running her hand through my hair. I’m amazed that I’m aroused by this. Am I this fickle, my love spurns me one minute; I’m ready to fall into another’s arms the next?

  She kisses my face tenderly and I’ve still not said a word about by troubles.

  “Peach has gone mad,” I finally say. The words come out awkwardly, though they seem to be a perfectly correct evaluation of the situation.

  “Has she?” Miriam says, waiting for an explanation.

  “I know she’s pushed at my dark side many times. I guess I didn’t read her desires clearly; but now she’s lying bound in the clutches of that woman! She won’t even speak to me.”

  “Let her be, dear,” Miriam says, “she knows her own mind well. She must need this. I believe she came for it.”

  I don’t understand, but she doesn’t explain.

  “What you need is to attend to yourself,” Miriam says.

  Her kisses and gentle fondling touch are dangerously close to excitement. I could kick myself for my compulsive sexual needs rising at this moment, when I’m supposed to be in the midst of my greatest agony. I’m kissing her back with my lips on her neck and then between her breasts where her flesh smells of honeysuckle. She doesn’t balk when I undo the buttons on her blouse and reach deep inside to find her pendulous nakedness. I could spend a week in the softness of these womanly mounds. She moans softly as I cuddle them to my face. Her hands caress my hair and then my shoulders. She reaches lower to discover what’s beneath my shift. How convenient that I’m naked underneath, because it takes only seconds for me to be held by Miriam in my natural state.

  We move back and forth in pleasure, her hands on me, mine on hers, matching aggressiveness and acquiescence in one tender rollicking passion.

  We lie on her couch breast to breast, groin to groin making out like young lovebirds. She kisses my eyelids and lips, the warmth of her breath tickles my face. She’s like a billowy cushion, holding me to her with strong arms and legs. Our cunts rub together as our legs intertwine. I feel her female juices flowing against the inside of my legs and against my labia.

  “Ah,” she says softly, as she fingers my cunt, finding the unexpected ring.

  “Peach insisted on piercing me,” I explain.

  “Ah, a ring of roses,” she says, when she looks down and inspects the etched filigree on my nether jewelry. She says it as if the design is of some significance.

  “And are there rose petals on her thigh?” she asks.

  “How did you know?” I ask.

  “Samantha would think of both,” she replies without answering my question.

  “What is she hiding from me?” I ask, drawn to my suspicions.

  “What are you hiding from her?” Miriam asks, as if to put me in my place.

  Neither of us answers the questions, the arousal going beyond mere play. She seeks her climax as much as I know mine will happen. First times are often awkward. But this one’s not, she’s as ea
sy as Peach was that first time; though there’s a familiarity with this woman, as though I’ve been making love to her forever.

  I shudder, cumming sooner than I’d planned, and she keeps going, several well placed light slaps to my cunt and I’m building again like I’d never climaxed at all. I’m amazed at what she’s done, but I don’t take time to consider it. I let her take me to the edge again. Her whole body shudders next to mine when I orgasm. Locked tightly together still, she seems to have timed herself to me. I consider that a near impossible feat that happens only accidentally with other lovers.

  She doesn’t finish yet, but climbs from the couch with me, and leads me to her bed. High above the floor, the antique four poster seems two-feet deep with comforters. I think I’ll smother in the feathers; I giggle, wiggling down inside. Miriam smiles, descending on my body again, massaging every inch of me so I’m climbing to another orgasm. The passion wells in me so high I think I’ll scream.

  I do scream as she laps at my labia, and engorged clit. She penetrates both holes with easy moving fingers. This takes my whole body end to end and I fall back limp again.

  She asks for nothing more, and though I’d willingly give to her again, she shakes me off, in favor of holding me close while I rest.

  “I want to taste you,” I tell her.

  “You’ll get your chance; I’m not done with you.” She’s smiling as my eyes slowly close and I drift off to a peaceful sleep.

  When I wake she hasn’t moved. She’s held me the whole time.

  “Shall we have some tea?” she asks.

  I think I could stay here forever. I sit on her patio listening to the ocean. It would be perfect if that clouded house down the beach did not exist and Peach could walk through this door wearing a smile right now. I hate it, that my mind keeps leading me back, wondering what she’s doing now, what horrid design that woman has for her. Has she kept her bound, or has she beaten her like a submissive whore? Has she made love to her body, or just abused it? The question I fear the most: does Peach truly enjoy this treatment?